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“Oui,” Julien said, as he put the spoon down and wiped his hands on his apron. “It’s going to be a busy couple of weeks leading up to it, though. I have some guys coming out next Monday to update the website, then Wednesday we have a meeting with the entire staff for the first time, and then we have Fine Dining coming Thursday to take photos of the staff and restaurant for the feature spread. After that goes live, the secret is out. It’s all starting to feel very real.” And slightly stressful.
There was already buzz online about the possibility of a new location—there had been ever since he’d left his L.A. location in the hands of his brand-new executive chef and told the press he was moving on to new projects. And the second this was announced, Julien knew they’d be booked for months within seconds—including at least a dozen of the top food critics.
In a world-class culinary city like Chicago, the first months were crucial. Restaurants opened daily, and you either succeeded or went down in flames, and considering the press coverage he knew would surround this opening, Julien did not fancy the idea of anything other than succeeding.
“We won’t let you down,” Andre said. “You know everyone is excited to be involved and working here with you. JULIEN is going to cause a frenzy amongst the Chicago foodies.”
“We can only hope.” Julien’s phone began to vibrate in his pocket, and when he pulled it out and saw it was Priest, he said, “I’ll be right back,” and headed out of the kitchen.
When he was in the hallway, Julien hit accept and brought the phone up to his ear. “Miss me already, do you?”
“I do, actually,” Priest said and then chuckled, and Julien smiled. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”
“Non?” Julien said as he walked out into the main dining room and took a seat in one of the booths.
“No. I’m calling about next week, Friday? Do you want me to get the tickets?”
Julien frowned. He really didn’t want—
“Julien? The tickets?”
“Oui, you should get them.” Because I most certainly won’t. But then he had a thought. “Do you think…” He paused.
“Julien?”
“Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“About?”
“Do you think Robbie would want to come with us?” And the more the idea settled in and took root, the more it felt…right. Robbie was a burst of sunshine on the coldest of days, and that was exactly what Julien would need next week. A burst of sunshine and a steady hand to hold him upright.
“I’m not sure any of us would want to go. But I’m sure Robert would like to be there for you, if you asked him.” Priest went quiet for a moment and then said, “Speaking of Robert, how was he this morning when you dropped him off? He seemed to be in high spirits when he left the condo, all things considered.”
“He was,” Julien agreed. “He said his ma left him a text saying she visited his nonna early this morning and she’s doing well. But he has a feeling his ma is going to tell him his nonna is going to be moving into a retirement community when she leaves rehab, which would mean—”
“He will need a new place to live,” Priest finished, and Julien realized he was right. He’d been so focused on other things that that thought hadn’t even occurred to him.
“Oui. He will.”
“Are you thinking what I am?” Priest asked, and the smile was evident in his voice.
“I believe I am, mon amour. We just need to see how he feels about it all. It’s moving very fast. He’s still thinking about us in general.”
“No, he’s not,” Priest said, arrogant as ever. “He’s been thinking about us since December, and he made the final decision in the hospital waiting room yesterday when he asked to come home with us.”
Priest was right, because one thing Julien knew to be true was that when he was in trouble or needed someone to lean on, the person he always went to was Priest—and last night, Robbie had come to them.
“Leave it with me. Since he’s down here by the office, I’ll see if he can stop by and we’ll call you.”
“Okay,” Julien said, feeling much better having something to look forward to other than next Friday.
“Je t’aime,” Priest said, and Julien smiled.
“Je t’aime aussi. Talk to you soon.”
“Yes, you will.”
“MY BEAUTIFUL BOY,” Robbie’s ma greeted him with that thick Italian accent he loved, as she slid out of a booth at The Daily Grind and got to her feet. “Come give your mother a hug.”
A couple of inches shorter than himself, Robbie’s ma moved up to her tiptoes to wrap her arms around him. Her hair was styled into short, thick layers that kicked up at the nape of her neck, and was highlighted in shades of browns and blonds to offset the silver streaked throughout.
