by Aurora Rey
Drew’s speech cut her off mid-threat. “I can’t thank you enough for coming tonight. And thank you,” she bowed to Nick, “for giving me this opportunity. Being here is the culmination of a lifelong dream. If you leave tonight half as happy as I am now, Fig will no doubt be a massive success.”
The crowd chuckled. Hannah watched as Drew made eye contact with Nick. He gave her a small nod in return.
“Waitstaff are coming around with the evening’s menu. Rather than a set tasting menu, we’re test-driving what will be available beginning tomorrow night. This gives you options and gives us a dry run of what to expect during dinner service. The selections include meats, cheeses, and produce from local purveyors, as Nick mentioned. We’ve also been able to source things like honey and maple syrup from local farms. We hope you enjoy.”
Another round of applause and then a flurry of servers worked the room, distributing menus and refilling glasses. Hannah held her breath as she waited to see what Drew had put together. When the cream-colored cardstock finally made it into her hands, she did a quick skim, looking for anything over-the-top strange. “Huh.”
“What?” Clare asked the question, but all three of her dining companions looked at her expectantly.
“Nothing.”
Jenn gave her a look that indicated no one believed her.
“I guess I expected the menu to be—” What was the word? “Weirder.”
Jenn laughed and Clare angled her head. “What do you mean?”
Before Hannah could reply, Jenn jumped in. “Hannah decided that, since the new chef is from the city, she must cook like she’s on an episode of Iron Chef.”
Clare frowned. “What’s Iron Chef?”
Jenn groaned. “Why does hanging out with you make me feel ancient?”
Her mom laughed. “Imagine how I must feel.”
Jenn raised her glass. “You have a point, Cindy. Now, let’s get down to business. I think we should all order different things and share so we can try as much of the menu as possible.”
Everyone agreed and they settled on which of the appetizers and entrées to order. The server assigned to their table was enthusiastic, commenting on the dishes she’d sampled and decided were her favorites. If Hannah was being honest, there wasn’t a single thing on the menu she wouldn’t try. Well, except the trout, maybe, but only because she didn’t really like fish. She ordered a glass of Chardonnay to go with her dinner and sat back to see if everything tasted as good as it sounded.
A pair of salads came out first. Both had greens from Three Willows Farm—one baby arugula with fennel and lemon and one mixed greens with pomegranate seeds and Brie. They were quickly followed by sweet potato soup and a small baguette with a trio of spreads.
“Oh, my God,” Jenn said.
Clare nodded. “So good.”
“It really is.” Her mom looked at her. “Don’t you think?”
It was good. Really good. All of it. Hannah tried to work through the mix of emotions that swirled in her mind—relief, excitement for Nick, and yes, a twinge of disappointment. It was hard not to be at least a little disappointed when proved completely and utterly wrong. “Mmm-hmm.”
“Really? That’s all you’ve got?” Jenn’s tone was incredulous.
“Wait.” Clare threw her arm over the salad plate before Hannah could take another bite.
“What?”
She pulled out her phone. “I want to get a picture.”
“Why?”
Clare gave her a look that said, “How dumb are you?” but her actual answer was, “So I can put it on your Instagram account and tag the restaurant.”
“Right. Sure.”
Clare proceeded to snap photos at a variety of angles, then poked at her phone. Hannah was going to have to download Instagram just so she could keep up. Entrées followed—a pork loin with sweet potato puree, chicken with sun-dried tomatoes and a local goat cheese, and a vegetarian dish that consisted of Romano cheese grits, roasted mushrooms, and sautéed Swiss chard. Each dish included at least one ingredient from the farm and each was more delicious than the last.
By the time desserts appeared, Hannah was stuffed. Despite feeling like she might burst, she tried a bite of each. One bite became two, and by the time they’d finished coffee, all the plates were empty. Nick briefly introduced the pastry chef, a pretty woman named Mariama he’d wooed away from one of the restaurants in Ithaca. Although made by someone different, the desserts seemed to complement Drew’s cooking. Hannah wondered how much they’d consulted on the menu.
The pang of irritation caught her off guard. If she didn’t know better, she might say it resembled jealousy. But she did know better, and she wasn’t jealous.
Before she could analyze the matter any further, Jenn spoke. “Sadly, I’ve got to work tomorrow.”
“Yes,” Mom said with a chuckle. “It’s awfully close to my bedtime.”
Clare sighed dramatically. Hannah took the opportunity to poke her again. “You’ve got to work, too, punk.”
“I know, I know. I’ll be there.”
Although the pickings were still slim, she’d decided to open the farm stand this weekend. They’d get a few people for sure—her most loyal customers, families looking for a place to have a picnic. Hannah prized being a gathering space as much as a provider of food. “If you come early, I’ll pay you to harvest asparagus.”
Clare closed one eye and made a face. “Okay.”
“You can take pictures and call it marketing research.”
Clare smiled. “I like the sound of that.”
“I thought you might.”
Jenn stood up. “Shall we?”
Hannah waved them off. “You go on. I want to find Nick and congratulate him.”
Jenn said, “Thank him again for the invitation and tell him I’m going to recommend Fig to everyone I know.”
“Same here,” her mom added.
“I will.” Hannah hugged them and wished them good night, then went in search of Nick.
* * *
Drew slumped against the table for just a moment and took a deep breath. Her first service as head chef had gone off without a hitch. Well, without any major hitches. There was the almost grease fire when one of the interns got some oil too hot before adding onions and two pieces of fish that didn’t make the trip from pan to plate in one piece. But, all in all, she was pleased. More than pleased. Ecstatic.
She’d make some time later to gloat, but first they needed to close down the kitchen. She gave some instructions for cleanup, then turned her attention to the menu. Based on timing and one serendipitous error, she had a couple of tweaks for the next night that should streamline getting plates out.
She caught the kitchen door swing open out of the corner of her eye and figured it was Nick coming to check in. “I think that went well. Do you?”
“The food was exceptional.”
Drew spun around and found herself face-to-face with Hannah. She’d noticed her from across the dining room, but she looked even more beautiful close up. The outfit was a far cry from what Drew had seen her in to date. Not that she wanted to be a sucker for a beautiful woman in a dress and heels, but she was a total sucker for a beautiful woman in a dress and heels. “Thanks.” Drew paused, studied Hannah’s face. “You seem surprised.”
Hannah shook her head. “Nick wouldn’t have hired you if you didn’t have talent.”
“But?”
She offered a smirk. “But I didn’t expect it to be anything I enjoyed.”
Drew quirked a brow. “Picky eater?”
Hannah folded her arms across her chest and angled one hip slightly. The posture made her even sexier than when she’d walked in, if that was possible. “No. I expected it to be,” she tipped her head back and forth, “precious.”
“Precious?” Even without knowing what Hannah meant, she knew it was an insult.
“Things arranged with tweezers. Foams.”
The snort escaped before Drew could contain herse
lf. Then she laughed, hard. Never in so few words had she been able to sum up everything wrong with the culinary world. Eventually she stopped, and found Hannah looking increasingly uncomfortable. Drew wiped her eyes. “What made you think I’m that kind of chef?”
Hannah seemed to relax. She shrugged. “New York City, hot shot.”
It was Drew’s turn to fold her arms. “Who said I was a hot shot?”
“Nick. He wanted someone who’d shake things up, be a little edgy.”
“Huh.” She’d not gotten that impression from her interview, or from the conversations they’d had since about her approach to the menu. “Maybe edgy is relative.”
Hannah smiled at that. “Maybe.”
“Does that mean I’ve won you over?” The second the words were out of her mouth, Drew did a mental face palm. What possessed her to say that?
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Why is that?” And why did it matter so much to her?
“I still think this kind of cooking can be wasteful. It’s all about the best cuts and prettiest produce. It’s not sustainable or equitable.”
Drew nodded slowly. “And what makes you think I’m wasteful?”
Hannah gave her a bland look. “I saw the plates that came out of your kitchen.”
There was some waste in her cooking. It was inevitable. But more of what she discarded went into the stockpot than the compost bin. It bothered her that Hannah had such a righteousness about her. It sucked all the fun out of going back and forth with her.
She was saved having to come up with a diplomatic reply when Nick pushed through the swinging door. The enthusiasm radiating from him chased away the weird tension in the air. He carried a bottle and two glasses. “Who’s ready to toast an amazing first night?” He stopped when he caught sight of Hannah. “You’re still here. Excellent. Let me get another glass.”
“No, no. I was just going,” she said.
“Nonsense. Stay. Celebrate with us.”
Hannah smiled at him, but didn’t budge. “I’ve got an early morning tomorrow, and I’ve got to drive myself home. I just wanted to say congratulations before I left.”
“Thanks.” The look on his face told Drew that Hannah was more to him than a supplier. She’d have to remember that.
“No, thank you. Dinner was amazing. Jenn, Clare, and Cindy all said so, too. We’re all thrilled for you.” Hannah stepped over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Drew expected her to leave without looking back, but she turned. “Congratulations, again. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
In the flurry of activity, Drew forgot that she’d committed to going to the farm three days a week. Refusing to let it spoil her evening, she offered her most charming smile. “Looking forward to it.”
Hannah left and Drew tried to ignore the vague disappointment that threatened to creep into her chest. Nick lifted the bottle. “Shall we?”
He poured them each a finger of scotch and raised his glass. “To Fig and many more nights like this.”
“Cheers.” Drew sipped the amber liquid, enjoying the smooth burn that worked its way to her belly.
Nick set the bottle down. “Are you happy with everything? The staff?”
Drew nodded. “Minor hiccups, nothing I wouldn’t expect. A couple of the waiters have a steep learning curve, but I don’t have any serious concerns. I think we give it a week or two and reassess.”
“Agreed. I’m guessing Vince has already picked up on it. I’ll let him know.”
Vince was the headwaiter. He had a good twenty years of fine dining experience, some of it in Boston. Drew liked and trusted him. “Sounds good.”
“And the kitchen staff?”
“You know, I think they’re good.” There was a bit of a competitive vibe between her sous chef and the grill chef, but as long as it didn’t get out of control, a little competition could be good. It was her job to manage it.
“Good.” Nick nodded to the bottle. “Share that with everyone. Let them know how pleased I am with tonight.”
“Will do.”
Nick left the way he came. Drew slipped out to the bar and returned to the kitchen with a stack of shot glasses. She called everyone together and started to pour. She’d participated in many such rituals through the years, but this was the first one she got to preside over. She looked at the faces of her staff, saw respect and appreciation mixed in with relief and fatigue. Almost more than the service itself, Drew basked in the satisfaction of running her own kitchen.
She might be going home to a weird little house with the crazy-ass birds. She might have to get up at a god-awful hour and trek out to the farm to get her vegetables for the next night. She might be hundreds of miles from home and inexplicably attracted to a woman who seemed to feel nothing for her but disdain. But in that moment, Drew was the head chef, and she was happy.
Chapter Seven
Opening night turned out to be a slightly more hectic version of the soft launch. Sunday included a bustling brunch service but a relatively quiet dinner. Monday rolled around and Drew took full advantage of her first day off by sleeping until noon.
She put on coffee and stared out the kitchen window while it brewed. The sky was a monochromatic pale gray; the steady drizzle made no sound as it fell. She drank her coffee, showered, and wondered what the hell to do with her day. Two hours later, she’d done laundry and cleaned a little, answered her email, and sketched out ideas for the coming week’s menu. She spent another hour researching the average harvest dates of things in this area of New York, making notes for when she might expect access to things like green beans, summer squash, and tomatoes. She made a sandwich, cleaned some more, then decided if she didn’t get out of the house, she’d lose her mind.
Some web searches confirmed her suspicions. There wasn’t much to do at four on a Monday afternoon. She considered another trip to Atlas, just to have a change of scenery. Then inspiration struck. In no time, she had maps of the local wine trails and lists of the craft breweries and distilleries along both Seneca and Cayuga lakes. She could take a ride, try some brews, and it would all count as research.
Although she had dozens to choose from, she decided to stay fairly close to home. She cut across to Seneca Lake and drove south, following the curve of the lake through tiny towns and past vineyards and tasting rooms. The clouds had lifted, leaving the afternoon sunny and mild. Settling on beer instead of wine for this outing, she pulled into the first brewery she passed. The building looked new and the logo featured a mermaid.
Inside, Drew found tables made of old wine barrels and far more people than she would have thought—some at tables and a couple of larger groups at the bar. Eighties music played in the background and the vibe felt downright leisurely. Drew chuckled. Half the population of the city didn’t seem to work regular business hours, she wasn’t sure why she expected something different upstate.
She snagged a seat at the bar and smiled at the guy behind it. He wore a T-shirt with the brewery logo and sported an impressive beard. “Hi.”
He returned her smile. “Welcome to Scale House. Is it your first time with us?”
“It is.”
“Excellent.” He slid a laminated menu across the bar. “We’ve got ten brews on tap, all made on-site. You can order a pint of anything or a flight of four.”
Drew glanced down. They had everything from lager to stout. “Definitely a flight. What do you recommend?”
“The IPA is my favorite, followed by the oatmeal stout.”
It all looked good to her. “You know what? Surprise me.”
A minute later, she had four small glasses on a narrow wooden paddle. In addition to the IPA and stout, he’d added a cream ale and their seasonal, called Summer Jam. She thanked him and he nodded before moving away to serve other customers. The summer one was light for her taste, but she could appreciate the appeal of something made to be drunk all day long.
She studied the people. One group talked like they were from out of town, but the rest seem
ed like locals. She’d considered the tourism angle of the Finger Lakes wine and beer trails, but it also brought more and better options for the people who lived and worked in the area. Like having the pros of gentrification without the cons. She could get behind that.
Drew enjoyed her beers, contemplated dinner. It was still on the early side, though, and she wanted to hit at least one more spot. She paid her tab, offered a nod of thanks to the bartender, and headed out.
The group from earlier was leaving, too. Drew watched them pile onto a small bus, the kind that shuttled people to and from hotels and airports. She chuckled. She could think of worse ways to spend a Monday. Although amused, she was relieved when they turned in the opposite direction as she was headed. She drove south just a couple of miles before seeing the sign for her next stop. She pulled into the lot of Grist Iron and found the parking lot nearly full. Fascinating.
As she approached the building, she noticed that two garage-style doors had been lifted, turning the restaurant and patio into one large, open space. People sat at picnic tables and stood in groups on the grass, others came and went from the bar. Live music spilled out—a decent, if not earth-shattering, cover of a Beatles song. If this was the vibe on a Monday, she might have just stumbled on her new favorite place.
She headed inside and to the bar, going with a pint of unfiltered blonde instead of a flight. Beer in hand, she turned to scope out a spot. And there, sitting at a high-top table just inside the door, were Nick and his wife, someone she didn’t know, and Hannah.
Of course, Hannah was the one she noticed first. The one who instantly cranked her heart rate up a few notches. The one who didn’t even look her way.
Nick saw her and offered a wave, the kind that was half greeting, half invitation. Not that she would avoid joining them, but now she had no choice. She made her way across the room. “Hey, there.”
“Enjoying your day off, I see,” Nick said.
“I am. I should have known it was a thing.”
“Not always, but we try to get out. And our nephew is the guy on the drums.” Nick hooked a thumb in the direction of the band.