Page 125 of Neap & Spring

She’s tall with warm brown skin and thick dark hair pulled back in a tight, practical bun at the nape of her neck. She’s wearing black jeans, well-worn boots, and a simple black long-sleeved shirt under a leather jacket that’s now spotted with rain. Small gold studs in her ears catch the light, and delicate gold bangles on one wrist clink softly when she gestures. There’s a brightness to her presence. She’s warm and magnetic, and it makes you want to lean in when she talks.

“Vivienne!” She’s already crossing the room, arms opening. “There you are!”

Before I can respond, she’s pulling me into the biggest hug, lifting me slightly off my feet. She smells like rain and cardamom and rose water, maybe.

“I told you I’d find the place,” she exclaims, pulling back but keeping her hands on my shoulders. Her bangles chime with the movement. “This is stunning. The building looks like it grew out of the coastline!”

“I’m glad you made it.” I’m smiling, caught up in her energy.

The person behind her steps forward. A young man with dark hair pulled into a small bun and the kind of intense focus in his eyes that immediately marks him as kitchen staff. He’s clutching his knife roll like it’s precious cargo.

“This is my sous, Marcus.” Amara gestures to him with a graceful wave of her hand. “He got in early this morning. He doesn’t talk much until you feed him, but he’s a wizard with vegetables.”

Marcus gives a small nod, his eyes already scanning the dining room, taking in the layout with professional assessment.

The kitchen door swings open, and Callum emerges, wiping his hands on a towel. He stops when he sees Amara, and I watch him shift into professional mode, shoulders straightening, the tired edge in his expression smoothing into something more welcoming.

“Chef Singh.” He crosses the room with his hand extended. “Callum Reid. Welcome to Neap & Spring.”

“Amara, please.” She takes his hand in both of hers, shaking it warmly, her bangles singing softly. “This is beautiful. Vivienne wasn’t exaggerating.” She turns in a slow circle, taking in the windows, the ocean view, the carefully arranged tables. “This space is incredible. The energy here? I know you can feel it, can’t you? It’s like the ocean is part of the dining room.”

“Thank you.” Callum’s voice has pride in it that he rarely shows. “This is my sous chef, Roman.”

Roman appears from the kitchen, his wild blond hair even more chaotic than usual. He wipes his hand on his chef’s whites before extending it. “Roman Delgado. Good to meet you.”

“Roman.” Amara grins, her eyes sparkling. “Vivienne told me all about you.”

Roman shoots me a look that’s equal parts surprised and curious. “Did she now?”

“This is Marcus,” Amara continues, pulling her sous chef forward slightly with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “He’s been with me for ages. Trained at the Culinary Institute and specializes in vegetable-forward dishes. He makes the best charred leek agnolotti you’ve ever tasted in your life.”

Marcus’s ears go slightly pink, but he nods at Callum and Roman with respect.

“Why don’t we head back to the kitchen?” Callum suggests, already moving toward the swinging doors. “We can go over tomorrow’s menu, talk through timing and stations.”

“Perfect.” Amara shrugs out of her wet jacket. “Marcus, bring the notes. Vivienne, you coming?”

I’m standing there, slightly bewildered by how quickly she’s taken over the room and how effortlessly she’s made herself at home. “I — yeah, of course.”

I want to be just like her when I grow up.

“Good. I want your input on the third course. I’ve been thinking about it since the airport, and I have ideas.” She’s already following Callum toward the kitchen, Marcus trailing behind her with his knife roll, and suddenly the whole energy has shifted from disorganized furniture arrangement to focused preparation.

Roman catches my eye as he turns to follow them, grinning. Uh, she’s amazing, he mouths.

I watch them disappear through the kitchen doors, Amara already talking animatedly about plating concepts, her hands moving expressively, and Callum leaning in like he doesn’t want to miss a word. And I realize, standing here in the middle of this restaurant, that they’re the first chefs I’ve been around in five years who made me feel completely at ease.

I hadn’t realized how much I missed that until right now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Vivienne

Six hours later, we’re all crammed around the large prep table in the back of the kitchen, surrounded by empty pizza boxes. We have thoroughly discussed every detail of tomorrow’s service, and my brain feels like it might leak out of my ears.

I keep catching myself looking at the prep table we’re all surrounding, and every time I do, my face goes hot. When I look up, Callum is already watching me, completely insufferable, the corner of his mouth tugging up like he’s trying not to smile. The third time it happens, he winks, and I look away so fast I nearly give myself whiplash.

Patrick picked up four large pizzas from a place on Main Street — two pepperoni, one margherita, and one with what he called “everything that was available” — and announced that nobody was leaving until they’d eaten actual food.