by Brynn Hale
Not until my business is successful. Too much on the line to lose focus.
I drive into the parking spot that has my name on a sign. I have a place to park with my name attached to it. R. Dynas, Owner of Season 617.
At my age, I know it’s a huge risk. My parents gave each of us kids a generous trust, which was supposed to go for college, that I used as seed money. They weren’t happy, to say the least. But I did the research, and I studied under a chef for six years in Boston who taught me everything he knew.
I don’t feel like this is success…yet. Maybe I thought it would feel different, or I would feel like I made it, but I feel the same. Like me. Regular old Reese.
I take the ingredients inside. “Chef Landry, I found some of that purple basil you like.”
“Wonderful.” He rolls a leaf in between his two fingers and the air bursts with the vivid clove scent unlike the green version’s verdant licorice aroma. “Miss Dynas, you are a blessing.”
I brush away his comments. “Use it wisely in the special, because that’s all there is.”
He already starts to write down ingredients and hands it off to his sous chef, Bryar as I leave for the front.
My greeter, Jaelyn, comes in for their shift. “Hey, Reese, how are you doing?” Their head tips inquisitively and my hackles tingle.
“I’m fine. What’s up?”
They bite their pierced lip. “You didn’t see it?”
“Did you ask for time off?” I glance around the front podium for a note I’ve missed.
“No.” They brush a hand through their midnight blue hair. “There’s…there’s a review in the paper.”
My stomach rolls. If it was good, Jaelyn would be the first to shove it in my face. They’ve been my biggest cheerleader.
I walk to the back, Jaelyn following on my heels, and pick up the paper I bought off my desk.
“Living Section,” Jaelyn says softly. “I’m sorry, Reese.”
Sorry?
I read to myself.
Seasons 617 Review
Three words: Not Good Enough.
Last week, I walked into Seasons 617 and was greeted by a pleasant employee, seated in a booth toward the back, not near the kitchen or drafty front door, so that was a positive. But from there it all went downhill.
Two of the dishes, lemongrass chicken soup and five-spice pork spring rolls were out, even though it was only seven in the evening. I was offered the lettuce wraps as an alternative, but I declined. I ordered the Pork and Egg Ramen as an appetizer. The broth was very tasty, a bright essence of spring onion and deep earthiness of shitake, but the noodles were like paste. For my main course, I chose the night’s special a Garlic & Basil Crusted Chicken with Seven Pepper Spiced Mango Sauce. This dish was… meh.
My nose flares. Meh?
I return to reading.
I was offered an after dinner digestif but declined. I looked at the dessert menu and chose the Peach Plum Rose Tart and the Chocolate and Raspberry-Filled Fortune Cookies for my sweet tooth. This was the best part of the entire meal. By far. Whoever made those dishes is a genius. Under the three cookies there were three fortunes.
Your life will change for the better soon.
Love those who hate you.
A foolish man listens to cookies. A wise man listens to his heart.
I smile as I look over at the sous chef who creates the decadent desserts and everyone’s backs are toward me. This is a bright spot in the otherwise scathing review. Obviously, they’ve all seen the horrible words.
There are only a few short paragraphs left, and I honestly don’t know if I can stand reading anymore. I take a deep breath.
I really wanted to like this place. It’s close to my condo and I love Asian Fusion—normally. The interior is elegant, but not overly ornate, lending to being homey and comforting. The staff is extremely friendly. There are more than enough choices on the menu, but when every choice is sub-par, I’m reluctant to give this establishment a return visit.
If you’re looking for dessert—by all means, go! Sit in the six seat bar area, enjoy the house herb-infused digestif, and satisfy that sweet tooth. In fact, I’ll probably do that once or twice during the summer when it’s warm enough to sit out on their private patio.
Overall, I’m going to give it a 2-stars out of 5. I know that’s harsh, but if the owner makes serious changes, I’ll be glad to take a second chance. Until then. Great job to the pastry chef.
~ K. Cassidy, ViewPoint Food & Restaurant Reviewer
I stare at the reviewer’s name. My heart beats fast. That can’t be a coincidence, right? It has to be him. And I know where to find Mr. Meh.
“Jaelyn, I’ll be back by five. You’re in charge of the front. Bryar, congratulations on the kudos for your desserts. You’re a fantastic pastry chef. Chef Landry, this is my issue and I will take care of it. We’ll talk about better ordering patterns and simplifying the menu, keeping what’s great and selling, and creating some new dishes to keep the menu fresh.”
“We’re here for you, Reese,” Jaelyn calls out.
“Thanks.” I grab my purse, and I’m out the door. I look up which station is closest to the grocery store. Station One. It’s a good bet that’s the one he was from.
As I near the station, I wring the steering wheel, my anger ratcheting. I’ve put my life, my heart, my soul into that restaurant. My restaurant is not two stars. Never will be.
When he gave it two out of five stars, below average, he was failing me. We might have some kinks to still work out and every restaurant has a bad night once in a while. But we really try to keep ordering very tight to make sure that profit margins stay high. That will lead to a few dishes a night being unavailable. And we had to order different noodles because our regular supplier ran out. And…
And I’m furious.
This could break my business. The fifty-thousand people of Passion Point had been good to us, but it had been proven before, one bad review and sales might be down for weeks. We could stand a couple weeks, but we were riding the black and red line. Of the ten weeks we’d been open, we’d just started to see a real black return on our money.
The huge doors were open on the red brick three bay station. Living in Passion Point for my whole life, I had to admit, I’d never been here and thankfully, had never had to call them for an emergency either.
I park and stare at the front door bracketed by two green lanterns when movement inside the bay catches my eye.
Him.
I grab the paper and stomp my way over. My black heeled booties clack on the concrete, and he squints from where he’s working on one of the trucks. He jumps down and wipes his hands, crossing his arms on his solid chest and leaning back against the front of the rig.
I shake the paper in the air. “What the hell is this?”
“I believe it’s a ViewPoint newpaper?” he smirks and those perfect pink lips lift on one side.
I open it and point. “Is this you?”
“Yep. I love food and write reviews.”
“I just might sue you over this crap! And no, you don’t write reviews. You tear businesses apart and hope they can pick up the pieces. These are people’s lives. These are their dreams. These are their futures that you’re playing with.”
He pushes off the firetruck. “Reese, every word was the truth.”
“Don’t you call me that. You get to call me, Miss Dynas.” I like it too much when he calls me by my first name. I won’t let that be the thing that brings me down from my rage.
He smiles wider. “Fine. Miss Dynas…” his voice is silky and smooth. “Every word was the truth.”
I crunch the paper in my fist. “My restaurant is not two stars.” I throw the paper in his face and he bats it away.
“It was that night. If you really think it’s better, then I’ll be glad to come back. But considering that review was only last week, I doubt you’ve made significant changes, since you didn’t know you needed to make changes.”
&n
bsp; He moves closer, and I stand my ground. I will not be intimidated by this…this…man. I inhale to speak and his heady cologne and beads of sweat on his skin mix in my head. The scent blends dry cedar, ginger, and orange. I can imagine the same combination in a meal. Cedar plank salmon. Fresh ginger dressing on a romaine salad with fresh chopped veggies and orange sorbet to finish.
“And what makes you believe that you know what makes a good restaurant?”
He’s now so close that I have to tip my head back to look up at his face. I fight the urge to raise a hand to his chest, just to feel…
“My parents own Sienna Terrace in New York City.”
My brain seizes. Three-star Michelin. James Beard Award Winner. International Dining Awards. Fodor’s Choice. Even TV segments done on their food and service. That’s where I recognized that name from Nicholas and Camille Cassidy—owners and co-chefs.
“I…I…but you’re a…firefighter?”
“I love food, both cooking and eating. But watching my parents work themselves to death twelve to sixteen hours a day six days a week in the business, I knew I’d never want that life. But the need to serve is built into my DNA, so this fit and I was ready to get away from the big city, so I’m here.” His fingers brush a piece of my long hair behind my ear. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”
I ignore the question. My body burns, and I try to tell myself it’s anger, but it’s not. And I don’t want to do something I’ll regret.
And the more I stand here, the more I regret not doing something.
Anything.
Chapter Three
Kelton
She’s adorable. When she’s mad, it makes my cock go from limp to rock-hard in a Land Speed Record for Dicks.
I stare into those amazing eyes. Green isn’t a good word. Sage definitely suits. Like the herb, they’re earthy and potent and warm.
“I don’t like you,” she says with little conviction.
My fingers slip behind her neck. “Yeah, you do.”
I lower my head, and when she pops to the balls of her feet, her quick breaths twisting with mine, it’s clear what she really wants.
I claim her lips and a muted whimper vibrates against my mouth. Her hands start at my waist, but soon they are on my chest and up my neck and running into the back of my hair, gripping and insisting to take the kiss deeper by altering the placement of my head. I flick the split of her mouth and the spunky goddess opens. I sweep my tongue against hers, slow and deep while I run my hands down her body. Her upper body is slender and thin, but her hips arc outward and her ass bubbles out. I tug her closer and my hand flattens to the place where her ass pops out, not grabbing her buttcheek, but not because I don’t want to. She shimmies against me, and my cock throbs at all that softness pressed to my hardness.
Her tongue rolls with mine, faster and faster until I know I’m out of control and free-falling into this woman.
I tear my lips from hers. I can’t do this while on duty. Firefighters have been released for a lot less. I love what I do and as much as my dick is saying one thing, my head is definitely saying another. My heart…well it’s staying quiet, but I can hear it starting a dissertation on what this woman means to me already and when it’s ready to share, I’ll listen.
“I get off at seven tomorrow morning. Where do you live?”
“I’ll be at the restaurant waiting for a delivery.” She shakes her head like she can’t believe she just told me that. “I mean, none of your business!”
I chuckle. “Reese, I want you to be my business. I want to know everything about you. Let me in, please.”
Her nostrils flare, and I see the pain in her. “You hurt me. That restaurant is all I have.”
“Now you can have me.”
Her brow furrows. “Stop saying stuff like that. I just met you. I don’t know you.”
“What’s your day off?”
“I don’t get one.”
I shake my head. “Don’t do that to yourself. Your staff is wonderful. They can handle it. Tomorrow. Take tomorrow off and spend it with me.”
Her gaze bounces between my eyes. “Meet me at the restaurant in the morning and we’ll talk.”
Talk? Oh baby…we’ll do more than that.
“Good. I’ll be there.”
I press my lips to hers lightly, and she backs away shaking her head.
“No more of that until we talk.”
I turn and climb back on the truck, glancing back. “It’s going to be one hell of a conversation.”
I’m lying on my bed. I like that the station’s been quiet today, but I crave the excitement that the job offers. Just another of the hundred reasons why I couldn’t work my parents’ restaurant.
My phone buzzed earlier and I ignored it. Reese doesn’t have my phone number, and there isn’t a single other person I want to talk to right now.
It buzzes again. And again.
I reach to the nightstand. Mom.
“Hey Mom.”
“Kelton. How are you, honey?”
That’s more pleasantries than she’s given me in the last two years.
“I’m okay. I’m on duty. What’s up?”
The silence drags on and I pull the phone away to make sure the signal hasn’t dropped.
“Honey, it’s time. We need you to come back and step in at the business. Your father’s having some troubles keeping up these days. He really needs you.”
As an only child, who wasn’t really expected anyway, my parents sure do think that I’m the savior they always dreamed of. Don’t get me wrong, I love them. I just…just couldn’t make them happy and make me happy at the same time, so I had to make a choice. They believe that I chose unwisely, and some of me really believes they think that miserable is a valid way to live life.
It’s not to me.
“Mom, I have a job here in Passion Point. I have a life.”
“So we’re just supposed to close the doors? Become destitute.” One they don’t have to close the doors, because there are options. And two, they’re multi-millionaires. They just act like they’re not. It’s something in their DNA to hide their wealth and pretend they’re of average means. And lastly, drama is her best friend most days because she’s too busy to have a real friend.
“No, of course not. You can find someone who will buy it from you. I know you have money to live off very comfortably for the rest of your lives. And lastly, I’m not going to save you.”
That last one hurt to say. That’s what I do for a living and yet, I can’t do it for my parents.
“I just can’t believe how you turned out. Your father is the most giving man. I’ve let you have this little adventure, but Kelton, it’s time for you to come home. If you don’t do this…”
And this was where I usually hung up the phone. I’d done this same game for fifteen years. They were both professionals when it came to the guilt championships. But this time I took a deep breath and remembered those calming sage eyes.
“If you don’t do this, you’re dead to us.”
My heart sunk low in my chest. “I feel like you’ve cremated me a hundred times over the years, so it’s not necessary to have a funeral. I can’t keep telling you no and you believing that I’ll change my mind. I’m thirty-two years old. I’m staying here. I’m done listening to the guilt over and over. I’m just done, Mom.”
My coworker Ridley Lake steps into the room and slides to a stop. She starts to back out, but I wave her in. If I wanted privacy, I wouldn’t have left my cubby’s curtain open. The non-gendered sleeping arrangement wasn’t unusual, and the department had recently installed the curtains—much like in a hospital room—to give everyone a little of their own privacy. Especially after Ridley started working here. She also had the first bunk cubby, so she didn’t have to walk through the long room that houses sixteen firefighters, but we usually only have four or five on duty at once. And then there’s the four lieutenants’, two captain’s, and one chief’s quarters. And the paramedic’s qu
arters on the opposite end of the building. It’s very segregated living, even if we all come together for dinners, if you can call them that.
My mother clears her throat. She’s never cried as far as I know. I’ve never seen it, at least.
“Fine. Kelton, thank you for letting me know. Best of luck to you, Son.”
And the line goes dead. No “I love you”s for me. Ever. Always been hard to say them. Imagine that. In fact, I’ve never said the words to anyone but my parents. And never heard them back.
“You okay?” Ridley asks, leaning against the wall by the open doorway.
I stare at the gray industrial carpet. “I’m fine.”
She steps in front of me. “That didn’t sound fine, Cassidy.”
“Lake, I’m fine.”
She shakes her head. “Stubborn men. Do you know how much better you would feel if you just let someone listen?”
“I’m not that guy.” I stand and slip my fleece station jacket on. Rain pings the metal roof.
Her eyes glance upward. “Great.”
Even the probies know that good weather can cause accidents and calls, but bad weather…it’s like the gods want to say, “Let’s see how they do with this.”
“We’ll be okay.”
“No. My car windows are down.”
I chuckle. Maybe she’s not like every probie. “Then go close them!”
She races from the room. “I’m gonna get whatever it is out of you, yet, Cassidy.”
“Try that psychology hokie stuff on a probie, maybe Archie!”
Archie chuckles from his cubby “I’m good, thanks!”