Page 124 of Neap & Spring

I look back at my clipboard, still smiling.

Then Frannie clears her throat loudly, and the moment breaks.

“So,” she drawls out. “Are we moving these tables or what?”

It takes another thirty minutes to get the room right.

Tables move and move again, being dragged across the hardwood with chairs stacked on top to save trips. Wesley and Patrick work in tandem, lifting a four-top between them and pivoting it ninety degrees without needing to discuss the angle. Roman appears from the kitchen with a rag and spray bottle, wiping down each table surface as it finds its final position. Cora is on her hands and knees with a level, checking each table to make sure nothing wobbles, calling out when she finds one that needs adjusting.

Beckett puts a chair in the wrong place twice, the second time so confidently — hands on his hips, nodding to himself with satisfaction — that Hayes simply walks over, picks it up without a word, and relocates it to where it actually belongs while Beckett is still talking about why that is the perfect spot.

Frannie has abandoned her logistics post and is now actively directing traffic, pointing at tables and calling out placements. “That two-top needs to rotate. No, the other way. Yes, perfect. Roman, can you get the one by the window?”

Iris stops mid-step, tilting her head as she surveys the back corner with narrowed eyes. “Wait. That four-top needs to swap with the two-top. The sightlines are completely blocked for anyone sitting there.”

“You’re right.” Callum’s already moving toward it. He’s at one end before she even finishes the sentence, hands gripping the edge, waiting.

I cross the room and take the other end without thinking about it.

We lift together, turning it carefully to clear the chairs. Our movements sync up automatically. He shifts left, and I mirror him. He takes a step back, and I match it. We navigate around Patrick and Wesley coming through with another table, sliding past them with inches to spare.

We set it down in its new spot, lowering it in unison. It settles with a soft thunk against the floor.

Callum leans in just close enough that only I can hear him.

“Such a good girl,” he breathes against my ear, and then he’s gone, heading back toward the kitchen like my entire nervous system didn’t just short-circuit.

I stand there, my hands still tingling from where they gripped the table, watching him disappear through the swinging doors. Around me, the room is still in motion. Cora is adjusting another table leg. Roman is wiping down the windows. Frannie is directing Beckett to move a chair six inches to the left, then six inches back when he overcorrects.

Through the windows, the rain is still coming down.

I press my lips together and look back down at my clipboard and absolutely do not think about the way his voice sounded when he said that two nights ago.

“Better.” Iris appears beside me. She’s wringing water from the ends of her hair, creating a small puddle at her feet.

“Yeah,” I agree, looking around at the transformed space. I slowly take in all these people working together to make something beautiful happen and smile. “Better.”

A car door slams outside, the sound cutting through the rhythm of rain on glass.

I glance toward the front windows just as two figures appear on the porch, both hunched against the weather. One is tall and moving with the kind of unhurried confidence that suggests she’s walked through worse. The other is shorter, carrying what looks like a knife roll wrapped in plastic.

“Oh shit,” I breathe.

“What?” Iris follows my gaze.

The front door opens, bringing in a gust of wet wind and the smell of rain and ocean salt.

Then Chef Amara Singh steps into Neap & Spring, shaking water from her jacket with a laugh that fills the entire dining room.

I picked her up from the airport yesterday — a forty-minute drive, and we couldn’t stop talking the whole time. She’d asked about the restaurant the moment she climbed into the passenger seat, and by the time we hit the coastal highway, she’d already pulled out her notebook. We talked through the event structure, the menu pacing, the vendors, and the layout of the dining room. There was no small detail we did not cover. She had opinions about everything, and I loved her for it.

At some point she asked, casually, whether the chef at Neap & Spring was someone I’d worked with before.

I told her yes. And left it at that.

What I didn’t tell her was that thinking about that chef for more than thirty consecutive seconds made me feel like I was losing my footing on a very slippery surface. I kept my voice completely even and professional. I stared very hard at the road, and I did not smile at all.

She spots me immediately, and her whole face lights up.