She walked through the kitchen, spoke to Carlos about the new menu changes, looked at the reorganized prep station, his reorganized prep station, still running the same way he'd set it up 3 years ago, and made a note in her portfolio. She didn't stop at him again. She left 40 minutes later. But when he checked his phone on his break, there was a text. You don't have to call me Miss Hayes in front of your staff, but I understand why you did.
He typed back, "Boundaries matter." Her response came fast. Faster than he expected. Agreed. Which is why I'm asking you to dinner.
Not a work conversation. Not anything professional. Just dinner. You can say no. Daniel sat in the break room with phone in his hand and the specific feeling of a man standing on the edge of something and looking down.
He thought about Amara. He thought about Maya. He thought about 6 years of a life built on precision and control and not allowing himself to want things he wasn't sure he could have without losing something he couldn't afford to lose. He thought about the rain. I didn't come for your shift, he typed.
What did you have in mind? Her answer. Saturday 7:00 somewhere quiet. My choice of restaurant, I promise it's not one of mine. He almost typed something careful and measured and responsible.
Instead, he typed Saturday works. Then he sat there staring at what he just agreed to. On the other side of the city, Victoria Hayes read his reply, set her phone face down on her office desk, pressed both palms flat against the surface, and took a breath. She had built 11 restaurants. She had negotiated with investors who treated every conversation like a chess match.
She had sat across from bankers who had underestimated her before she'd opened her mouth and had learned over the course of those meetings not to repeat that mistake. She had never once sent a dinner invitation and then sat at her desk with her heart doing what it was currently doing. Ruthanne, she called to her assistant. Her assistant appeared in the doorway. Yes, Miss Hayes.
Clear my Saturday afternoon. How much of it? Victoria looked at the phone. All of it, she said. Saturday arrived the way important days tend to with normal morning routines that make you forget what evening is coming until they're over.
Daniel made pancakes. Amara ate four of them and declared Gerald the sea turtle was not hungry today, which meant she was slightly nervous about something and working it out through her stuffed animals the way she always did. You okay, Sunny? Daniel asked. Mhm.
She poked her last pancake. You're doing the thing? What thing? The Gerald thing where he's not hungry when you're thinking about something. Amara looked at Gerald, then at Daniel.
Mrs. Perkins said, "You have plans tonight." "There it was." Daniel sat down across from her. "I do.