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“You Sean?” he asked.
“Yes.” I tried to place him but I drew a blank.
“I’m Gus, Isla’s grandfather.”
So this was the infamous Gus. It didn’t surprise me at all he looked like a biker. I could see both in his features and his fashion that Isla was related to him. “Oh, sure, nice to meet you.” I stuck my hand out.
He had a firm shake. “Heard she ran scared on you. She called me this morning.”
Awesome. I just nodded, not really wanting to talk about it with anyone, let alone her grandfather. It wasn’t a great feeling to know that the first woman you fell in love with in a decade wasn’t all in.
“She’s tough. But you have to be tougher.”
I didn’t even know what that meant. “I don’t know where she is,” I said. “But I can tell her you stopped by. Would you like a brisket sandwich?”
“Yes, I want a sandwich. But Isla’s right there.” He pointed to the end of the row of stations where the judges and announcers were set up. Isla was standing on the stage.
“What is she doing?” I asked, confused. Concerned. We were both exhausted and upset. God only knew where her head was. “Does she have a guitar?” I asked, bewildered.
“I’m a little rusty,” she said into a microphone. “But I want to dedicate this song to Chef Sean Kincaid.”
I froze. What the hell was she doing?
Gus cackled.
Then Isla started to strum her guitar and sing.
It was a heavy metal love song. Despite my shock, I had to smile at that.
Love Song by Tesla.
She sounded fantastic. Like a real rockstar. A grungy, feminine, sexy as hell, woman-in-love rocker.
That didn’t mean I understood what the hell she was doing.
When the song ended, she thanked the crowd for the applause, then said, “I need to explain something.”
That would be fucking helpful.
A song was great, but I wanted her. For real. Forever.
Grand gesture. That’s what Savannah had told me. Show Sean I was serious about being out in the open about our relationship by announcing it to the masses. Well. Here I was staring at a few mildly curious people, but most everyone else was milling around in pursuit of barbecue. I could see Sean, so presumably he could hear me. I took the guitar off that I had enlisted Dakota to bring to me.
I should have enlisted one of my friends to draw Sean closer to the judge’s platform.
But too late. No regrets.
That’s how I wanted to live. With no regrets.
“I’ve worked really hard at Bone for the last three years,” I said. “I love living in such a creative and food-focused neighborhood as Brooklyn.” I cleared my throat and looked at Savannah, who was standing next to the stage holding a very squirmy Sully.
She made a “speed it up” gesture with her hand.
“But sometimes when you work so many hours, you forget that you’re more than a chef. You forget that you’re a woman and that you’re lonely.”
I paused, shocked that I was actually managing any words at all, let alone anything that were actual, you know, feelings. But that was the problem. Trying to stuff down my emotions was why I was at serious risk for losing Sean.
The thought of that was worse than anything, including public humiliation.
