Of course my alarm doesn't go off Saturday morning, so I find myself running out the door with a half-eaten granola bar in one hand and my portfolio of important documents and restaurant plans in the other. I get to the café only two minutes late, thanks to a lot of green lights and some creative driving.
Everett is waiting in his car. He gets out and meets me at the front door as I unlock it. He looks handsome and put together in a short-sleeve blue button-up that brings out his unexpectedly bright blue eyes and a pair of dark jeans that hug his very muscular legs. I try not to think about the fact that I'm wearing a university t-shirt that might have holes in it and an equally threadbare pair of jeans. I threw my wild curls into a braid, so at least they aren't flying everywhere.
We enter the messy dining room and I sigh. I only have about two weeks to pull this all together. I could hire extra help, but that would require money, and my funds are already stretched very thin.
Everett follows me to one of the tables and takes a seat next to me. I don't say anything as I pull a giant sheaf of papers out of my portfolio and sort them into piles. When I find the contract I drafted for him last night at o'dark thirty, I slide it to him with the pen that is always stuck behind my ear or in my hair these days.
While he reads through the contract, I pull out my notepad and turn to the next blank page. Once Everett has signed his contract, I grab my pile of menu ideas and research and put it in front of him.
"Here's what I've got so far in regards to menu." On top of the pile is my rough outline.
"This is not very detailed."
"It's the rough outline based on my research into successful restaurants."
"Can you tell me about the restaurant? Like, what kind of vibe are we going for here? What's the setting? What's the inspiration? Who are our clientele?"
"Oh! We are focused on providing a romantic meal setting. While we will have seating for larger groups, the dining room will mostly be romantic tables-for-two. We want high-quality food that doesn't break the budget or make someone feel uncultured. So, simple stuff, but good. Feel free to put your own unique twist on things."
"And the dishes that you already have planned?"
"The soup I mentioned. It's called Lacy's Special. And a few desserts from my great-grandma's super secret recipe book."
"Great. Can you write them down? I think I want to try the soup so I can make sure I have dishes that complement it."
"I have some in the kitchen that I can heat up for you. Give me a sec."
I hurry to the kitchen and heat up a bowl of soup for each of us, since I'm still hungry as well. The soup is rich and creamy and one of the best things I have ever eaten. I know I'm supposed to be humble, but I know dang well that it's good and I'm not going to apologize for making the best soup ever. Even if it did kind of destroy my life.
Once our food is warmed, I carry it carefully through the dining room to where Everett is waiting. I place his bowl and spoon down in front of him, then turn and dig into my own.
"Oh. Oh wow," he says. I look over and find him wearing an expression of awe. "This is the best soup I've ever tasted." He turns his eyes to me in wonder.
"I know. I'm a terrible cook and my experiments always turn out poorly, but this success makes up for all my other failures. It's going to be one of our signature dishes."
"Well duh."
His easy acceptance makes me smile. This is nice. A head chef who respects my decisions and isn't going to try and upstage me. Maybe Jeff's leaving will turn out to be a good thing in the end.
Everett finishes his soup and starts scribbling notes in my notebook while I take our dishes back and wash them. While I wash, I find myself humming, then singing. I don't realize how loud I am until Everett's deep, pleasant, but slightly off-key voice joins in for the chorus of "Call Me Maybe".
I look at him in surprise, but keep singing. When we get to the end, my cheeks are warm with embarrassment and I can't even meet his eyes.
He just laughs. "Is singing in the kitchen a requirement for working here?"
"No!" I answer quickly. "I'm sorry. I just forgot that I wasn't really alone. . ." I trail off.
"You don't need to apologize. It was fun! You have a much better voice than I do. I hope I didn't ruin it for you."
"Of course not!" We both look at each other in awkward silence for a few moments. "Oh, do you need help with the menu?" I ask, remembering what he was doing when I left.
"I think I've got it pretty well finished, but I'd love your input."
Returning to the dining room, we reclaim our seats and Everett begins to go over his list. The food all sounds delicious and I feel a spark of excitement inside. "Can you make all of these foods, then? You feel comfortable with this?"
"Yes," he answers. "I assume you'll want pictures for the menus, and of course you'll want to taste them yourself. Shall we do a test cooking next week, starting Monday?"
"Perfect," I answer. "The rest of the staff can come in to try some as well, if that's okay, so they know what to recommend to customers."
"Yep. Who else is there?"
"We've got 8 servers, 2 cleaners, and you and me."
"No other cooks?"
"Not yet. I wanted to make sure my cooks get along with the head chef. Will you help me with interviews next week? And if you have any recommendations, feel free to set up interviews for them."
"Sounds good."
"Will you want a separate pastry chef to be in charge of desserts?"
He thinks for a moment. "I have experience with desserts, but my true passion is more cooking than baking. It would be good to have someone else to oversee that part of the menu."
"Great. We'll have interviews for that as well. I have a few potential candidates in mind."
"So the grand opening is April 9th. We have just under two weeks to get all of this ready. What else needs to happen, besides the hiring and menu prep?"
I look around the dining room, then back at him with an eyebrow raised.
"Right. This should probably be cleaned up and organized," he agrees, waving his hands at the mess around us. "Do you have a plan for that?"
I shake my head. "Nothing beyond 'do it'."
He laughs. "I feel like that's more of an outline than a plan. Do you know how you want it arranged?"
"I have a general idea."
"Then let's get started!"
"What, now? But it's Saturday!" I look at him in confusion.
"Oh. Do you have other plans?" he asks, disappointment lacing his voice.
I shake my head, still a little bewildered by his excitement. "Of course not. This restaurant is my life. But I wouldn't think you'd want to waste your last Saturday of freedom here."
Everett looks at me in silence with a serious expression until I begin to grow uncomfortable. I'm getting ready to stand up and walk away from his unsettlingly direct gaze when he finally speaks.
"Lacy, this isn't just a job to me." I raise my eyebrow in a questioning look. "You are the first person to really take a chance on me, to let me have full creative freedom with the menu, to make the food I want to make. You trust me and you're giving me an important role in your restaurant and treating me like a partner more than just an employee. I appreciate that. I want this restaurant to succeed, and I'm willing to do whatever I can to help you make it a success."
I blink a few times, then smile. "Well, when you put it that way, I guess I do kind of see you as a partner. I would love your help with the dining room. Thank you, Everett."
"You're welcome." He stands and looks around. I stand as well and try to see the dining room from his point of view. I've been running through the chaos that is the dining room for weeks now, so I hardly notice the mess. But he must be taking in the lovely dark wood tables of various sizes and matching chairs with beautiful nature designs carved into the backs scattered about haphazardly. The tables are covered in piles of tablecloths, pieces of the centerpieces I want to make, and other extraneous decorations that I need to find space for.
He whistles. "So, where should we start?"