Page 34 of Lessons in Lemonade

There are also no social media posts from him. Every day I find myself looking, multiple times a day, waiting for the buzz of a notification, but his last post was from the day of the game where he put up a picture of him in his jersey adorned with the Super Bowl patch. The caption: Dreams do come true.

Fans have commented nonstop wondering how he is and looking for an answer, but he isn’t giving them one. It’s not that he has to—his private life is his and his alone—but like his fans, I’m sitting here holding my breath and wondering too. He also hasn’t commented on any of my posts. He does like them, but the banter from my friend is gone. I feel like his spirit has died.

And with it, so has mine.

Ridiculous, I know. After all, we’ve only spent a handful of days together, but I can’t help it. He’s so sad, and there’s nothing I can do about it to make it better. I even canceled my date that was scheduled for this week. I just couldn’t bring myself to go. I keep reminding myself that soon enough this sucky period will be over, that life does go on, but in the meantime I feel weary, run-down. I know I just need to recharge a little and then I’ll be back at it.

Speaking of recharging, the restaurant has been slammed the last couple of weeks. I know we are in season with the snowbirds heading south, but still, we are booked solid just about every single day with a few private functions thrown in here and there. I hate saying the business has been a good distraction because I’m grateful and love how much people want to eat at OBA, but it is. If only I could come up with a distraction for him.

The kitchen door swings open and Taylor breezes in, holding up a piece of paper and waving it.

“Guess what I’ve got?” she singsongs, grinning from ear to ear.

“I’m not sure, but you’re very excited, so I’m sure you’ll tell me,” I sing back at her.

My hands are covered in corn fritter batter. Instead of flattening them, we like to roll them into balls before we drop them into the oil for frying. Served in a paper bag, they are one of our bestselling items.

“It’s the official list of who’s who for the Charleston Wine and Food Festival, and guess whose tickets for brunch on Sunday have sold out?” She’s beaming.

Behind me, the noise in the kitchen softens as heads pop up from different stations to hear what she has to say.

“No way. Us?” I wipe my thumb and index finger on a towel next to me then take the paper from her. Looking down at it, I see there is an updated alphabetical list of those who are participating, and there next to OBA is stamped ‘Sold out.’

I can’t believe it. I’m in delighted awe.

“Yep!” She rocks up on her toes and clasps her hands together behind her back.

“This is amazing, and such great news . . . much-needed great news,” I mumble, mostly to myself, but she hears me. I’m still staring at the list, spotting the predictable places that are chosen to participate every year, and I can’t help but feel pride for those of us who are the unexpected wildcards.

Her look turns briefly sympathetic at my admission, but the joy of being on the sold-out list shines through. Taylor has done an amazing job managing the front of the house since Shelby left, and she should be just as proud as I am.

When we first threw our name into the hat last year, I don’t think we expected the committee to pick us as we’re still fairly new to the Charleston food scene, but then they did. Our idea was simple as we are mainly a brunch place, but nothing goes better with brunch than a sparkling beverage, so that’s what we pitched.

Located in the heart of downtown Charleston, OBA, short for Orange Blossom Avenue, is housed in a historic building with floor-to-ceiling windows, exposed whitewashed brick walls, vintage chandeliers, and a covered courtyard filled with fruits, vegetables, plants, and herbs used by the kitchen. You’ll enjoy a menu featuring unique and delightful Southern dishes that will give you all the goodness without the guilt. Each course will be paired with a specific delicious selection of bubbles for a meal guaranteed to be as light and fresh as your surroundings.

Before we knew it, a photographer showed up to take photos of the restaurant and a few signature dishes, and then we were listed on the festival’s website. Our event was announced in the lineup, our blurb was featured, and through a link posted underneath, attendees could purchase tickets. We made a promise to ourselves that we wouldn’t consistently check it for updates, and with everything that’s been going on with Jack, I kind of forgot and had no idea.

When I lower the paper, Taylor and I stare at each other, grinning. Words don’t need to be said as we both understand the enormity of this. The Charleston Wine and Food Festival is one of the premier culinary festivals in the nation. We have no idea how many critics, journalists, and bloggers have purchased tickets, but this one meal has the potential to be defining for us for quite some time. If we nail it, the sky’s the limit, but if we bomb it, there’s no telling how long it will take for us to dig ourselves out of the hole.

My heart feels like it’s going to burst as Taylor gets called back to the front, and the staff behind me slips out of the trance and returns to work. Walking to the sink, I wash my hands and allow the excitement to override the fear.

Fear—such a stupid emotion. What do I have to fear? As long as I have all the ingredients, I can make anything work, and if for some reason I don’t, I’ll improvise. We’ve got this. I’ve got this.

Picking up my phone, I call the one person who’ll truly understand what this means. She answers on the second ring, and I blurt it out before she can even say hello.

“Shelby, we sold out.” I pinch my eyes shut, smiling so big my teeth are grinding together.

“Sold out what?” Her tone is excited now too, matching mine.

“The Wine and Food Festival brunch.” Opening my eyes, I spot my latest glass of iced coffee on my station and reach for it.

There’s not even a pause—she squeals immediately. “Well, I’ll be. I knew you would,” she states matter-of-factly.

“How did you know?” I take a sip and let the beverage cool me down.

“Because you are an amazing chef and OBA is quickly becoming a landmark in Charleston.”

I don’t argue with her. I know she’s right. We’ve worked so hard to make a name for ourselves.