“An idea,” I say warily, watching as she rearranges my uneaten grilled cheese, stacking the halves and adding more potato chips on the side. “What kind of idea?”
“This is the perfect way to introduce Fable on socials. Keep your hands there.”
She angles her phone so it’s above the prep table. The grilled cheese is in the frame, along with our hands. Mine, nicked and tattooed, and her free one, the nails glossy, painted pale pink. She takes a series of pictures, tongue pushing against her lips in concentration. When she hits upon one she likes, she uploads it to an app, fiddling with what looks like a bunch of filters. All told, it takes her about ten minutes, and the image she’s left with looks magazine-worthy.
“Huh. Looks really good, Poppy.”
“I’m going to post it right now.”
“Wait,” I say, thinking of Douglas’s demand. “Are you sure this isn’t about Ryan? Because he posted something first, you need to show him you’re moving on too?”
“We have to introduce the restaurant sometime.” She tilts her chin, as if daring me to disagree. “Give people something to talk about. This isn’t about Ryan. It’s about us, and Fable.”
Us. Fable. I shouldn’t like the sound of that so damn much.
She posts the image, with both of us as collaborators. The mouthwatering grilled cheese in the center, framed by our hands. There’s something secretive about it. A sneak peek; an invitation. The caption is short and sweet:
To new stories. Fable, coming soon xx
Chapter 18
Spiced Honey
Poppy
A few weeks into my tenure in Diamond Bay, I nudge open the door to Fable with my hip, balancing a tray of coffees. A latte for me, and plain, boring black for Jack and Herman. I give Herman his coffee first; he’s in the dining room, making progress on the built-in booths we’re adding along one wall to give the restaurant a more intimate atmosphere. Jack, judging by the muffled rock music in the background, is in the kitchen.
Herman rises to his feet with a groan, taking the coffee from my outstretched hand. “Thanks, Poppy.” He sips it. “What do you think?”
Even half-finished, it’s easy to see that these seats are going to be some of the best in the house. “They look awesome. I still can’t believe you’re just building them from scratch.”
He shrugs. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, you pick up a few things.”
“Oh, that upholsterer emailed me back.” I start to reach for my phone, tucked into my back pocket, then think better of it when my latte nearly spills. “She can do custom cushions for the booths at a great discount, as long as we tag her when we post pictures.”
The weeks since the grilled cheese moment have been even busier than I anticipated. The post made the rounds, well,everywhere, andmy email and DMs have been full nonstop. Exactly the hard launch I’d been hoping for.
At first, Jack was wary of connecting with brands, but after Made In offered to send us new cookware to use in exchange for some shoutouts on socials, he warmed up to the idea. Fable’s accounts have been growing by the day, thanks to my behind-the-scenes teasers and reels of Jack teaching me how to cook. He scowls whenever I whip out my phone and tripod, but he can’t deny it’s helping with buzz. A video of me trying and failing to make poached eggs went viral last week, thanks to Jack’s exasperated reaction.
Idideventually nail them. It just took an entire carton of eggs and a mild breakdown.
“Fantastic,” Herman says. “You’re putting together a pretty nice place, Pops.”
I beam. “You going to let me put you on camera anytime soon?”
Herman waves me in the direction of the kitchen. “Go ask Chef.”
When I enter the kitchen, the music cuts off. Jack looks up from a large crate, clipboard in hand, a pen behind his ear. He takes the coffee I offer him. “Thanks.”
I blink. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.”
“I wear contacts.” He scratches something off the sheet on his clipboard. “Only today—”
“You decided to let down your guard and let me see the real you? I’m flattered. I had no idea we were there yet.”
I can’t help teasing. The glasses might look just like the bifocals I’ve seen on old men playing chess in Central Park, but they make him look adorable. Softer, somehow, combined with the way his hair brushes his forehead. He’s in his typical uniform; jeans and a T-shirt with an apron, rag hanging from his belt. He looks... biteable. Tattooed biceps especially.
I definitely need to film some content of him today.
