Julien shrugged and went back to grinding the peppercorns. It wasn’t until he texted Simon later that night and he replied with a knife emoji that Julien understood Simon was not coming back to DAX.
3
Lumi
At six o’clock on weekdays on West 218th Street, the pungent smell of doughnut grease hung heavy in the air. Lumi could not understand how the Twin Donut staff could be unaware that cheap oil being used to fry at too-low temperatures produced a nauseating stench. The worst part of it was that it covered up the smells of the other food that she loved being made on that same street, like the aroma of long-grain rice cooking to perfection in so many households.
The rice scent trickled in through her door, since she had her shutters closed tight, befitting the chilly November Monday. Getting used to the New York winters was a step that Lumi had skipped. She flicked on her natural light therapy lamp and settled onto the burgundy velour couch with a box of pistachio cream puffs that Magda had made her during the downtime that afternoon.
No sooner had she undone the purple grosgrain ribbon than her phone began to ring. She sighed, eyeing the cream puffs with longing. Rafelina, read the screen. She considered covering it with a pillow and telling her friend and accountant that she was in yoga.
Reluctantly, she pressed the “talk” button and raised the phone to her ear. “Hey, Rafi,” she said, trying to sound upbeat.
“Hey . . . Lumi,” Rafelina said with a heavy sigh. “Listen, I got a letter from the management company today.”
“Ross and Greene?” Lumi asked. They both knew there was only one management company.
“They’re raising the rent by ten thousand dollars a month,” Rafelina blurted out.
A stray dab of pistachio cream had affixed itself to the side of the box, and Lumi brushed it away with a graceful finger. “Well, no big deal, right? We’ll just need to sell more. Do a Groupon deal, maybe, or expand the bakery section. We’ll make up the difference,” she said, nodding emphatically to herself as she spoke and ignoring the quaver in her own voice.
The line was silent except for Rafelina’s breathing on the other side. “Lumi . . . honey. I hate to be the one to put it this way, you know, I really do. But you’re already going under as it is.”
Shivering, Lumi pulled the sherpa throw she kept on the couch all the way up to her neck. “Well, yeah, it might be slow at first, but this is a good motivator. It’s lighting a fire under our asses. I’ve been talking about expanding the bakery for months now; this will be my chance to actually do it. Once it’s under way, I’m sure we’ll start making up the difference—”
“Lu. This is a forty percent increase in your rent. And you haven’t broken even since August.”
Lumi frowned. “Well, that’s not true, Rafi, you see—”
“You’ve been paying all the bills since September with your savings. You can tell anyone else that things are balancing out, but I’m your accountant, sweetie, remember?” she asked Lumi.
Lumi’s heart sank. It was true. She hadn’t wanted to focus on the bottom line and hoped things would get better after the winter. But with what Rafelina was telling her, even if they did, it wasn’t going to be enough.
“I’m sorry, hon, but unless a miracle happens in the next thirty days, you are going to have to close Caraluna by the end of the year.”
Lumi sank back into the couch. She no longer had a desire to talk. “Hey, let me call you back a little later, Rafi,” she said.
“Lumi, are you okay? I know what this means to you, and—”
“Yup, I’m okay, talk to you soon!” she said, pressing the “end call” button as fast as she could.
The box of cream puffs slipped from the couch and landed on the hardwood floor with a thud, and she didn’t notice. All she could hear was her mother Inés’s voice in her head saying, Following dreams is what stupid people do. And you know what they end up with? Nothing. Lumi had heard that so many times . . . and choosing another reality for herself hadn’t prevented her from ending up where she was now.
Her dream was dying. All the nights of hard work. The meticulous planning. The flourishes of creativity that came straight from her heart. Her small but devoted base of regulars, who came back time after time to be delighted and find new favorite meals. How would she face them and tell them she was no longer going to be able to share her offerings? Her throat felt like it was growing thicker, slowly closing. And what would she tell her staff?
She crumpled onto her burgundy couch. This next catering job had to go well. Caraluna needed it to. She needed it to.
4
Lumi
Lumi gazed out over the Hudson, the twinkling lights on the other side of the river distracting her from her monumental headache. From the burned flan to the beef in the ropa vieja that refused to soften, she had never catered a wedding where so many things had gone wrong. Just when she needed them to go right more than ever.
Of course it had to happen at the wedding of the most influential clients she’d ever had, famed violinist Oscar Rosario and renowned ballet dancer Carolina Urbaez. Hundreds of New York restaurateurs had coveted the gig, and yet it had gone to her because she was the only one Carolina trusted to pull off a perfect Dominican cake. At least that had gone right.
She sidled up to the bar and gave a nod to the bespectacled bartender, who acknowledged her with a small wave.
“I’ll have a whiskey sour and a shot of Brugal,” she said, and allowed her tired body to sink onto the cushioned seat. She stared down at the mirrored countertop, her amber skin and impeccably outlined brown eyes staring back at her. She had made peace with her long face a while back, but the counter mirror stretched it to almost comical proportions. Good. She could use a laugh the way things were going.
“Had a hard day?” a husky male voice said too close to her ear.
“Jesus Christ!” she said. “I didn’t see . . .” Her voice trailed off as she came face-to-face with the most striking man she’d ever seen. The shock of crimson hair that fell onto his forehead cast broad shadows over his brow. His eyes were a deep brown, and even his eyebrows were a bright shade of red. His eyelashes were red too and longer than she would have expected a man’s to be. A smattering of freckles dusted his nose and cheeks. She knew she’d seen him before somewhere, but she couldn’t place him.
“Y-yes, you could say that,” Lumi said, willing herself to stop ogling his square jaw and train her eyes on her drink, which the bartender had just set down on the gleaming countertop. She took a sip, feeling the stranger following her every move, and fixed her gaze on her glass until she felt him focus back on his own drink. A sideways squint revealed it was a bourbon on the rocks. A tiny metal fishhook caught her eye, and she noticed it was fixed to a black leather cord around his wrist.
He took a swig and, after a moment, began to speak. “I can’t believe I lost the gig to this caterer. Those beef strips were so overcooked I could have tied shoes with them,” he said, shaking his head.
Her shoulders dropped and she willed herself not to reply. So much for setting a trend.