“Yeah. Nothing.” Except being with Poppy Winfield, maybe, but I’m not about to make that particular confession. I pick up my coffee cup. Out in the waves, a surfer manages a pretty good ride, raising her hands in excitement as she slices toward shore. “You and Poppy haven’t gone riding yet, right? Maybe you could go do that today.”
“What about Fable?”
“There isn’t that much more to do until tomorrow. And she needs the break.”
“I’ll try my best to convince her. It would be fun to get down and see Charger.” Kiara nudges my side. “I have something to ask you.”
“Yeah?”
“I want to scatter Dad’s ashes.”
My chest goes tight. “Ah.”
“You know how much he loved the ocean. It’s only right that he rests there.” She wipes her eyes carefully. “Remember how he joked about having a sea burial?”
“Did he say he wanted that?”
“Just that he wanted to be cremated. He didn’t mention anything else.” Her hand curls around my wrist, drawing my hand into her lap. She interlaces our fingers, squeezing. “Will you do it with me? Please?”
“Now?”
She shakes her head. “Just—sometime. When it feels right.”
I look into her eyes, shining all shades of brown in the morning sunlight, and can’t say no.
“It needs more color,” I tell Hazel. “Turn up the heat just a touch.”
“Yes, Chef.”
“Like this?” Herman asks from the next station over. He shakes the sauté pan he’s working with, reglazing a portion of carrots.
I watch for another moment. “Yes, perfect.”
“Heard, Chef.”
We’ve been at it for a few hours now, making last minute tweaks to our plans in between final food deliveries—minus seafood, which will arrive tomorrow morning—and explaining to the servers, a couple of local kids, how to describe the components in the dishes to the patrons. Chester showed them how to properly pour wine tableside, and the right way to bring a martini to a guest. Hopefully Poppy, who has been running around with her phone in hand all day, will be able to keep them in line.
The kitchen door swings open, and Poppy walks in, braid swinging. I brought her one of the donuts we got in honor of Sal, once Kiara and I split up for the morning. When she heard it was his birthday today, she said it was a sign of good luck. I don’t normallybelieve in those things, but I can’t knock the feeling away entirely, either. She wants us to hang out together tonight, as a crew, to commemorate him and the Sailfish before Fable opens. I pretended to be annoyed by the suggestion—at least until she begged me to say yes.
“Trying to get rid of me?” she asks once she reaches me. She crosses her arms in mock-outrage, even as a smile plays on her lips.
I shrug. “I thought it could be a nice break for you and Ki.”
“Tonight’s the break.”
“Nah, tonight’s the party.” At my words, Hazel pumps her hand in the air, swinging her hips at her station. Owen, not to be outdone, mimics doing a shot. “And chefs party hard, Winfield.”
“Don’t call me that.”
I pause. “No?”
“You can’t kiss me like that and then hide behind last names.” Her hip cocks, her smile widening. “So, no. Don’t call me Winfield anymore.”
Somewhere behind me, Hazel whistles. “Yes, girl.”
I just take a few steps closer. “Kiss you like what, exactly?”
“You know what.”
