I need to go back inside. Service starts in less than three hours and Isabelle will be here soon and we need to talk, need to figure out what the hell just happened and what comes next.
Isabelle's flight was delayed and service started an hour ago without her, but it's going surprisingly well. She’s built this pop-up into a well-oiled machine over the past month, everyone knowing their role, everyone moving in sync. The night goes on, but all the while Jean-Pierre's words keep playing over and over in my head like a song I can't shake.
She bursts through the kitchen door looking frazzled and meets my eye while I'm working at the stove, her expression pure stress and apology. Martinez greets her and she flashes him a smile that looks more like a grimace, before making her way directly to me.
"Hey," she says, stopping close. "Can we talk?"
"Er," I glance at the pan in front of me, flipping the scallops that are seconds away from overcooking. "How about after service? I don't think I can step away right now and I know Sofia needs you."
Her eyes fill with tears that she's clearly trying to hold back. "Alex... I'm so sorry. Please don't be?—"
"I'm not mad at you," I say firmly, looking up from the pan to meet her eyes so she knows I mean it. "We'll talk after. It'll be okay."
I give her my best reassuring smile and she looks at my eyes for a moment longer, searching for something, before sniffing and nodding, straightening her shoulders and pulling herself together.
"Got it. I'll go check in with Sofia." She hesitates for just a second, like she wants to say something else, then turns and heads over to her station.
I nod, turning back to the stove and plating the scallops with hands that are steadier than I feel. Unable to shake the heaviness that's settled in my chest, the knowledge that everything just changed and there's no going back.
I lean against the outside stone wall after service, nursing a beer and trying to process the day. I already cleaned up my station, and the last of the cooks are heading home, calling out goodbyes as they disappear into the parking lot.
Isabelle got stuck talking to a table who stayed late, some restaurant people from San Francisco who wanted to talk shop with her. Good connections for her, so I wait out here, staring out at the vineyard and the stars.
Footsteps crunch on the gravel path and I turn to see her walking toward me, looking exhausted and wrung out, with herhair down now, falling around her shoulders. She silently comes to stand beside me, leaning back against the wall, and I hand over my beer without a word. She takes it, drinking a long sip, and we both stare out into the vineyard, listening to the crickets chirping in the warm night air.
"Alex," she says finally. "I'msosorry. We agreed not to tell him and then I just... I lost it. I ruined everything."
I shrug, trying to make it seem lighter than it feels. "Hey, I mean I wanted to tell him originally. It had to come out at some point."
She shakes her head beside me, still looking out at the dark shapes of the vines. "No, if we had done it your way there might have been a much different outcome. I pretty much did it in a way that guaranteed this disaster. We got in a screaming match, and I threw it in his face like a weapon. He... he wouldn't have reacted this way if we'd gone about it like you wanted to in the first place."
I wince at that, unsure what to say back. "What was the screaming match about?"
She sighs heavily and hands me back the beer. "I told him I'm not doing the New York City restaurant. I quit all of it. Everything he had planned for me."
I actually choke on my beer, turning to stare at her. "What? What do you mean you quit?"
She looks at me with exhausted eyes. "Well, I walked in on a phone call he was having with his business partner..."
She tells me the entire thing and I feel the emotions cycling from shock to rage to disbelief as she talks. Jean-Pierre is something else, controlling in a way I can't imagine having experienced.
My father could be intense and had his own impossibly high standards. But we never doubted his love, we never felt like our dreams weren't our own. Isabelle's gone her whole life without that certainty.
"So you talked to him?” She looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes. "No Seattle, I take it."
I shake my head. "No Seattle for sure. He also threatened to blacklist me from ever opening a place and make sure no one in this industry will touch me. I don't know how possible that really is. But then again, his reach is extensive, so who knows."
She makes a choked sound, slumping back against the wall like all the fight has gone out of her. "Alex, I ruined your life. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done this. I just blew up and it all came spilling out and now you're paying the price for my inability to control my temper."
The words tumble out of her faster and faster and I reach over and pull her into my arms, wrapping her up tight against my chest. She sniffles against me and I kiss the top of her head.
"You shouldn't be comforting me," she says, muffled into my chest. "I should be comfortingyou. You just lost out on everything you've been working toward for years."
I shrug, resting my chin on top of her head. "Eh, I've been thinking about it all day. Seattle would have been great, but maybe it was all more ego and proving myself than I wanted to admit. I can figure something else out. And Jean-Pierre's threats might be partially true, but I'll find a way."
She looks up at me, looking so full of guilt and despair that I lean down and kiss her deeply, trying to pour every ounce of reassurance I have into it. I pull back after a moment, brushing away the tears that are sliding down her cheeks.
"I am sorry for what happened to you," I say quietly. "That he treated you like that. That he made you feel like you weren't enough when you're more than enough. You're extraordinary, Isabelle."