“Monk?”
“Exactly.”
“Fuck you. I’m not being a monk, and neither is Aang.” Then, deciding not to dwell on that, I drop it. “Besides, parkour and the restaurant are way more exercise than I need.”
“You’re a monk,non?”
“Leave me alone, Knox.”
He chuckles. “I was just worried about you. You need a way to center yourself. All that pent-up angst isn’t good for you.”
“Can you please fuck off? You’re the monk.” I plate the eggs and grab two forks.
“Criss d’épais. I was only trying to help.”
“Did you call me an asshole?”
“Maybe.”
“I’m going to ignore that. Eat up. We’ve got a long day.”
Just then, Eli’s bedroom door opens. He shuffles out, wearing flannel pajama pants and a faded T-shirt, his hair sticking up in every direction.
“Is that bacon?” he mumbles, shuffling toward the coffee maker like a zombie.
“It is,” I say, sliding a plate toward him. “And eggs. Eat up, Sleeping Beauty.”
Eli pours a cup of coffee, takes a long sip, and seems to wake up incrementally. He sits on the stool next to Knox and starts eating. “What are you guys doing up so early? It’s not even six.”
“Fallon couldn’t sleep,” Knox says, pointing his fork at me. “And he decided to cook us breakfast.”
Eli looks at me, then at Knox. A small smirk plays on his lips. “Let me guess. Knox was interrogating you about your love life again?”
Knox scowls. “I was not interrogating. I was asking a simple question.”
“You were asking if I brought someone home,” I correct him. “That’s an interrogation, brother.”
“I prefer the term ‘inquiry into the logistics of our shared living space,’” Knox retorts dryly.
Eli laughs, the sound bright and easy in the quiet kitchen. “Well, I for one am glad you’re home, Fallon. I need your muscles today.”
“My muscles are always at your service.” I bow theatrically. “What’s the plan?”
“The Evans dinner,” Eli says, his expression turning more serious. “We need to be ready. Ruth is expecting a lot, and I want to make sure the food is flawless.”
We move to the island, spreading out the order forms and prep lists. The kitchen becomes a war room.
“Okay,” I say, leaning over the counter. “We need to break this down. Shopping is the first priority. I need to hit the docks early to make sure I get the best halibut. If the catch is light, we might have to pivot to sea bass, but I really want the halibut for that spice crust.”
“I’ll handle the produce run,” Eli adds, tapping his pen against the paper. “I need to go to the farm stand for those heirloom tomatoes and the fresh herbs. I also need to pick up more flour and butter. I’m going to make a test batch of that chili tart again this morning to make sure the spice level is right.”
“I’ll handle the front-of-house prep,” I tell them. “The private dining room needs to be set up. That means moving the extra tables, polishing the silverware, and steaming the linens. And… we need to deep clean the dining room. Bleach the floors, scrub the baseboards. It has to sparkle. Ruth is particular.”
Knox nods, looking at the list. “It’s a lot to do in two days, especially with regular service prep on top of it. If we spend the morning scrubbing floors, we’re going to be behind on the mise en place.”
“That’s actually why I wanted to bring this up,” I say, shifting my weight. “I know someone. Her name is Sarah. She’s an eventplanner, does freelance work for some of the venues in Portland. She owes me a favor.”
Knox looks up, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “An event planner? We don’t need an event planner, Fallon. We have a staff. We have Amber now.”
