“What happened?” Al finally said.
“Come on, dude; don’t make a big deal.”
“Don’t make a big deal? This is a very big deal. You have a face.” Al’s voice got louder and other staff started popping up to see what had happened. The women didn’t pop back down. John started looking uncomfortable with the staring.
“Please,” John said.
“This is what you were hiding. I thought a dog bit half your face off, or you had a mole the size of Hong Kong. Mate, you’re a looker.”
John sighed, pulled out his chair, and plopped into it.
“This sucks. I feel naked.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “I’m actually colder now. I need more clothes because the breeze makes my face cold. How dumb is that?”
“So why the change?”
“Paris.”
“I thought fashion season was over.”
“I’m doing a piece on how the houses translate their haute couture into prêt-à-porter. I’m going to Louis Vuitton, Catherine Malandrino, Givenchy, Chanel. I don’t know how Hannah did it, but she got me ins at the best.”
“It’s because I’m the best editor in the world and you two will never forget it,” Hannah said as she walked into their cubicle. “You look hot. If I didn’t know what you looked like yesterday, I’d consider cuckolding my husband.”
John looked horrified.
Hannah laughed.
“Buck up, pretty boy.” She turned her attention to Al and said, “So Al, what’s in the box? It smells incredible.”
Al hadn’t noticed; he’d been too fixated on John’s transformation. He took a deep breath and sniffed.
It couldn’t be.
But please, God, let it be.
He swiveled to face the box, a bold kelly green, the color grass yearned to attain, tied with a piece of white string. Taped to the top was a crisp white envelope with a small bulge. He carefully peeled it off, enjoying the smell, the rising optimism in his chest. He pulled out a heavy white stock card, the kind wedding invitations were printed on. It revealed a sample menu for a new restaurant named A Simple Twist, featuring an eclectic, ever-changing menu that caused his mouth to salivate. The only constant from day to day would be an amazing coconut cake. Al smiled.
Something fell out onto the desk. It looked like a black oval. When he flipped it over, he realized it was a magnet: a pristine white coconut cake on a matching stand, set against a background the same color as the box. He mentally cleared a spot in the middle of his cast-iron skillet and added the magnet to his collection, leaving ample black space around it.
With reverence usually reserved for a favorite toy or Grandma Eileen’s Waterford Crystal goblets, Al untied the box and lifted the cover. Coconut teased him with tropical deliciousness; then the vanilla he so often smelled on Lou’s neck wafted up. He ached to hold her, smell that spot right behind her ear. The cake, frosted and covered with toasted coconut, beckoned, wanting to be cut and eaten immediately.
What did this mean? Had she forgiven him? He checked the envelope for a note, a hint, anything to tell him how to proceed.
He turned the menu over. Written on the back in Lou’s inconsistent scrawl was an address and three words: “Bring the Cake.”
This time Al laughed.
“What?” Hannah and John said at the same time.
“I’m taking the afternoon off.” With that, Al grabbed his coat, picked up the cake box, and headed toward the exit. Hannah stepped in front of him.
“You have a deadline.”
“And where are you going with the cake?” John asked.
Al looked straight at Hannah and said, “I’m sorry. I’ve never missed a deadline. I know this one’s important, but I couldn’t finish it now if I tried. I’ve got to know what this means.” Al lifted the cake. “I’ll take any consequence you give me. I’ll write obits for a month, report on traffic court—I don’t care. I’m going.”
Hannah stepped aside with a nod, and he jogged as fast as he could without jostling the box.
The address on the menu was only a few blocks from the paper. He arrived in minutes, breathing hard, though not from the fast pace. Outside, thick green curtains covered the window, hiding the construction within, with the exception of a small table covered in matching kelly green. On the table sat a white cake stand with the words “A Simple Twist, Coming Soon” painted in green.
Al yanked on the door, his palms slipping on the silver handle, his heart pounding.
• • • • •
Lou looked up from the open kitchen when she heard the door jingle. Earlier, she had hung up the bells she had rescued from Luella’s. At A Simple Twist, watching the chefs work would be an integral part of the experience. Not to mention, she’d also get to watch the guests. She smiled when her eyes met Al’s unsure gaze as he stood in the restaurant’s entrance staring at her, not quite believing she had really summoned him here.
“I like the name,” Al said. He took a few more steps into the restaurant.
“Thanks.” Lou noticed he had the box. “Thank God—I worried the office vultures would discover it before you did. Or that John might drop it.” She walked around the counter carrying a plate, a knife, and two forks.
“John? You saw John?”
“Of course. Didn’t he deliver it? He was supposed to. Doesn’t he look amazing? Who knew all that was hiding under the bushman? Poor guy doesn’t know what to do with all the attention.” She worked hard to keep her voice casual. She hadn’t been sure he would come, that he still felt the same. She still didn’t know about the latter.
Lou noticed Al struggling to keep up. Warmth for him bubbled to the surface, but not enough to enlighten him immediately.
“How is this possible?” Al asked, turning his head to look around the restaurant.
Lou’s eyes misted and her voice cracked as she said, “Follow me.”
She led him to a table standing in the center of the dining room. On it sat a silver framed picture of Otto and Gertrude, their cheeks squished together, making them look decades younger than they had been. Al’s eyes watered a bit when he noticed, making Lou feel even better about the decision she’d made to take Gertrude’s advice.
Lou reached for the frame and opened the back, pulling out a folded paper.
“Before Gertrude and Otto’s funeral, their attorney contacted me about their will. They had left me their house. It wasn’t enough to pay for a new restaurant, but enough to reignite the dream—which was their intention. The money came with two requests. One was that I reserve a table in the center of the restaurant for them.”
Lou looked at the picture of the smiling faces. God, she missed Gertrude’s optimism and Otto’s steadfastness.
“What was the second?”
“That if I got a second chance, I needed to give one, too.”
Lou cut a piece of cake and set it on the plate.
“Where did the rest of the money come from?”
Lou smiled.
“I did it the old-fashioned way—hard work, creativity, and help; in my case that means Chef Tom and the bank.”
Al nodded, unsurprised by her accomplishment.
“There’s one more thing,” Lou said, looking serious again. She reached into her apron pocket and set the red leather ring box Al had given her on the table.
“You gave this to me. You should have it back. . . .”
“I don’t want it back. I gave it to you because—”
“Let me finish. You should have it back until you know what you want to do with it.”
Al’s face melted from anger to relief to understanding. He reached for the box, and Lou worried for a moment he meant to take it back. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Things were going so well. Instead of pocketing the ring, Al got down onto one knee, popped open the box, and pulled out the ring he bought months ago.
A little awed, he slowly looked up at Lou, giving himself time to gather his words.
With a deep breath he said, “Lou. My feelings have not changed at all. I’ve hoped for this chance and I’ll be damned if I’m not taking it. I love you. I love you for the million kindnesses in your heart, your infectious enthusiasm, your search for the perfect deep-fried cheese curds. I love that you take apart a recipe, look at the parts, then put it back together better than before. I love that my first memory of you is the smell of vanilla, coconut, and bacon. I love that you wear Crocs in the kitchen and heels when we go on dates. I want to fill a wall with magnets for all our special memories. I want to carve the Thanksgiving turkey using your hand-painted carving set every year for the next fifty. I want to cook with you, laugh with you, make love to you, and most of all, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Elizabeth Luella Johnson, will you marry me?”