“A rockin’ booty, of course.” He reels her in for a kiss. I hear him give her a smack and duck my head to hide my amusement. They’re perfect together. “I know what my girl is about.”
Kiara splays her hand on his chest, humming. “Ugh,” she says, turning her head to the side. “You smell like fish.”
“Hauled in pounds of it with Jack earlier. Dad didn’t skimp on anything.”
“Well, you can give this to Chef.” She hands Chester a coffee. “And wash up again.”
Once he’s back in the Black Sabbath Kitchen of Doom, Kiara joins me at a two-top. She smiles at the art hanging above us. An old sketch of Diamond Bay Sal found, apparently, at a yard sale. “How is it going?”
At that moment, there’s a crash in the kitchen, followed by a very loud, “Fuck!”
“Oh, great.” I take a sip of coffee. That wasdefinitelyJack. If I had to compare him to a beverage, it would be coffee. Coffee laced with approximately three extra shots of espresso and just enough sugar to take the edge off... if you know to ask for it.
“Are you excited?” she asks.
“Honestly, I’m positively nauseated.”
“You’re going to do great, Pops.” She lifts her gaze, taking in the bright, colorful dining room, mixed with what I hope is just enough charm of the old Sailfish restaurant. We had a fun time hanging up art and finding places for cute knickknacks like the carved fish by the hosting stand. “I can’t believe this is the same restaurant.”
“Thanks again for letting me comb through all the old décor.” I lower my voice, even though there’s no way we’ll be overheard. “By the way, I was wondering... do you have any pictures of Jack and Sal together? Or even better, all three of you? I thought it could be nice to get one blown up and framed for the official launch. If tonight goes well, I mean.”
She puts her hand over mine, squeezing. “I’ll look. I’m sure there are a few we can pick from.”
“I want it to be a secret.”
“Definitely. He won’t admit it, but it’ll mean a lot.” She sips her coffee. “I wanted to mention something to you, too. Sal left Jack a letter.”
“What?” My voice is way louder than I intend. We both look to the kitchen, but no one comes rushing out.
“Yeah. He doesn’t know anything about it.” She draws her brows together, frowning. “I keep meaning to find the right time to give it to him, but it never seems like it, you know? I want him to read it, not throw it out.”
“Did you open it?”
She shakes her head. “I have no idea what’s inside. But I remember the night before Jack left...” She trails off, fiddling with the gold necklace draped over her collarbone.
“What happened?”
“They argued. I didn’t hear all of it, they didn’t know I was there, but it didn’t sound good. I think my father called him—”
The kitchen door opens. “Poppy!” Jack barks from the doorway. “Where are you? We’re already fifteen minutes behind schedule.”
“You’re the one who kicked me out!” I yell back. I turn to Kiara and whisper, “Tell me the rest later.”
Any thoughts of whatever happened between Sal and Jack flee from my mind the moment I step into the kitchen.
It’s the epitome of organized chaos. Various dish components, carefully labeled, cover every surface. Owen is prepping garnishes, his movements perfectly precise. Hazel is weighing out cuts of beef for the coffee-rubbed filets. Jack, meanwhile, is standing at one of the prep tables, gloves on, systematically gutting a huge red snapper. He looks up as I enter, hair flopping over his forehead, and despitethe scowl of concentration on his face, I want to kiss him. He’s so handsome, so fucking competent, in charge of the situation with effortless grace.
He looks every bit the head chef.
“Let’s go,” he says. “Start your cake batter. The oven’s prepped.”
I hurry to wash my hands and don an apron—plus a hairnet, mostly so he’ll smile. I catch the faint edge of it as I skip to his station and kiss his cheek.
I set up next to Jack, pulling out ingredients along with the instructions we wrote during the test-runs of the recipe. Coconut cake, mango jam filling, passionfruit-lime ganache. Apparently, the mango jam is an old recipe of Sal’s; he always added a pinch of chili powder to complement the sweetness of the mangos. If these little cakes are well-received tonight, Jack will make it the centerpiece of the regular dessert menu.
It’s sad to think of it lasting only long enough to snag Jack a new job.
Maybe the next owner won’t even want to keep this place a restaurant.
