It’s the big day.

Every day for a week since Claire and I shared that kiss, I’ve been running around Ocotillo in a frenzy, trying to get everything ready for the big interview that’s finally happening today.

I’ve been paying interior designers overtime to help spruce the place up last-minute and make sure everything looks beyond perfect for the cameras, both in the kitchen and out of it. Jorge and the rest of the kitchen staff are all tired of me hovering around them constantly, coaching them on how to act in the kitchen while the cameras are pointed at them.

I can be a control freak on an average day, but this is a new level. At least I can admit that. And I don’t think I’m unjustified in how I run my business.

It’s one thing to have a functional kitchen, but it’s another thing entirely to have one that looks presentable on camera. What might be everyday business as usual off-camera doesn’t work for an interview, and I expect they’ll want shots of the kitchen in action.

Jorge’s excitement has been good for morale, despite my constant presence in the kitchen. He’s an affable guy who laughs easily and gets along with seemingly everyone, even though he knows when to buckle down and get to work. He has no patience for interruptions and goofing off when the time comes.

And it just so happens that he’s extremely good in front of the cameras, according to himself, so while I’ve been bustling around left and right, he has seemed more in his element than ever.

If only I had more free time for Claire.

This whole operation might go more smoothly if I didn’t have her running through my head constantly. I haven’t had any time to spend with her since this whole business started.

I’ve had to be on the phones with advertisers and agents left and right, signing papers with some and making deals with others. I’ve had to help out with the logistics of shooting the actual interview, since I’m the business owner and property tenant, and the whole experience tells me I should be eternally grateful I didn’t choose to go into television as a career.

I can handle that kind of a schedule, usually, but lately, all I want to do is spend more time with Claire.

A part of me wonders—even hopes—that having to spend so much time away from her would cool things off a little and let me think of things with a clear mind, but the opposite has been true.

Each morning that goes by without me getting to pick Claire up from her house and drive her to work has felt like it’s missing something. It’s insane—I’ve only done that the one time, after all.

I wanted to give her time off to get ready for the TV crew because I know she probably has a hundred things on her list she doesn’t have time to get to, but it’s been nothing but overtime and more overtime ever since we got the news about the interview.

But today is the big day, and I’m not going to let all our hard work go to waste.

I step inside the restaurant, and for the first time this week, I feel relief as soon as I’m indoors.

Each day before now, I’ve found something out of place. The lighting was wrong one day, the plants were a little shabby another day, and the liquor behind the bar somehow felt like it looked trashy another day. It was always something.

But when I walk in today and get greeted by one of my waiters, it feels right.

“Nathan, how are things looking in the kitchen?” I ask a waiter as I cross the restaurant.

“Pristine,” he replies. “Chef Alonso got here before dawn to prep everything.”

“God, I love that man,” I say with a grin. “And everyone’s here?”

“See for yourself,” he says, pushing the kitchen doors open for me.

Inside, I see all the staff lined up alongside Jorge, who beams at me with his arms crossed.

“Ready to make some magic?” Jorge asks me.

After casting Claire a wink and a flash of a smile, I shake Jorge’s hand firmly and hug him, laughing.

“You’re the wind under my wings, I swear,” I say.

“Glad you’re impressed,” he says. “That’ll make it easier on you when I let you know the camera crew is already here.”

“What?”

“Mr. Graham!” a loud, cheerful voice booms from the back of the kitchen.

A man about my height and twice my width comes walking through the kitchen, a big smile under his thick black beard. He has a spring in his step and wears a crisp suit that looks like it was made for TV. He makes his way up to me and thrusts a big hand out, which I shake heartily.

“Taylor Hersch, a pleasure to finally meet you,” he says. Taylor’s show is big out west, especially with young entrepreneurs, like a somewhat more local version of 30 Under 30.

“Pleasure’s mine, Taylor,” I say with a grin. “Hope you haven’t seen too much yet.”

“Only enough that makes me want to see more,” he laughs, clapping me on the back. “Let’s get the cameras set up and take a little walk around this place, I’m already in love with what I see. Ah, and you must be Claire Madsen!”

Claire, who is standing next to Jorge, gives a nervous smile and steps forward to shake Taylor’s hand. “That’s me—it’s nice to meet you, Taylor.”

“Great! Now let’s get the ball rolling, my cameramen are ready to go.”

The next hour goes swimmingly.

I take our host on a tour of Ocotillo that makes even me feel like I’m being shown around the place for the first time. I spend time talking about all the work that went into designing the interior, making sure to compliment all the workers that made the hurried project come together in an amount of time so short I still don’t know how it really happened.

Taylor banters back and forth with me as if we’re old friends, talking about the banalities of restaurant design and the more exciting points about Nevada’s culinary history.

All the while, the cameras are on Claire and I, and to my delight, she isn’t shy in speaking up to talk about her own experience as a recent culinary graduate. “...it’s one of the unique challenges of bringing a little local flavor to the table, when fine dining is generally monopolized by culinary traditions from outside North America,” she says at the end of an impressive tangent on that very subject.

Taylor smiles even more broadly. “It’s easy to see how you earned your spot here, Ms. Madsen. And on that note, I’d like to congratulate you both again on the partnership your relationship has come with. It’s inspiring to see a couple of Vegas’ best and brightest getting together for such an ambitious project as Ocotillo. The phrase I’m hearing the headlines toss around is ‘power couple of the culinary world’, and after everything I’ve seen today, I’m inclined to agree wholeheartedly.”

“It’s still early in the game,” I say, beaming, “so I don’t want to call it a success just yet, but the reception has been very warm, and we’re off to a better start than I could have hoped for.” Without giving it a second thought, I wrap my arm around Claire’s shoulders and pull her close against my side. “And I have a better partner than I could have hoped for, for that matter.”

Claire gives me a brief smile before turning back to look at the camera. I can feel her body heat, tempting me to drag my hand down her side and explore a little more of her. She squirms subtly, cuddling in closer and melting into me.

If we didn’t have my entire kitchen as an audience, as well as multiple cameras trained on us, I wouldn’t be able to hold back. I’d take Claire right here, right now. I’d have my way with her.

Later that night, after closing, the two of us are gathered around with the rest of the staff, watching that very same moment transpire on the the screen of a laptop propped up on the bar.

“Ah, and there’s the question I was hoping to ask,” Taylor went on, looking even more charming through the cameras. “How exactly did a couple of remarkable personalities like yourselves end up together?”

“We actually knew each other when we were just kids,” I say without missing a beat on the screen. “Our parents have been close friends for years, all while making waves as some of the city’s movers and shakers, but through all that, were just kids, you know? Running through backyards in the neighbors’ suburbs and getting into trouble without a care in the world. We reconnected recently, and things just kind of happened organically.”

Claire smiles up at me as I speak. As critical as I am of everything in my life, I have to admit that we look pretty damn good together. And as if on cue, the staff gathered around gives a half-heartfelt, half-teasing, “Aawwwhhh” in unison.

But the whole time, my eyes are on Claire’s face on the screen, watching her blush grow and the twinkle in her eyes sparkle a little more sincerely than I would have expected.

I look down at the real Claire beside me, and I catch her blushing even more furiously. Her sparkling blue eyes glances up at me, and they widen when she sees how me grinning at her, looking away quickly.

“Alright, alright, settle down everyone,” I say as the interview on the screen comes to a close at last. “I want to thank each and every one of you for one hell of an experience today. You did better than I ever could have hoped, and you can all expect that to be reflected in your bonuses.”

That wins me a cheer and applause from the staff.

“Now we’ve got our five minutes in the limelight, let’s not lose momentum just because we don’t have another national news station hounding us. Let’s perform so well we have another one scoping us out before we know it. Sound good?”

“Yes!” the staff—including Claire—say as one.

The only one who isn’t looking as enthusiastic as the rest is Jorge, and I have to admit, I can’t blame him one bit.

When Taylor and the station approached us, they made it sound like they were more interested in the restaurant, which meant Jorge’s work. But it turned out that they were at least just as interested in my relationship with Claire, like most of the other news stations and tabloids that were interested whenever the children of powerful locals got together.

I’ll have to find a way to make it up to him, and I’ll make it damn good. Possibly another interview for just him is in order.

I’ll have to see what strings I can pull once Ocotillo really gets off the ground. I was just being modest with the interviewer earlier—it is clear that this is going to be a staggering success of a restaurant.

Minutes later, everyone is either clearing out or already gone. I notice Claire gathering her things and glancing over at me periodically.

“Hey, TV star,” I say as I make my way over to her.

“Oh, shut up,” she says with a grin. “You did good today.”

“You’re one to talk,” I say with a wink. This is a simple offer I’m about to make, but somehow my heart is leaping in my chest, wondering how she’ll react. “Want a lift home? Promise I won’t have a boot put on your car if it’s here overnight.”

She bites her lip for a few moments, looking me up and down and swaying back and forth. “You know . . . I think that sounds nice.”