Page 24 of Neap & Spring

“Nice to meet you,” I say, keeping my voice professional. I shift my weight, suddenly very aware of how I’m standing.

“The consultant,” Morgan repeats, her eyes moving over me in a slow, deliberate sweep. “So you’re here to tell us what we’re doing wrong?”

“I’m here to help,” I correct gently.

“Same thing,” she says, but she’s smiling.

Becca moves closer to Callum, and I notice the way she angles her body toward him. “How are you doing, Chef? You look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re always fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Which means you’re probably running on three hours of sleep and too much coffee.”

“Four hours,” he corrects, and his voice is dry but not unkind. “And the coffee is necessary.”

She laughs, light and easy, and touches his arm. Just briefly, her fingers on his forearm, but I notice it. My stomach tightens, and I look away, focusing on the tablet in my hands.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Becca giggles, her hand still on his arm.

“I’ll add it to the list,” he says, stepping slightly away from her touch.

Morgan joins them, leaning against the hostess stand, completely at ease. “So what are we thinking for tonight? Any new specials?”

“Halibut,” Callum says. “Pan-seared with crispy skin, over fennel and citrus salad. Brown butter sauce.”

“Ooh, fancy,” Morgan says. “I love it when you do the brown butter thing. It always smells amazing.”

“Remember that time you made us try the duck with the cherry gastrique?” Becca adds, her whole face lighting up. “I still dream about that dish.”

“That was a good dish,” Callum agrees, and I can see him relax slightly. Just a fraction, but the tension in his shoulders eases.

I take a small step back, giving them space by making myself smaller and less intrusive. I pretend to look at something on my iPad, scrolling through notes I’m not actually reading.

“So, Vivienne,” Frannie says, pulling my attention back. “What do you think of the space?”

I look around, forcing a smile. “It’s beautiful. The windows are incredible. The view alone should be bringing people in.”

“It does,” Frannie says. “We’re usually pretty booked on weekends. Weekdays are harder, but that’s normal for this area.”

I make a note of that, actually typing this time. “What about marketing? Any social media presence besides Instagram?”

Frannie winces. “We only have an Instagram, and Cal barely lets me post on it. We have like two hundred followers.”

“Two hundred and thirty-seven,” Callum corrects, the edge back in his voice. “And I don’t ‘barely let you’ post. I just don’t think we need to photograph every plate that goes out.”

“That’s literally what successful restaurants do,” Frannie says.

“Successful restaurants focus on the food. Not the aesthetic.”

“The aesthetic is part of the food,” she shoots back.

They’ve clearly had this argument before. Multiple times.

I clear my throat. “Social media is important. Especially for a restaurant like this. People want to see what they’re getting into before they make a reservation. They want to feel like they’re discovering something special.”

Callum’s jaw tightens. He turns to look at me fully for the first time since I got here, and his eyes are cold. “We are something special. The food speaks for itself.”

“But only if people know you exist,” I add gently.