He waves his hand at me. “I know when fudge is good, and this is good.”
“You think?” I take off the clear plastic cover and flip the block over on the table. With my metal scraper, I slice off a piece and take a taste. I’m immediately hit with an overwhelming wave of sweet that nearly rips my tongue in half.
“Good, right?” Dad is nodding as I run to the fridge for water.
“Dad, that was . . . oh fuck, that was gross. You need to get your taste buds checked.”
“What?” His brow furrows as he reaches for a bite. He chews and then grimaces before letting out a deep, throaty chuckle. “Well, that teaches me to make fudge while drinking beer. Let’s just chuck that slab, huh?”
“Good idea.”
While I’m clearing the sherbet fudge from the counter, Dad says, “You know, I’m glad I have you for a second. I wanted to talk to you privately.”
“Is it about bombarding me yesterday?”
“Maybe.” He smiles and leans against one of the stainless steel countertops that stretch along the side of the kitchen. “I could read it all over your face that you were shocked, to say the least. I was, too, when Eric and Eve approached me without you, but I had to admire them. Eric insisted that I’d either take on him and Eve together or neither of them. He stepped up for his sister, told me why she would be perfect for the job and why all three of you would be perfect for the job. His parents would have been proud.”
“He said all three of us?”
He nods. “And he said that Bar 79’s success didn’t come from either one of you but from the chemistry you two had in the kitchen. I couldn’t agree more. With Eve at the helm managing everything, I know that this is going to be successful. I did mention to Eve that while you two are working out the details of the menu, I’d want to put her through some vigorous training during the little spare time she has. She said she was ready for it and will do anything to make this a success. Those are the kinds of things I want to hear.”
“This means a lot to her,” I admit. “It means a lot to us, Dad. I don’t really know what to say about the chance you’ve given all three of us, but I feel like I’ll forever be repaying you.”
He shakes his head and pushes off the counter, stepping closer and placing his large hand on my shoulder. “Don’t you realize, Reid, that I’m not doing you a favor? You’re actually helping me out. You’re bringing a dream of mine to reality, and for that, I’ll always be grateful to you, son.”
Fuck.
What’s with the emotions I’ve been having lately? You’d think I was a pubescent tween. It’s been getting goddamn annoying.
But there’s something that happens to you as a man as you get older and watch your parents age, especially your dad. There is this innate need to help him, to impress him, to garner his forever respect, to make sure you turn out to be the man he’s always dreamed you’d be. But after the restaurant crashed and burned, I gave up hope of being much more than an embarrassment.
Now, though, there’s hope—a whisper in my mind that I’m on my way to becoming the man he raised me to be, and that means more than anything.
This is the man who put his faith in my talent, who took a chance on a young punk who wanted nothing more than to cook. He invested in me, cheered for me, and stood by my side when the worst happened. He’s picked me up when I’ve been down, he’s lifted me up when no one else would, and he’s trusted me with his dream.
In this moment, I make a silent promise to myself. I will do everything possible to make sure this restaurant is not only a true success but also a legacy.
I reach out and pull my dad into a hug, and we take the moment to pat each other on the back, a silent exchange of appreciation passing between us.
“I’m really excited about this, Dad,” I say as we pull away. “The design meeting is going to be amazing, and I actually cooked something for Eve last night.”
His brows shoot up. “You did?”
“Yup.” I decide to leave out the cooking-naked part. “Made spaghetti and meatballs. It felt really fucking good too, like I was breathing again.”
He breaks out into a grin. “That makes me happier than you could ever imagine. And I think it has to do with the woman you were cooking for.”
I couldn’t agree more.
“She’s everything to me, Dad.”
“I can see it in your eyes.” He pauses. “Eric doesn’t know yet, does he?”
A wave of anxiety hits me, and I shake my head. “Because of Janelle and what she did to us, we thought keeping things quiet right now might be a good idea. We plan on telling him but want to prove to him how well we can work together first. Are you going to be okay with that?”
He looks to the side and lets out a heavy sigh. “Not really, but I also get why you’re holding back. My suggestion to you, son, is to tell him sooner rather than later. Prove yourself early on—both of you, prove your investment in this, and then tell him. Because the longer you wait, the worse it could be.”
“I know. We just need a little time. Like you said, prove ourselves and then come out with it. After everything Janelle did to us, after leaving him with our money, I know he’s not going to trust any kind of workplace romance, even if it’s between his best friend and his sister.”
“There’s history there, but if any two people can do it, I know it’s you.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
EVE
Want to know what’s incredibly sexy?
Watching Reid in his element, speaking with such confidence and conviction. It’s taking every last ounce of strength to not reach out to hold his hand or cup his junk. Yeah, I have an urge to reach out and just cup him through his pants, make my hand a penis hammock. It’s an odd urge, one that I’m not entirely proud of, though it’s there. But in front of Mr. Knightly, Eric, and the architect—my little fantasy is wildly inappropriate.
“So you don’t want to expand into the harbor?” Giselle, the architect, asks as we all study the wall that runs parallel to the water, charted out on the blueprints spread out atop the table we’re hovering around.
“No.” Reid shakes his head. “Not if it’s going to take five months. We can still have an indoor-outdoor space using the square footage we have.” He waves his hand through the air. “We could bring the warehouse wall back six feet, which would give enough room for a small patio. Then line the entire wall with pocket doors so they can slide open on a nice day. Line the ceiling with heaters that point inward for those chilly nights so patrons can still feel like they’re outside but not freeze their asses off. And on the outside, silent fans to deter flies and insects from coming inside the restaurant.”
Huh, who knew fans could do that?
“Good idea,” Eric says, his eyes lighting up. “The safety rail can be glass so when you’re sitting, the view isn’t obstructed, and if people want to take pictures, they can.”
“Exactly. But have all the seats under the roof, nothing actually on the patio.”
Eric nods. “And with the color motif from the Landing as inspiration, it’s going to be perfect.”