It won’t be forever, but she’s with me now, and I take care of what’s mine.
Chapter 29
Butter
Poppy
“Stop fiddling with it.”
“It’s not perfect yet.”
“The plating doesn’t need to be set in stone.” I lean over the pass, watching as Jack moves a singular carrot an inch to the left. He’s wearing his glasses again today. The way they’re slipping down his nose as he concentrates makes my heart cartwheel. “Plus, it’s just Kiara and Chester and Herm.”
The look he gives me makes itquiteclear that that’s the whole point.
“Aw.” I swipe a spoon through a tub of sauce and stick it in my mouth. “That’s so cute, you’re nervous.”
“Poppy.”
“Sorry, sorry.” I hold up my hands. “It looks great, okay? They’re going to love it. And if they don’t, we still have time to make changes.”
He rolls his eyes at my teasing, shoving two of the plates in my direction. “Take them out.”
The days since Jack and I started doing... well, whatever it is we’re doing, have been busier than ever. We’ve spent nearly the entire time in Fable’s kitchen, trying out different ideas for the pop-up. The actual restaurant menu will be expanded, but for the purposes of the event, we decided to go with four surefire entrée options:foil-wrapped red snapper; filet with a rich, coffee-scented rub; fresh agnolotti filled with chanterelles; and roasted carrots resting on a bed of lush cashew milk crema, topped with crispy chickpeas.
It’s harder than ever to concentrate now that I know how he acts in bed. What his beard feels like against my skin. How his voice sounds when he’s strung-out and on the verge of coming. We haven’t slept together again yet, but I feel his gaze on me all the time, and we share the bed every night. If it weren’t for Herman’s presence as we wrap up the dining room renovation—not to mention Chester, who has started coming by to help out every spare moment he has—we’d never get anything done.
The mere thought of Jack sends a lick of desire through me so delicate, I shiver. It feels as though he’s waiting for me to make a move, except I’m waiting for the same thing, and so we keep circling each other, a hungry undercurrent in every interaction.
In the real world, we’d never work. We’d fight constantly, then strangle each other. When I think of the perfect woman for Jack, she’s nothing like me. She’d be equally driven, brilliant in a field like academics or medicine. Or else she’d own half a dozen restaurants and be as self-made as him. Absurdly, whenever I think of this woman who, to my knowledge, doesn’t exist, I have the urge to claw out someone’s eyes.
I shake my head to push those thoughts away as I walk into the dining room. Time to focus.
The dining room is a far cry from how it looked when I first arrived. The walls are painted pale blue, contrasting with the dark floors and beams above. The wall of booths, which I’m sure is going to be a huge selfie spot, has come together beautifully; the deep blue velvet of the cushions ties in nicely with the bright, tropical wallpaper above. The bar looks like new, already stocked with liquor, surrounded by gorgeous bar stools I got at a discount from a local furniture company. The stained-glass sailfish behind the bar remains the centerpiece. It glints under the light from the abalone shell chandeliers above.
We’re still bringing in odds and ends, and the toilet in the bathroom keeps acting up no matter how much Herman tinkers with it,but we’re nearly ready for the first test. I’ve curated the guest list for the pop-up carefully, prioritizing food bloggers and critics, influencers I’m friendly with, and even a few celebrities.
It isn’t for another week—with the official opening a week after that—but I’m already on edge over it, a confusing mix of excitement and nerves. I want this to go well so badly. Jack deserves it.Ideserve it.
I bring the plates to the long, family-style table in the middle of the room, which we designed with large parties in mind. Chester, Kiara, and Herman are sitting at one end.
“Oh, wow,” Kiara says as I set down the plates. “They’re beautiful.”
“They’re just test plates,” Jack warns as he follows up with the other two.
“They look magazine worthy,” Chester says, reaching for utensils and digging into the steak without invitation. He shuts his eyes as he chews. “Fuck. Tastes like it, too.”
“Chester,” I scold.
“What? This is amazing.”
“You didn’t even let us explain what you’re eating,” Jack says. But he’s fighting a smile as he watches Kiara and Herman taste the food too. He rattles off the descriptions, nodding at Herman’s surprisingly smart observations about the cook on the steak, the fish preparation, even the ways the carrot and chickpea dish is vegan.
“Any comments?” I ask, once the plates are practically licked clean. “Or questions?”
“They’re perfect,” Kiara says.
“The fish is Poppy’s concept,” Jack says.
