“Mum, it was a screwup, not a misunderstanding.”
“Language, Alastair.”
“Anyway, I thought about leaving. I could make a fresh start, create a new identity. But I like who I’ve become and I like this place. I fit here. I’ve made new friends, and it has an exciting, eclectic food scene I want to watch grow. I’m not proud of how I started, but I found myself here. I’m not going to leave and risk getting lost again. So, I’m afraid you’ll just have to visit soon. Though try the summer next time.” It went unspoken, but he knew they were thinking that Milwaukee also housed the woman he loved.
• • • • •
The noise of many people moving at once brought Al out of his memories. The service ended and people filtered out into a large dining room, forming a line at the Spanferkel buffet.
“You coming?” John pointed a finger toward the food.
“No, not hungry.”
John joined the line as Al noticed Lou in her seat, waving her friends toward the food, her head down, and a wadded tissue swatting at tears. He’d taken a step in her direction when he saw Devlin sit down next to her. Al stepped into the foyer to watch. He should’ve left. But he didn’t.
Lou stiffened but nodded when Devlin spoke. She stood to walk away. This time when his lips moved, she turned and strode toward the bathroom.
Devlin rose and stalked toward the exit but noticed Al hovering in the entry.
“You. You screwed it all up,” he said, pointing his finger into Al’s chest. Al didn’t flinch.
“You don’t get it, do you?” Al said, moving Devlin’s finger off his body.
“Get what? That people don’t leave me? That she belongs with me? I can take care of her.”
“Lou can take care of herself.” Al paused. “You dated her for a couple of years, right?”
“Yes.”
“In all that time, you never once understood who she was. She has a gift, one you’ve never appreciated. She has too much talent to hide away in your kitchen preparing fancy meals. She’s not a private chef you can shag after dinner.”
For someone who grew up at an all-boys school as the son of a teacher, Al possessed a surprising lack of knowledge about how to take a punch. So when Devlin threw a hammer fist at his face, Al’s reflexes didn’t know to duck. He heard a sound like a lobster cracking open. Hot blood streamed from his nose, leaving an iron taste in his month.
“I guess I hit a nerve,” Al said, trying to stanch the flow with his thumb and index finger.
Devlin pulled back his fist to deliver another punch, when Al held up his hand.
“One more question. Why did you send me that note card suggesting I review Luella’s? You expected me to skewer it, right?”
Devlin dropped his arm, guilt on his face.
“That’s what I thought,” Al said. “You were so used to getting your way, you didn’t care if it destroyed your own fiancée’s dreams.”
His eyes lifted to see Lou standing in the doorway, her brows knitted together. He nodded to her, then turned and walked out, pulling a white handkerchief from his pocket to mop up the damage.
• • • • •
Lou stepped forward to go after him, then stopped. It wasn’t the right moment. She needed more information and time. Her wounds still stung from his lies. But Devlin. It should surprise her that he had urged the infamous A. W. Wodyski to review her restaurant, but it didn’t. At the least, she should feel something, but she just didn’t care about him anymore. She was more concerned about the bloodied writer who ran out into the snow.
At least Devlin’s hand looked like it hurt, too. He rubbed it and stretched the fingers, working out the pain from punching with enough force to break Al’s nose. Devlin turned around to see Lou watching him.
“Lou, you need—”
“No.” Lou held her hand up to stop his prattling. “How dare you take my choices away from me. After all this time, you still know nothing about me. I’ve never wanted your vision. You’ve always pushed me toward a mold you thought I should fit into. But I’m not a little housewife, content to entertain your colleagues over dinner parties, staying home to raise children I’m not sure I want. And I’m not your mother, working at a job I hate to pay the bills. Quit trying to make me into someone else. I’m me. A chef, complete with burns, freakishly strong forearms, and an affinity for brightly colored plastic footwear.” Lou paused. “I’d thank you for coming to the funeral, but you never even met Otto and Gertrude.”
Lou stepped forward to give Devlin another piece of her mind when Harley appeared and loomed in front of him, arms crossed, face foreboding. Behind him appeared the scruffy guy who came in with Al, though his pose of disdain didn’t induce the same level of intimidation as Harley’s. Sue rounded out the trio. They glared at Devlin until he retreated to the door and out into the snow.
Lou joined the three enforcers in time to hear the new guy speak.
“He really is a tool, isn’t he? Who punches a diplomatic guy like Al?”
Lou put a hand out and said, “Hi, I’m Lou.”
A grin split the man’s beard, reminding her of a Muppet.
“I’m John.” Lou was about to ask how he knew Otto and Gertrude when he added, “I work with Al at the paper.”
Sue laughed. “He told us in line he’s the style editor.”
Trying to process him as a style editor distracted Lou from all the questions she had about Al and the note card from Devlin that he’d mentioned.
“Really?” Lou scanned him up and down. “I always pictured someone more like Tim Gunn.”
“That’s why I don’t usually tell people, but I felt honesty would be a better approach given recent events. I’m now regretting that decision.”
He glared at Sue, who giggled even more. Even Harley suppressed a laugh.
After seeing Al in person, coupled with the voice mail he had left, Lou had questions about him and his motivations. John could probably answer those questions.
“It’s nice to meet you, John. We need to talk. Tell me, how do you feel about Spanferkel?”
• • • • •
Lou tapped her foot on the coffee table as she and Tom waited for the lender to retrieve them. Her business plan sat in her lap, along with her loan documents. A woman with straight, brown hair and a friendly smile greeted them.
“Hi, Ms. Johnson, I’m Lisa. Why don’t you follow me to my office?”
Lou and Tom trailed after her, settling into a small room. Pictures of children lined the bookshelf and manila envelopes were stacked on every surface. Lisa began flipping through the folder in front of her.
“Now, let’s start with where we are. You’ve already missed a few payments on the loan with us for your current restaurant, Luella’s. Correct?” Lou nodded. “Unfortunately, I’m under pressure from the loan committee to declare it a default and accelerate the final payment. I’m assuming you’re here to discuss that?”
Lou’s stomach curled. She hated this part, the negotiating, the possible rejection. Tom kicked her. She swallowed.
“Yes.” Her voice squeaked. “I’d like to propose a second chance. One that would let me keep my loan, avoid an auction, and get payment back on track.”
Lou felt sweat dripping down her back. If her nerves didn’t let up, she’d leave a puddle on the chair.
“I like that as an idea, but what has changed?”
Lou laid out her new business plan and flipped to a page covered in figures.
“Recently, I inherited a house. I plan to sell it and use the proceeds to help cover some of my debts. I’ve also acquired an investor.” Lou pointed at Tom, who grinned at the lender.
Lisa smiled back, then studied the numbers.
“This does seem to solve your cash problem, but I don’t see how this will help with the restaurant you just closed.”
“I’d like to restructure the loan for a new restaurant. The business plan outlines everything.”