“I’m so sorry, Lou.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I thought I accepted it months ago, but now that it’s less than one month away . . . it’s really hard.” The table clouded over as if she were looking at it through a fishbowl. Some of her face muscles started to cramp from holding in the tears.
“I don’t mean to cry again; it’s just . . . I worked so hard and I was so close. I keep wishing I could do it over, do it better. Now I just hope I don’t owe money after the auction. If I could do it again, I’d . . . do things different. But I don’t think I have the heart to try again.”
Al got up, knelt before her, and grabbed her hands. She couldn’t stop her heart from doing a little unexpected flip-flop.
“Don’t say that. I’ll help you do anything. Don’t give up on your dream. It’s not fair I get mine and you don’t.”
Lou took a shuddering breath and dried her eyes.
“Enough serious for today. Today is for giving thanks.” Lou looked into Al’s upturned face. “And I am so thankful you’ve finally started wearing jeans instead of khakis every day.”
Al laughed.
“And I’m thankful you introduced me to squeaky cheese and frozen custard.”
Al kissed the back of her hand, soothing her with his gentle touch. He still believed in her. Lou leaned forward and kissed the top of his head. She would find a new dream.
• CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE •
Lou sat at the center table, her empty restaurant still and peaceful. She usually liked the pristine solitude of an empty restaurant right before open, when the silverware lay ready for use, the bread warmed in drawers, prep cooks smoked their cigarettes behind the Dumpster having finished their mise-en-place for the night, the entire restaurant waiting for action. Today was different.
Dishes lay wrapped in boxes and the last few bottles of wine sat along the counter, ready to go home as gifts for her guests. Blank walls studded with nails bespoke the decorations that once hung. The tables sat bare, all the tablecloths sent back to the rental company. Most of the pots and pans sat on a counter in the kitchen, recently scrubbed and ready for auction. All the cupboards and shelves echoed with emptiness, their contents packed in boxes or set out to be used for tonight’s feast. Yes, today was definitely different.
Open cookbooks and a scribbled-upon notebook covered the table. Lou had searched for a few ideas to add to Luella’s last meal. Tonight she’d hold a dinner for the restaurant’s remaining staff, Otto and Gertrude, and Al. Yesterday had been the last official day. Today, she’d use the last of her supplies before packing it up. Sue and Harley were starting new jobs after the New Year.
She should probably find some work, too. She picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and swallowed her pride.
After a few rings, Chef Tom’s booming voice said, “Are you finally coming to work with me?”
Lou laughed, feeling better already.
“Get out of my head. Yes, I’m calling to beg for a job.”
“It’s me who’s begging.”
Lou’s eyes began to tear up.
“This means a lot, Tom.”
“You’d do the same.”
“I owe you one.”
Her voice cracked.
She hung up the phone, one more step away from her past and toward her new future. The bells jangled on the front door, a reminder to pack them before she forgot. She quickly wiped her tears away.
“Hey, love, I didn’t expect you until later. I thought your parents were getting the grand tour,” Lou said as she turned around to greet Al. But instead of Al’s warm British accent, she heard a familiar voice, colder than she remembered.
“It’s time we had our discussion, Elizabeth.” Devlin’s eyes reflected the chill in his voice. Lou inhaled as she stood up.
“We have nothing to discuss. Leave, please. You never came here when we were together, and I don’t want you here now.”
Devlin took his time walking toward her, observing all the packed boxes, empty walls, and clear tabletops like a general studying the enemy’s weaknesses.
“I won’t be long.”
“Get out before—”
“Before what? You call the police?” A corner of Devlin’s mouth turned up. “Really, you’re going that route?”
“Fine.” Lou waved her hand, indicating he should get on with it.
Devlin stopped to stand in front of Lou, and his eyes softened as he took in her appearance: her hair piled on top of her head, her clean but tired face and white chef’s coat.
“We had a good plan together. We could still get back on track.” He reached up to brush a strand of hair away from her face. Lou swatted it aside.
“Don’t.”
Devlin’s eyes hardened like those of a hawk spotting its prey, and his lips pressed firmly together.
“I see. So, what does my replacement do for work?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I think it is. I still want you in my life, even after all this time. I need to know he can take care of you better than I can.”
Lou huffed, but she realized the sooner she played his game, the sooner he would go.
“He writes.”
“Ah yes, a writer. Sounds almost as stable as a restaurant owner. What does he write?”
“He’s a freelancer. And he just started as food critic for the paper.”
“Just started? Huh. It took him a while to find a regular job.”
Lou sensed Devlin building his argument, setting up his points as he would in front of a judge and jury.
“Quit the grandstanding. This isn’t court.”
“Isn’t it? I think there’ll be some judging needed after I tell you what Wonder Boy did.”
“Are you so petty you’ll try to ruin the one good thing in my life right now? That’s below you, Devlin.”
“I’m only thinking of you. I want to make sure you know who you sleep with at night.” Devlin picked up a pen and flipped it between his fingers. “I have to admit, I’m surprised you’re so committed to the man who destroyed your business.”
Lou’s face scrunched. “What are you talking about?”
“A. W. Wodyski.” Devlin tilted his head, studying her reaction. “Haven’t you ever wondered who he really was? You had to know that wasn’t his real name.”
Lou stilled.
“I did some research after I saw you at Irish Fest. I wanted to know who my future bride was spending time with.” Devlin paused and looked Lou in the eye. “I really do care for you, Lou. You’ll realize soon I know what’s best for you.”
He looked as if he meant it, every word. Lou’s spine shuddered.
“You’re making a lot of assumptions you have no business making.”
Devlin leaned in toward Lou, but she took a step back. He inhaled and nodded.
“Imagine my surprise when I found out your toiling young writer’s big secret. When you think about it, it starts to make sense. Wodyski started about the time Al moved here. Wodyski died, then your Al happened to get the open position. What if Wodyski never died? What if he just started using his real name?”
Lou’s stomach twisted as she sucked in all the awful words. She wanted them to bounce off, to not stick.
“You . . . you know nothing,” Lou whispered, then found her voice. “That’s all circumstantial.”
“You don’t have to believe me now. I know the truth. Now you do, too.”
“You’re lying.”
It hurt to fight back the tears, but she would not cry in front of him.
“I don’t lie, Lou. I may shape and bend the facts in my favor or make tactful omissions, but I don’t lie. You know that.” He paused, studying her clenched jaw and fists. “For when you’re ready to accept the truth.”