I feel a small flicker of sympathy. “And this would what, prove them wrong?”
“If there’s one thing my dad understands, it’s restaurants.” Her expression wobbles, then hardens. “If he’s ever going to take me seriously, I need to show him what I can do in a way he gets, you know?”
“And what if I’m selling this place?”
“If you were, you’d be off interviewing, not hanging around here, sulking.” She raises her eyebrows. “Waiting to be someone’s knight in shining armor.”
“That’s the last thing I was doing, Princess. Trust me.”
If the nickname digs into her, she doesn’t show it. Too bad; I liked seeing her flush the last time I threw out that insult.
“I know people,” she says instead. “More importantly, I know the people you want to be your clientele. If you can cook the food, I can put this place on the map. Before long, we’ll both be back in civilization, and everyone will have forgotten why we left. Especially my dad.”
“If?”
She smirks. “Well, you haven’t decided, apparently.”
“I can cook.” I slick my damp hair back. I’m playing right into her little dare, and I know it, but I can’t stop. “That’s not the problem. Sal leaving this place to me was.”
“But you said he was your mentor.”
Mentor. Guardian. The closest thing I ever had to a father. “He was. He has a daughter, though. This place should be hers.”
“Obviously he wanted you to have it.”
“I spoke to her. I’m selling it.” Before Poppy can protest, I add, “After I put it to rights. Use it to show what I can do.” I pause, debating. “What we can do.”
The smarter thing would be to walk away now. I can only hold back the memories of Diamond Bay for so long. But the challenge Poppy—and Kiara and in some twisted way Sal—set at my feet like a gauntlet holds the greater pull. If I can pull this place together while proving to her father, and anyone else who might be a future employer, that I’m ready to run my own kitchen, all the better.
She perks up. “We?”
I study her. “It’s hard work.”
“I’m ready for it.”
If she really thinks she wants this, then she has to work for it. Just like everyone else who has ever walked into a professional kitchen. I’m not going to make this easy for her.
“If you’re going to be here, you’re going to learn how to cook.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Why?”
“You can’t promote something without understanding it, right?” I gesture to the kitchen. “It isn’t all about the vibes of the dining room, or the cocktail list, or any of that shit. Everyone sees front of house, but it’s the back of house that makes the whole thing go. You want to market a restaurant? You need to know it from every angle. The grit and grime, not just the shiny ornament outside.”
A pause. For a moment, I’m convinced I went too far, that she’s going to bail. I force myself to wait her out. This isn’t negotiable. If she wants to prove herself so badly, she can get her hands dirty. For now, this is my kitchen. My space, my rules.
To my surprise, she nods. “Okay. I’m in.”
If she gives up and runs back home to New York, it’s no skin off my back. But although I’d rather eat my own tongue than admit it, this restaurant launch could use her help.
I don’t have to like her. Idon’tlike her.
But I need her.
“Then let’s do it.”
She squeals, clapping her hands together.
“Don’t scream,” I warn. “I’ll take it back.”
