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Yet she tried not to dwell on it or, God forbid, dissect its meaning.
Rory said, “The ratings and reviews our restaurants receive are critical to me, yes. But you’re right. It’s not just about the stars. It’s the overall customer experience and what we do as a team to make each dinner service the best it can possibly be … night after night. Everyone has ‘off’ days. And people in every profession strive for greatness yet oftentimes fall short. Not every movie is a blockbuster; not every novel makes the New York Times bestseller list; not every baseball player hits a grand slam to win the World Series and become a national hero.”
He gestured toward the car to indicate it was his. Then continued. “Sometimes, something comes out of my kitchen that just doesn’t make the grade. Is it intentional? Hell, no. Forgivable by the consumer?” He shrugged. “It depends. Does it personally affect everyone in my kitchen, including me? Absolutely. Because those are the kind of conscientious people I hire and because I take it all to heart, too. I don’t want to disappoint my diners. But sometimes, Bayli, I do.”
Her heart melted a little. “Because you’re human, Rory. No one’s infallible. Including you.”
“And doesn’t that just piss me off.” He hit a button on the remote and yanked open the passenger door for her.
Bayli didn’t immediately slide onto the dove-gray leather seat. Instead, she gazed up at Rory and said, “You can beat yourself up all you want when something goes awry in your kitchen. But I don’t think for a second it would have anything to do with slacking off on the job, not putting your heart and soul into it, not doing everything in your power to deliver nothing short of excellence.”
“But it does happen. I have difficulty digesting that.”
“Rory.” Her brow furrowed. “Overachievers are not only under a lot of pressure by society standards, but they put a huge amount of stress on themselves. It’s admirable and disheartening at the same time. You don’t want to let anyone down. But reasonably speaking, even the best batting average can tank. Because behind that bat is a human being.”
Impulsively she kissed him on the cheek. Then slipped inside the car.
It took Rory a few suspended seconds to recover. Then he handed over her books, closed her door, and rounded the front of the vehicle.
All the while, Bayli’s pulse raced. She’d kissed him, and maybe it had been a bit on the chaste side but still. She’d demonstrated affection. With angsty chef guy.
The corners of her mouth quivered.
Yes, he was sharp-tongued and surly and all that. But she could see so much more. Could see so far beyond his abrasiveness.
He had a lot on the line every single day, a lot to lose, not just monetarily but reputation-wise. There was a heavy weight on this man’s broad shoulders, and Bayli sensed it wasn’t just about his own success or failure but that he likely put a shitload o
f pressure on himself because Christian Davila’s name, reputation, and capital were riding on each endeavor as well.
As the car sprang to life and Rory pulled away from the curb, Bayli studied his prominent profile.
She’d been wrong about him at that first meeting. She’d been fuming when she’d left the restaurant and she’d wanted nothing more than to march inside and tell him exactly what she thought of his quick dismissal of her. Something had held her back, though. Bayli now suspected that something was the spark of kindred spirit. She was nowhere near as brilliant as Rory. But Bayli had pride and she did her best no matter what the circumstances. And didn’t believe in status quo or giving up.
So she found it particularly amazing that she was somehow being aligned with two men who shared her beliefs and did everything to encourage her to continue down her chosen path.
“Where are we off to, exactly?” she asked.
“Farmers’ market.”
Her eyes popped. “In Manhattan?”
“On Sundays, yes. So we’re in luck. There’s one on Columbus Avenue not far from my apartment.”
“Let me guess.” Her tone turned sardonic. “You overlook Central Park.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.”
Bayli whistled under her breath. Maybe someday she’d have a real-live, honest-to-God one-bedroom with sensational views, instead of a tiny alcove and a dreary brick wall a stone’s throw away from her one and only window.
As they drove, Rory told her a little about the 79th Street Greenmarket and mentioned there were two others he frequented. Bayli made a mental note of the locations, because veggies were always at the top of her grocery list.
She asked, “What are you making for dinner?”
“That’d be what are we making for dinner? And the answer is … depends on what we find.”
She stared at Rory a few moments, then gently broke her bad news to him. “Sorry to disappoint, Chef, but you definitely don’t want me in your kitchen. I burn boiling water.”
He chuckled good-naturedly. Surprise, surprise. “You’ll just be assisting. It’ll be fine.”
