spots in the shade beneath trees and the hollows of hills. Everything is suddenly vibrant green, the sky wide open and clear, a shade of blue so intense it makes your heart turn over to look at it.
The farm glitters beneath the springtime sun. I crack my windows, the smells of grass and earth filling my lungs. Horses in the field to my right toss their manes. Chef Katie’s line cooks are in the enormous garden to my left, baskets on their hips as they gather whatever produce wasn’t squashed by the late spring snow. I wonder what alterations Chef has had to make to tonight’s menu. Did the asparagus make it? If not, what is she subbing in the agnolotti? That Tuscan kale, maybe?
Oooooh, if that’s the case, then that spicy Napa Valley Cabernet Franc would be perfect with it.
I’m gripped by sharp-edged longing. I love my job here.
I love it here, period. So much.
But I can’t stay. If it was meant to be, it would’ve worked out, right?
I want to turn around when the barn comes into view. I may love my job, but I do not love the idea of facing the mess I’ve made. Still, I park in the lot behind the restaurant and march through the door, determined to show up anyway. If I only have two weeks left, I’m going to try to enjoy them. A tall order, considering I’ll have to see the man I love but can’t have every damn day.
Still, I have to try.
Guests are eager to escape their rooms after being cooped up, so we’re slammed right from the get-go. It’s a nice distraction, but my heart is lodged somewhere in my throat as I wait to run into Samuel or Hank or any Beauregard, really.
I’m distracted to the point that I can barely function. I drop a tray carrying a bottle of Pinot Grigio and four glasses. The shatter brings the noise in the restaurant to a temporary standstill as everyone stares. I mix up a Chardonnay and a Sauv blanc I have chilling at the wait station and end up serving two tables the wrong wines. It’s not the end of the world, but when the bottle of Chardonnay you’re serving costs upward of two hundred dollars, your customers aren’t going to be very happy.
I totally bungle not one but two tickets. I get well-deserved side-eye from Chef Katie when I pick up a hot plate without a towel and burn my hand.
I’m a mess, and it’s embarrassing. Also embarrassing? The way I catch staff looking at me every so often. It’s obvious they know something’s up. Makes me wonder how much they know. Are they looking because I’m fucking up? Or are they looking because I fucked my co-director?
Brunch service passes, then lunch. Dinner’s around the corner, but Samuel is still nowhere to be found.
At quarter till five he walks in. He’s wearing a suit, as usual, but this one is alarmingly subdued for him. It’s black, no pinstripes, no pocket square. His simple white button-down is open at the neck.
His eyes find mine across the restaurant, and I’m hit by a tidal wave of emotion.
He is so fucking handsome. And he looks so distraught. His eyes are red, and his scruff is scruffier than usual, like he hasn’t shaved in a day or two. The naked hurt in his gaze has me putting a hand on my chest to keep my heart inside its proper cavity.
He immediately comes to me.
“Hi,” he says.
I smell his skin and want to cry. “Hey.”
“My office? Just for a minute.”
“Sure.”
I trail him upstairs. A few pairs of eyes follow us. My face burns.
Samuel closes the door behind me and moves to stand at his desk. I stay put by the door. Not wanting to stay but not wanting to go, either.
“I’ve resigned,” he says.
I startle, my heart falling. “But you can’t!”
“I did. Effective immediately. You’re my replacement.”
Dizzy, my hand moves to my stomach. I try to breathe through the shock roiling my gut. “I can’t replace you if I’ve resigned too.”
“You said one of us has to go. It’s not gonna be you. I have no idea what the fuck is going on with Hank, and quite frankly, I don’t care. So that leaves me.” His eyes soften. “We need you, Emma. The farm’s gotta move forward, and you’re the only one who’s up to the task. That much has become clear.”
I’m blinking back tears, wondering what in the world is