After the reunion, we’d reconnected, both of us profusely apologizing and lamenting that we’d missed so much timetogether already. She was my best friend now — with Bernard edging his way in to be our third wheel whenever he was in the States — and I couldn’t imagine my life without her.
She and Cameron had never recovered from the chaos at the end of the season, but I knew she’d find her person one day. When she was ready.
Right now, she was more focused on her first charter as chief stew coming up.
I knew she would blow them all away.
“I’ve seen drug cartels operate with less chaos than the two of you,” Tobias said, still assessing Finn’s creation.
“Speaking of crimes—” I set down my glass. “Show him the picture, Finn. The foie bao with the candied figs.”
Tobias winced. “God, the gold leaf—”
“Show. Him.”
Finn pulled out his phone, still grimacing as Tobias rubbed his hands together. “No way. Cheffy embarrassed about a dish he made? This ought to be good.”
“You have to promise not to—” The words died on Finn’s tongue, his brows pinching in. He glanced at me and then brought the phone to his ear.
“What is it?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
His body went still, the kind of still that always made my stomach flip. His eyes locked on the floor, mouth slightly parted.
“Finn?” I took a step forward. “What?”
He looked up at me, pale.
“We got a star.”
Time froze.
All movement in the kitchen stopped, from where the dishwashers were scrubbing away in the back corner to where the chefs were prepping for tomorrow. All noise died, save forthe playlist that hummed quietly through the speaker. We never heard it back here in the kitchen. It was always too loud.
But it was silent now.
Until everyone lost their damn minds.
“WHAT?!”
“No way. No fucking way.”
“We got a star?!”
“You’re talking aboutthestar?!”
“PLAY THE VOICEMAIL!”
Finn, still in shock, fumbled to put it on speaker. And then we all heard it — the smooth, unmistakable voice of a Michelin Guide rep, congratulating Chef Finn Pearson of Pygo on receiving his first star. Official. Verified. Real.
Tobias screamed. Casey, one of our hostesses, started sobbing. Chefs were hugging, dirty cutlery and half-prepped dishes abandoned as everyone ran around like wild animals let out of a zoo. Someone screamed that they were grabbing the most expensive bottle of champagne in our cellar as I blinked and smiled and tried to wrap my head around it.
A star.
“I’m calling my mom!” Tobias yelled.
“I’m calling my ex just to rub it in!” Casey called out.