Page 110 of Neap & Spring

I want to believe him. I want to have that kind of confidence.

But all I can think about is eighty-five people, all of them expecting something special because Vivienne convinced them this restaurant was worth their time and money. Because she believed in me enough to put her reputation on the line.

I can’t let her down.

“I’m heading out,” Roman yawns, pushing off the counter. “Don’t stay too late, yeah? You need to sleep at some point before Saturday.”

“Yeah. I will.”

We both know I’m lying.

He heads toward the back door, grabbing his jacket from the hook on the way. The door opens with a gust of cool ocean air, then closes behind him with a heavy thud, and I’m alone in the kitchen except for the hum of equipment and the distant sound of voices from the dining room.

I turn back to the stove and pick up my fork again.

But I’m not really looking at the scallops anymore.

I’m listening.

“— cannot believe how many people are coming,” Cora is saying, her voice bright with excitement and maybe a little stress. “I’ve been prepping dessert components for three days straight. My hands smell like chocolate, and I can’t get it out. I’ve washed them like forty times.”

“I would love to have chocolate hands.” Frannie sighs dreamily.

“You’re insane.”

“Chocolate-scented soap? Sign me up.”

They’re laughing again, and I can hear movement, the rhythm of their closing routine finishing.

“The buzz is incredible,” Frannie continues. “We’re getting reservations at a rate we’ve never seen before. People are booking tables now just because they heard about Saturday. We’re almost fully booked through the end of the month.”

“Really?” Vivienne’s voice sounds surprised.

“Really really. We haven’t had this much attention since — I don’t know, maybe ever? The opening was busy, but this is different.”

“That’s — that’s really good. Great. That’s what we wanted.” Vivienne sounds almost awed.

“It’s because of you.” Frannie’s tone is matter-of-fact.

“It’s literally my job.”

“Okay, but your job is working. Like, really actually working.” There’s warmth in Frannie’s voice. And genuine affection. “You’re saving this place, Viv.”

There’s a pause. Long enough that I almost peek through the window to see if Vivienne’s still there.

“I just want it to work,” Vivienne finally says, so softly I almost miss it. “For Callum. And for all of you.”

My heart squeezes like someone’s got it in a fist.

Months ago, Vivienne didn’t know Frannie and Cora beyond their roles in the restaurant. Now they’re having deep conversations and making plans to get ready together at her cottage on Saturday. Last weekend, she had dinner with Iris and came in the next day with a small, surprised smile like she hadn’t expected to make a friend.

Vivienne is making friends. She has plans weeks into the future on her calendar that is propped up in my office.

She is putting down small roots.

And I want those roots to grow so badly it terrifies me.

But something’s still off. She’s maintaining her distance. She won’t let me past the walls she has around her.