Page 25 of Neap & Spring

He stares at me, and I can see him biting back whatever he wants to say. Finally, he just nods once. “Fine. You want to fix our Instagram? Fix it. Add it to your list of everything else we’re apparently doing wrong.”

The temperature in the room drops about ten degrees.

Becca and Morgan exchange a glance. Frannie suddenly looks very interested in her tablet.

My throat tightens. “Callum, we should talk about this.”

“Is there anything else you need to see?” he interrupts. “The kitchen’s covered. Dining room’s covered. You’ve met the staff. You’ve taken your notes. Are we done?”

He’s dismissing me. In front of his entire front-of-house team.

The familiarity of it hits me like a wave. Being dismissed. Being made to feel small in front of an audience. My chest tightens and my breathing goes shallow, and for a second I’m not here. I’m in another kitchen and another chef is making me small, and I can’t breathe.

I force myself back. This is different. Callum isn’t him. This is frustration, not cruelty.

But it still stings.

I take a breath, pressing my lips together. I keep my voice level even though my hands are shaking again. “I’d like to come back tonight to observe a dinner service and see how everything flows during actual hours.”

“Fine.”

“What time should I —”

“Doors open at five. Service starts at five-thirty. Show up whenever.” He’s already turning away, heading back toward the kitchen. “I’ve got prep to finish.”

And just like that, he’s gone. The kitchen doors swing shut behind him with a sound that feels final.

The silence he leaves behind is deafening.

Suddenly, I’m standing there, feeling completely alone, in the middle of the dining room, holding my iPad like a shield, feeling the eyes of three women on me.

Frannie is the first to speak. “So,” she says brightly, trying to salvage the situation. “That went well.”

I let out a breath that’s almost a laugh, but it catches in my throat. “Did it?”

“No,” Morgan says bluntly. “That was a disaster. What the hell is going on with him?”

“He’s stressed.” Becca frowns. “I’ve never seen him like that. He’s usually grumpy, but that was something else.”

They’re all looking at me now, clearly trying to figure out what happened and what I did to make their chef look like he wanted to set something on fire.

I grip my iPad tighter, my knuckles white. “It’s — he’s under a lot of pressure. The consultation, the financial situation. I’m sure it’s overwhelming.”

It’s not a lie.

Frannie studies me for a long moment, her head titled slightly, and I can see her trying to put pieces together. But she doesn’t push. “Well,” she says finally. “For what it’s worth, we do need help. The restaurant is amazing, but something’s not working. So, thank you for being here. Even if Chef is being —”

“An asshole?” Morgan supplies.

“I was going to say difficult,” Frannie corrects, but she’s smiling slightly.

Becca nods. “He’ll come around. He always does. He just doesn’t like change. And he definitely doesn’t like admitting he needs help.”

I manage a weak smile.

Like I didn’t know that already.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”