I used to be able to list endless reasons why I didn’t want a thing to do with the Sailfish. Now...
“Hands!” I shout. A server slides into the kitchen, picking up the dishes I’ve laid out on the pass. She takes two of them. I fiddle with the third and fourth until she returns, rearranging herb garnishes and adding another few dashes of pepper, mentally counting down the seconds before it’s time to turn the scallops.
As I’m plating the scallops—four orders of four, plump and glistening in the brown butter sauce, the bright pea purée underneath—the door opens again, and I catch a glimpse of the dining room.
Of Poppy, seating her father, mother, sister, and her sister’s wife. My chest swells with pride at the sight of her.
She looks radiant. Confident.
I hope Douglas sees that. I hope they all do.
I cradle the scallops like unhatched eggs. Wipe the edges of each shallow bowl. The server comes back for them. She’s the best of the kids we hired; like I asked her to, she murmurs that Douglas is in the dining room, and at another table, Bret Whittaker has just been seated.
The dishes so far were a warm-up. We’ve kicked into high gear. I grin at Owen and Hazel, who grin right back. They love this intensity just as much as me. The constant push-and-pull. The frenzied improvising. The repetition of skills, demanding but never boring.
Ignore the rest. Push it to the side.
This is the chance I’ve been waiting for.
Chapter 46
Main Course
Poppy
I huddle next to the bar, ostensibly to put in a few orders for Chester. In reality, I’m trying to use the reflection of the mirrored backdrop to spy on my family. Appetizers went out a few minutes ago, and not much conversation seems to be occurring at the table.
It could be a good thing—everyone is so in love with the food, they can’t stop eating for even a moment to rave about it.
Or it could be terrible, and they’re trying to think of a polite way to say so.
Even though I didn’t cook the food myself, I can’t curb my nerves. I want Jack to succeed so badly. I want all of them, Dad especially, to be impressed, not just with him, but with me. With what we accomplished together.
“I’m sure they’re loving it,” Chester says as he works on a set of martinis. “Stop lurking like a creep and go talk to them.”
I look at Chester; he’s dressed up tonight in a navy-blue button down, to match my dress and the server uniforms, with an apron tied at his waist. He looks good like this, at ease and charming with the bar patrons. “Chester?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you keep working here? I mean, if it was Jack’s place?”
“Jack’s place and your place, or Jack’s place?”
“It’s his.”
“We both know the only way he’s keeping it is if you’re here with him.” He sends another tray of drinks away with a server, then wipes down the bar with a dishcloth. “Sure, I’d love to keep helping out. Maybe even get into the kitchen, a little. Is this happening?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.” I look at the closed door to the kitchen. Jack is just beyond that wall. The way he kissed me and played with my hair after his confession about the night he left Diamond Bay—it felt like an answer in itself. Yet I can’t bring myself to trust it.
He has to realize this is where he belongs—but I can’t do that for him.
“Looks like your family is about ready for another glass of wine,” Chester says mildly.
“Ugh,fine.”
He laughs a little. “Deep breath, Pop Rocks. You’re doing great.”
I throw my shoulders back in an effort to banish my nerves as I walk to the cozy corner table where I seated my family. Julia looks beautiful in a bold, floral-patterned dress, her dark blonde hair shining, and Caroline fabulous in a silk blouse and slacks. Mom broke out a Palm Beach–inspired look for this dinner, down to the pink leather slingback bag carefully hooked underneath the table (a modification I asked Jack and Chester to make, because nothing is worse than setting an expensive purse on the floor). Dad, however, is in his typical black suit, salt-and-pepper hair combed back severely.
