"Yes?"
"Thanks for coming to San Francisco today. I had a really good time."
I swallow. "Me too."
"Even the dancing?"
"Especially the dancing," I admit.
More silence. More breathing. More being extremely aware that he's ten feet away from me in the dark.
"Alex?"
"Yeah?"
"Go to sleep."
He laughs quietly. "Yes, chef."
I close my eyes and will myself to fall asleep, to not think about him on the floor, to not think about how easy it would be to just invite him up here, to not think about what would happen if I did.
Rational Isabelle is hanging on by a thread.
CHAPTER 14
Alex
Jean-Pierre wants to meet privately. He's set up in one of the smaller sitting rooms at Solstice, the one that overlooks the east vineyard, and when I walk in he's already seated at a corner table with an espresso and a leather notebook open in front of him.
Isabelle and I got back from San Francisco yesterday morning after grabbing breakfast with Jack, Lark, and Mia before they headed south to LA. She'd been polite in the car on the drive back to Napa, almost formal, which from Isabelle is the equivalent of putting up a barricade.
I don't know if she's pulling back because of the hotel room, because of the dancing, because of whatever she was feeling standing next to me at that club. I don't know if I pushed too far or not far enough, and she's not giving me any clues.
Jean-Pierre was thankfully oblivious to the fact that his daughter spent the night in San Francisco with me. The two of them had some kind of reconciliation yesterday afternoon thatIsabelle hasn't told me about and that I haven't asked about because she's barely looked at me since we got back.
I settle into the chair across from him. The room is bright and warm, afternoon sun pouring through tall windows, and through the glass I can see two of the kitchen staff walking between the herb garden and the main building, carrying what looks like crates of fresh basil.
"Ah, some privacy at last," Jean-Pierre says, closing his notebook and folding his hands on top of it. "So, Alex. Thank you for making time."
"Of course," I say, leaning back in my chair. "Have you been enjoying your visit?"
He waves the question away like it's a fly. "Oh, yes, it's fine. I'll be heading back to New York this afternoon. A few days is the longest I can be away from the business without things going sideways. But Isabelle seems to be doing well, which is what I wanted to discuss."
I shift in my chair. The arrangement has always made me uncomfortable, but sitting here talking about Isabelle to her father while she's somewhere in the building makes the discomfort sharper. The only thing that makes it tolerable is that I've been showing her every report before I send it.
"I'd like a more thorough assessment," Jean-Pierre says, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "Your written messages have been helpful, but I prefer these things face to face. I’m a bit old school like that. So tell me, how is she doing? Really doing?"
"She's doing really well," I say. "Better than well, actually."
I go into detail, highlighting every moment that's impressed me, and it's not hard to find them because there are dozens. She's a force of nature and the fact that her father needsmeto be the one to confirm it makes me want to put my fist through this very nice table.
He nods along, pulling out his phone at one point to tap something into his notes app.
"And when things go wrong?" he asks, setting the phone down. "When the unexpected happens? Because I know my daughter is organized and creative. She's gifted and responsible. But all of that is useless if she can't take charge when things go haywire, adapt on the fly, guide her staff through a crisis with a firm hand. Keep them in line if they're talking too much or slacking."
I narrow my eyes slightly. Jean-Pierre and I have very different ideas about how kitchens should be run. Theo and I built Harbor & Ash on the same principles our mom used when she ran The Black Lantern, back before she sold it to Maren and before she passed.
Mom believed that people do their best work when they feel valued, not when they're afraid. She paid better than anyone else, she listened, she remembered the names of everybody's kids, and if you had a bad night she'd pour you a drink after close and ask what was going on at home before she ever talked about what went wrong on the floor.