Chapter Seven
Maddox
“That doesn’t match,” Abby said as I handed her another tie. I frowned at the gray pinstripe suit I wore and the thin, black tie in my hand.
“You can never go wrong with black and gray, Abby,” I said, but put it away.
“This one?” She picked up a solid blue tie and held it up to my suit. “I like it.”
“Of course you do.” I frowned. “But I don’t know if a young woman would like the same color tie as my 3-year-old.” But what was the point? I fixed the tie and sat on the bed with Abby. “This is a mistake.”
“Why?” She hopped down beside me. “You like her?”
“I don’t know her,” I said. But I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her once. “It’s my first date since I’ve had you, sweetie. It’s been a long time since I even smiled at another girl. Is that okay?” I gazed into her eyes for any sign of hesitation or grief. “You can tell me if you don’t like this. If you don’t want me to go, I’ll stay home and we can watch “Frozen” again.”
Abby narrowed her eyes in concentration. “She’s pretty,” she said. “Her hair is really red. Redder than any other hair I’ve seen. She reminds me of a mermaid, Daddy. I want you to go. Uncle Nick is better at singing “Let It Go” than you, anyway.”
I laughed; the insult definitely wasn’t as bad as it could have been.
“Okay. I’ll go on a date with this woman, but only because you like her hair. Now come on, let’s drop you off at Nick’s.”
She held my hand as we walked over, but the moment the door opened, she flew into the house and looked for the latest painting that Nick had been working on. A child in the middle of an ocean of balloons, floating in midair as she popped each balloon and giggled as the paint splattered her skin. Obviously, the child was Abby, and she demanded to see it every time we came over.
“Got your big date?” Nick teased me as he closed the door behind us.
“Yeah.” I checked my watch; 6:15. “Getting there a little early. I’ve never been to the restaurant, so I wanted to take a look around first.”
“Surprised Jackie let you off for the night,” he joked, and I rolled my eyes. He knew Jackie worked for me, despite how it might seem sometimes.
“It was a busy morning at Alaskan Way, but lunch wasn’t too bad. I’m going to stop by after close though, and make sure the finances for the month are in order.” I straightened my shirt and tie and then kneeled in front of Abby. “I’m heading out now. Have fun with Nick, say hi to Elsa.”
She hugged me, and I held on to her tightly. “Elsa is in the TV,” she said. “I can’t say hi.”
“Oh, of course. My bad.”
We said our goodbyes, and I squeezed Nick’s shoulder. “Thanks again for watching her.”
“Of course.” He seemed almost shocked. “Our time together is the best part of the week.” I smiled. Nick watched Abby often during long days of me visiting my restaurants. I’ll never be able to voice how much it meant that Nick was like a true uncle to her. “Have fun with the redhead. Don’t get food poisoning.” He curled his lip as if he were disgusted and let out a chuckle.
I laughed. Nick and I both had heard horror stories of Thad’s, but I was willing to try something new.
“I’ll shoot you a text when I’m on my way back here,” I said and pulled the door shut behind me.
The beginning keys of “Do You Want to Build a Snowman?” filled the silence as I walked down the steps toward my car. I got in my car and drove to the restaurant with clammy hands. I hadn’t been that nervous in ages, and I sure hoped she was worth it.
The restaurant isn’t that bad, I thought as I waited at the front. It wasn’t fancy, and the steaks were all less than 100 dollars, but the wine selection was decent, music was low, and waitresses were average. I paused to glance at the kitchen and took some time memorizing the menu. It wasn’t upscale Italian as I would have suggested, but seemed to be comfort American instead. It seemed I was the only one who made a reservation as well, as couples dressed in office clothes got seats with no problem. I fixed my tie and checked my watch.
It was 7:15. She was late. I should have asked for a phone number, but she hadn’t seemed to be comfortable with more than a friendly handshake at the fundraiser.
She wasn’t coming. I fixed my tie and checked my watch again. Of course she wasn’t coming; why would she? Why would such a beautiful, stunning woman bother with a single dad who spends his entire days traveling between restaurants?
The door opened behind me, and I turned to take my leave.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Everly said as she smiled in my direction. I paused, taking in her soft gray dress with a white collar and dark high heels. “I got held up at work, and I couldn’t exactly tell everyone there that I was going on a 20,000 dollar date. Not that they’d believe me anyway.”
Her cheeks flushed, catching her words too late.
“It’s okay,” I laughed. “I guess that would be difficult to explain, huh?” The host showed us to our seats, where I ordered a bottle of their most expensive wine and ordered a steak dinner. Everly ordered roasted chicken, and the 20,000 dollar date, as she called it, began in awkward silence.
“So, you were held up at work?” I asked.
“Yup.” She fidgeted with the cloth napkin. I smirked and raised an eyebrow, which she must have understood. “I’m a chef at Saint Padres,” she said. Our appetizer, a bread basket that was left out for too long and a weird side sauce that I supposed was oil and vinegar, arrived.
“Saint Padres? On Third Street?” I asked. I hadn’t realized Phil was her boss, but he had congratulated me after winning the bid with a bit too much excitement. I should have known.
“That’s the one.” She gestured with her fork.
“Are you head chef?” I hadn’t taken her for a cook, and it shocked me that I’d suddenly become even more intrigued with the gorgeous redhead.
“Not yet,” she admitted in between bites of the cold bread. “It’s taking a little longer than I expected to move up the ladder, but I should be there soon. Show up on time, be innovative while taking only the appropriate amount of initiative, give others their time to shine, and above all else, be grateful.” Her eyes lit up as she spoke about her journey, starting from a dishwasher out of culinary school to being a prep cook. She had taken the dishwashing job because she couldn’t find a chef job and it at least got her foot in the door of the culinary market. Her hair was in a tight bun, with strands curling around her forehead. Thick eyelashes framed incredible green eyes that were much brighter in the restaurant’s dark lighting.
“That’s quite a journey,” I said after she finished. “You’ve worked so hard in such a short amount of time. Give it a few more years and you’ll be running your own restaurant.”
She laughed. “Sure, and one day I’ll own a four-star restaurant, or maybe even a chain of them.” She shook her head, and I bit my lip from saying anything. Modesty is a virtue, I reminded myself.
Our dinner arrived, and I was pleasantly surprised by the appearance.
“So I have to ask, why did you pick this place?” I asked. “You work in the kitchen of a four-star restaurant.”
“This place doesn’t pretend to be anything it’s not,” she said, and I frowned. She framed her words carefully around bites of herbed chicken. I cut into my steak, letting it ooze onto the plate and into the mashed potatoes. “It’s not fancy, the customers aren’t snooty or uptight. I worked here in high school, as a waitress, and I ended up liking how not fake everyone here is, if that makes sense.”
“And you feel like the four-star restaurants are full of fake people?” I asked, leaning toward her. The V of her dress dipped dangerously low, and I struggled to keep my eyes away from it. Her slender neck gulped, and a fallen strand of red hair brushed against her cheek as she tilted her head and considered.
“I think they’re afraid of being real,” she said. “Because they’re afraid of judgment.”
“But aren’t you judging them anyways?” I asked. “So no matter what, it’s a lose-lose situation.”
“The chocolate lava cake is amazing,” she said, and I blinked.
“The what?”
“You asked why I picked this place.” Both of our plates were empty, and she was eyeing our waitress. “I used to make it when I worked here. It’s a cookie dough flavored cake full of hot chocolate that melts on your tongue; it’s especially amazing paired with the vanilla bean ice cream. My mom used to ground me every single time I got a C in class, and so on report card day, before going home, I’d come here and eat a chocolate lava cake before getting grounded. I haven’t had it since I was in high school.”
“So you picked this casual American restaurant to eat a chocolate lava cake?” I asked, and she nodded. Our waitress came by with a refill for our wine, and I ordered a lava cake.
“I know it’s not as fancy as your chocolates, cheesecakes, or diamond-crusted macaroons,” she said as we sipped our wine. Her tone was a weak attempt at putting me in my place. “Or that you’ve probably never been to a restaurant like this.”
“Howells was exactly like this.” I glanced around. “A restaurant down the street from our place growing up. Comfort American, with some damn good pies for dessert.” I met her eyes as if to challenge her opinion of me.
“Pies? It’s hard to imagine someone like you eating a pie.” She laughed.
“Someone like me?” I raised an eyebrow. She was a second away from getting put in her place. She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth and blushed as if she’d read my mind. “My particular favorite is a traditional apple pie, with a crust as golden and crispy and buttery as it can be,” I said as our waitress set the lava cake between us. It was fluffy and huge, with steam slowly rising from the top. Everly picked up her spoon and dug into it, and we both licked our lips as a warm chocolate center oozed onto the plate.
“It’s still the same.” She took a bite and collapsed in her chair. I took one bite, and the sweet chocolate was a wonderful mixture with the soft, cookie dough flavored cake.
“Dark chocolate,” I said as I took another bite. Everly raised her eyebrow this time. “I think a dark chocolate filling, with a white chocolate cake and coconut shavings would be a good creation.”
“White chocolate cake, coconut shavings, and hazelnut chocolate melted in the middle,” she corrected, and I nodded. Her idea was better. “Like Nutella, but not as sweet, maybe. Yours is good too, but the bitterness of the dark chocolate would overpower any sweetness of the white chocolate. You may eat at fancy, expensive restaurants with two-year waiting lists, Mr. Maddox Moore, but you better let the chefs do the cooking.”
I laughed, but a part of her was serious. Everly truly didn’t know I was the chef who created my menus or owned my own chain of restaurants across the United States. I contemplated correcting her, but she had such an irresistible glow as she corrected my recipe that I didn’t have the heart to say anything. I had the urge to tell her about Abby, how she would scarf down that lava cake within a second, but I couldn’t bring myself to talk about her.
“You’ll have to make it for me sometime, then. I have some pull with a few professional chefs in the city,” I said, and Everly flushed.
We finished our dessert with pleasant small talk, this time of her experience in culinary school. She was incredibly intelligent, vocal about her desires and beliefs, and I found myself more and more drawn toward her as the night progressed.
I paid the check and helped her with her coat as we left the restaurant. The air was chilly and the wind strong, and Everly hugged herself tightly as I walked her to her car. I glanced to make sure mine hadn’t been broken into, and sure enough, the Camaro was waiting in the corner of the shadows without a mark. I had decided against bringing the Giuilia to this part of town, and the Camaro was the cheapest car in my garage. Still, it was one of my older models and I had been worried about it for the past few hours.
“Thank you,” Everly said as we reached her car. “I actually had a decent time.” She laughed, and it was obvious she was truly surprised.
“I’m glad.” I scratched my head and tugged on my cashmere scarf. I needed to see her again, that was all I knew. “Maybe next time I can take you out to one of the restaurants with the two-year waiting list? You can make your dessert, or we could enjoy some wine in front of a fire during a cold night?” I could have kicked myself. I hadn’t meant to sound like a desperate romantic.
“Thank you, really, but I’m really not interested in dating right now.” She didn’t give me much time to respond before opening her car door and sliding behind the wheel. “It’s not you, Maddox. It’s my career.”
We said our goodbyes, and as I slid behind my steering wheel, I found it hard to blame her. I’ve given up plenty of opportunities for my own career. But the ghost of her smile hid in the shadows of my rearview mirror as I drove to Nick’s house.
I needed to see her again. But first, I needed to figure out how.