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“Frick and Frack. I told you to leave the bins on the floor!” Dell yelled. They had yet to earn anything but her approbation. “We have a dishwasher coming in at night who’ll do the unloading!”
“Sorry, um, but we have to clean up the Café, and I have a party to go to,” Claire said, reaching into her pouch to check her smart phone.
She did it so absently, so automatically, I wasn’t even sure she was aware of her own actions. I winced: the wired generation.
Claire had offered to help upstairs for opening night, but when she was invited to a party, Will insisted she be a normal teenager and go. A party meant she might still have some friends out there.
“Is Will here?” I asked, as nonchalantly as possible, to no one in particular.
“Upstairs,” Dell said. “Ice machine’s not working. He just took a big tray up.”
“Like we don’t need ice down here,” said Maureen.
I scrammed, leaving Dell to deal with the tensions that sharing a kitchen between two restaurants with overlapping shifts was already causing.
The new service staircase that led to Cassie’s upstairs still smelled like freshly oiled wood. Tonight signaled another new beginning, I thought: the start of a career rather than a job. Since making the investment, I had been given a crash course in entrepreneurship, and I deemed myself a natural. About money and business, I could make decisions. Sex, too, possibly. Love, not so much. I hadn’t seen Jesse since Boxing Day, when he left me in Jackson Square to help facilitate a fantasy. My focus since then had been work, opening the restaurant, making this place a success. And truthfully, when Jesse had told me he had his son tonight and couldn’t make the opening, I was relieved. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing how Jesse and Will interacted, and I didn’t need any drama or distractions.
The dining area was empty except for Will, his back to me as he adjusted the sparkling place settings. I’d never seen this suit on him: dark blue, expensive-looking, made from the kind of material you wanted to put your hands on. He appeared leaner from behind, too, more spry. The last time I saw him in a suit we were heading to Latrobe’s that fateful night. Had he ever looked sexier than that night?
Maybe tonight, maybe right now.
“There you are,” I said.
Will whipped around, and my heart caught at the sight of his face—happy, open, yet registering nothing about how I looked in this dress.
“Hey, Cassie. Can you
believe it? Opening night,” he said, blithely going back to his place-setting adjustments. “Oh, and happy new year.”
“Yeah. Right back at you.”
Is that all you’re going to say? I wanted to scream, my heels digging into the distressed barn-board floors.
“You look really nice, Will.”
“Thanks. Claire picked out the suit. Turns out she has very expensive taste,” he said, turning towards me again and smoothing down the lapels.
I tried conjuring some of the powers from my charms: Bravery. Exuberance. Confidence. I needed all of them tonight.
“Well … here we go!” I said, placing my hands on my hips. Enticing smells wafted up the stairs from the kitchen: Dell’s buttery chicken and creole sauce, her mini chicken pies, cushaw casserole tasting spoons, spicy shrimp skewers, cornbread stuffing with pecans and roux, her Cajun sticky-rice balls.
“Smell that?” he asked.
“Heavenly.”
I took a step towards him. I could have sworn he flinched when I stuck out my hand and said, “Congratulations on tonight. On the opening.”
His eyes darted to my bracelet before he took my hand, shaking it once, twice. Pull him in for a kiss. End this standoff, this nonsense. Before I could muster the courage, a burly soundman walked in carrying a giant boom mike and recording equipment.
“This Cassie’s?” he asked, breathless.
“Yes,” Will and I said in unison.
“I’m from Action News Nightly.”
“Excellent,” Will said, impressed.
Matilda had told me she was going to ask Solange to send a producer and a crew for some visuals of our opening night, and here they were!
