Chapter 2
Luke
Four Months Later
I pull up behind the restaurant and put the truck in park. "Why did I think it was a good idea to drive straight from New York home without stopping?" I ask myself, opening the driver's door and stepping out. My whole body is stiff from the fourteen-hour drive that took me seventeen hours because of the traffic getting out of the city and then an accident on the highway that delayed me for another hour. I put my hands on my back, stretching out when the back door to the restaurant opens.
"Well, well, well.” I hear Mikaela say. I turn to see her wearing her chef outfit and carrying a black garbage bag in one hand. "Look what the cat dragged in." She laughs, walking over to the dumpster and tossing the bag in. She rubs her hands together as she comes back. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"
"I've been gone for six months, and you FaceTimed me twice a day to tell me how much you hated me," I remind her with a smile as she stands in front of me. The two of us met in culinary school, and when I decided to open my restaurant, there was no one I wanted to work with more than her.
"Oh, not past tense, present. I do hate you," she says, and I can't help but laugh, putting my arm around her shoulders as we walk toward the back door of the restaurant.
"What is that smell?" She looks at me, scrunching up her nose.
"I was in the car for seventeen hours,” I say. "I left New York at four thinking that I would avoid traffic. News flash, there is always traffic in fucking New York." I put my hands on my hips.
"Well, go shower before you come in my kitchen. Then you can help me with the dinner rush." She walks ahead of me. "Plus, I have a meeting with a bride and groom tonight for a taste test."
I look up at the blue sky and sigh. "I should have gone home first instead of coming here," I say, and it's her turn to laugh at me.
"I have your location on my phone." She walks back into the restaurant and the door slams shut behind her. I walk up the steps to follow her and open the back door. The smell of garlic hits me right away, making my mouth water.
Mikaela is behind the counter frying up something. "I'll get you something to eat," she says over her shoulder, and I walk past the counter toward the brown swinging door with the little glass circle in it. Pushing through the door, I see a couple of people are setting up for the night service. The bar in the middle of the restaurant is why I bought this place to begin with. It just was everything. It wasn't like this when I bought it. Fuck, it was a nightmare, and even the real estate agent asked me if I was sure. He didn't see what I envisioned in my head. He didn't see its potential. A perfect square so you can see every single part of the restaurant. The countertops are pure oak that I sanded down and varnished to a shine. The glasses hanging from the top wire racks give it a modern look with an old-school vibe. Barstools go all the way around and are always the first seats to be taken.
Booths line the far end of the restaurant, all with the same wood finish as the bar. The burgundy booths make everything look so rich. High-top tables are scattered throughout the rest of the floor, and I know this place will be filled with people within two hours. So much has changed since I bought this place. Luckily for me, I got it for less than asking, and then I got a small business loan for new business owners. I saved a shit ton of money doing the construction myself. I also saved money when I lived here until it started picking up.
I walk to the back corner to the brown closed door that says Office written across it. I open it and see that the shades are up, giving you the light you need. The couch against the wall has seen better days but is clear of my clothes that used to hang all over it. It faces the brown desk I put there when I wanted to be professional. I walk to the little bathroom with a shower, a toilet, and a standing sink with a mirror. The only thing in here is a tall hutch in the corner I bought from IKEA. I open it, grab a towel, then smell it to make sure it's clean.
I turn on the water, getting in and letting it run down my back. I've been gone for the past six months, and I have to say, it's good to be home. When Francois called me seven months ago, I didn't know what to think. I was in the middle of opening a second restaurant in town, this time a pub, and I was knee-deep in the final stages when he asked me if I wanted to partner with him. His partner fell through, and he knew I was opening my second restaurant, so to him, I was the first one he wanted to call.
It was a dream come true for me. Partner at a restaurant in New York City. It was also scary as fuck because the critics will eat your food and spit it out, and in a matter of a week, you can go from success to crickets. It was a challenge, to say the very least, and the minute I walked in, I knew a lot more work was needed than what he said. Not that I was afraid of work. I worked hard my whole life, from when I was fourteen and my parents thought they had given me enough support and decided that I should start paying my share. So I got two part-time jobs, and when I turned eighteen, I moved to a cheaper place and put myself through college for two years until I went into culinary school.
I turn the water off and get out of the shower, grabbing the towel and wrapping it around my waist. Wiping the steam off the mirror, I see that my eyes are bloodshot. I'm going to sleep so well tonight. I walk back over to the hutch and grab a pair of black pants and a gray T-shirt. I towel off my hair, leaving the bathroom and office to head toward the bar area when I see Mikaela coming out of the kitchen with a plate in her hand. "Right on time," she says, walking to the bar and putting it on the corner.
"The last thing I ate was pizza from a 7-Eleven," I tell her, walking behind the bar and grabbing a bottle of cold beer.
I see one of the bartenders setting up his station as he looks over at me. "Hey," he says, putting the white rag over his shoulder. "You back?"
"For now." I smirk and look over at Mikaela, who glares at me as I walk over to the stool sitting in front of the plate.
I take a pull of the beer and offer it to her. She shakes her head, and I place it down in front of the food. "I want a staff meeting tonight,” I announce, and she nods her head. "We have to get ready for the dinner rush, but tomorrow, I want to check out the pub."
"I was there yesterday. It looks good." I nod at her, taking a bite of the burger.
"This is so much better than the pizza at the 7-Eleven," I tell her, and she gives me the finger. The front door opens, and I see a couple of the waitresses arriving. I look at the clock. "It's ten minutes past their shift."
"Oh, don't you know." She laughs, getting up. "We have to be thankful they come to work."
“Screw that. I'll wait tables myself,” I declare. "I'll be there in ten minutes.” She gets up and walks to the kitchen. When I finish, I walk back into the kitchen and find her side by side with two sous chefs who look up and smile at me.
"Dad's back," Carson says, looking at me. "Playtime is over."
"Mom was mean to us," Kyle replies to us while Mikaela gives him the finger. I wash my hands and look at her.
"Where do you want me?" I ask, and she points at the table on the side.
"I want you at that table doing the taste testing for tonight." I grab an apron and walk over to the table with a white paper with Mikaela's writing.
"It's a whole page,” I say, looking back down at it. "Like a full page. Who tastes this much food at a tasting?"
"It's an important client," she tells me. "So you better be on your A game."
"When am I not on my A game?" With a smirk, I look down at the list to get things going. "What time is this client coming?"
"Eight!” she shouts, and for the next three hours, I get lost in my cooking. I'm plating the last plate when I look over to see that it's almost eight.
"I'm done," I say, wiping my hands.
"I thought you being in New York would make you rusty," Mikaela states at the same time as the kitchen door opens and one of the hostesses comes in.
"The eight o'clock couple is here." She looks at Mikaela. "I will seat them at the booth."
"Sounds good," I say to her, and she turns and smiles at me before walking to the front. She doesn't even know who I am, I laugh to myself. She will have a rude awakening when we have the staff meeting tonight.
"You want me to come and introduce you?" Mikaela asks, and I just shake my head.
"I think I'll be good," I say, walking out of the kitchen and taking a look at how jam-packed the place is. There isn't an open seat, and I see the bartenders going nuts. I make a mental note to see if we can hire two more to help out. I walk over to the hostess stand where two girls are chatting together, and one is on her phone.
"Do me a favor," I tell the one on the phone. "Put the phone away. There isn't anything happening on Instagram that is going to change your life in the next hour," I suggest, and she just gives me a fuck-off look. "I'm Luke," I say. "You know, the owner." Her mouth opens in shock as I look at the other one. "Where are the guests?" She points her hand toward the back.
"Last booth on the left," she says, and I nod at her and make my way over to the last booth.
I approach the table, seeing the guy on the outside of the seat and both of them on the same bench. "Hi," I greet once I get there and finally look at the couple. I look at the guy dressed in a suit with his hair perfectly combed over. My eyes go to the woman sitting next to him.
Everything in me stops as she looks up at me in slow motion. Her eyes are even more blue than I remembered, her face even more beautiful. The smile on her face fades when she sees it's me, and the only thing that comes out of my mouth is her name. "Clarabella."