The cameras, the crew, the audience, the drama — it was all behind us now. We were all that remained. Our time on theSinking Sunwas over.
A new dawn was rising.
I had a feeling it’d be the brightest day yet.
TWO YEARS LATER
The kitchen buzzed with a low hum of life — pans clattered in the sink, someone was laughing in the back, and the sharp scent of citrus and fire lingered in the air, long after the last dessert had been torched.
It was just past midnight at Pygo.
We’d closed an hour ago. The guests were gone, the lights in the dining room dimmed to that soft golden hue we always said made everyone look ten percent hotter and twenty percent richer. And back here in the kitchen — this was our sanctuary. The pulse of the restaurant.
Finn moved behind the line like it was still mid-service, sleeves rolled up, apron smudged and messy, hair mussed from the rush. I leaned on the bar across from him, sipping a glass of red, watching him. Admiring him.
Over the last two years, I’d had the privilege of watching him grow Pygo into something more magical than I ever could have dreamed. I knew he was a brilliant chef. I knew his food was special. But I didn’t know what it was like when he was set completely free, when there were no guests telling him what they wanted or what they couldn’t have, when it was just his creativity leading the way.
What started with him and his sous chefs playing in the kitchen as I designed and decorated the front of house slowly transformed into what we had today: a sensory-rich culinary experience. From the time the customers secured their reservation on our website all the way until they were escorted out of the restaurant, they were taken on an adventure.
It was mesmerizing to behold.
As I watched him now, I found my chest a little tight with longing. I was so thankful I got to be a part of this journey with him, but I still longed to know what he’d been like at the restaurant in Dublin. I wondered if this one was different somehow, or just a more polished version of what he’d already created there.
But those years we were separated allowed us both to grow. We endured heartache and pain, but we found our way back.
And that was where my focus would be: on the here and now.
Two years had flown by in a blur of designing and planning and dreaming. If I’d thought being a chief stew was rewarding, it was nothing compared to how it felt to build Pygo with Finn. Just like he had full control of the menu,Ihad full control of the experience — the mood, the atmosphere, the way every detail worked together to make someonefeelas they ate.
From the forest green velvet booths and the mosaic of broken wine bottles and sea glass to the rustic light fixtures and local art, I put thoughtful care into every inch of space. I curated the playlist, pored over fonts and linen textures for the menus, and selected each dish and glass like a stylist would choose everything to make up a red-carpet look.
Everything guests saw, touched, or felt — I touched first. I thought it through. I made sure it said what we wanted it to say.
Every service was a performance.
And Pygo was the stage I built.
If I were the set designer, then Finn was the main actor, the man everyone came to see. Our team of chefs and waitstaff were supporting actors of the highest caliber, but it washewho made the tickets sell.
“You seriously just made a duck confit croquette after a fourteen-hour shift?” Tobias asked Finn, blinking at the plate like it personally offended him.
Finn shrugged, flicking sea salt over the top like it was fairy dust. “If it’s wrong to decompress with luxury, I don’t want to be right.”
“It’s excessive,” Tobias muttered.
“Everything good is.”
I smirked into my wine glass.
Tobias turned to me. “You enabled this, didn’t you?”
“I’m his wife in everything but paperwork,” I said. “You’ll have to be more specific about which crimes I’ve enabled.”
I didn’t miss how the wordwifemade Finn’s ocean eyes flick to mine. The corner of his mouth curled, the heat in his gaze enough to make me want to notch the A/C down a degree or two. We’d been living together ever since the show ended, working side by side day in and day out, sharing every ounce of our lives with one another.
And somehow, I’d only fallen more in love with him. Maybe it was because our love was born in tight quarters, but it never bothered me, the fact that we were nearly always together. We thrived when we were connected.
Of course, Leah wouldn’t stand for letting me spendallmy time with Finn and the restaurant. Blessedly, she’d moved her offseason home to Fort Lauderdale, and whenever she wasn’t on charter, she was dragging me out with her or kicking Finn out so we could rot on my couch.