"Are you all right?" she asks softly.
"I'll be fine," I say, "it's just, it's just a lot."
"It's going to be okay," she says, "I got you."
I smile, grateful for her presence and thinking that when I woke up this morning and heard my mom's suggestion of coming to this restaurant, I leapt at the idea, not really considering all I was getting into, just knowing I needed a change, knowing I needed to get out of my cabin, needed human connection, needed her story, needed this person I didn't even know yet. And I'm glad I'm here. I am truly glad, but it's a lot. It's a lot all at once. The car ride, the traffic, the city lights, the buzz, the crowded restaurant. The restaurant, fuck.
Just being inside a place like this gives me flashbacks to the career I left without much of an explanation.
Three years ago was the height of my career. I had everything within my reach: fortune, fame, favor. And I left it all. My jaw tightens as a black curtain is swept open and a woman in a white suit greets us, holding a black leather folder. "Hello, are you here with a reservation?"
"Yes," I say, "I'm Truett Baker. And this is Story Cook. We're here for..."
"Of course," she says, smiling slowly. "Of course, Truett, we're so pleased you're here. I'm going to let the head chef know. She was so excited to know that you were joining us this evening."
"Isn't there a pre-interview or something before we're allowed to be seated?"
The hostess smiles. "Well, you are a celebrity chef. I shouldn't say more, but when we heard you wanted a table, well, exceptions were made."
I look over at Story. Shit. I brought her into this and maybe there was no need. Apparently, I could've just called up the restaurant and gotten a table without bringing her. The moment I decided I wanted to eat here, I called my agent and asked him to get me a spot. Of course, I assumed I would need to go through the same rigamarole anyone else would.
But I did have several restaurants open. I had cookbooks lining the shelves of every bookstore in America. Even though I tried to go away, I guess it's hard to be forgotten, even when you want to be .
A moment later, a woman in a chef apron enters the foyer. She reaches for my hand. "Truett Baker, I'm honored that you have graced my restaurant with your presence," the woman says. She's young, younger than me. Probably Story's age, honestly. "I'm Lizelle Smith. This is my restaurant. I'm honored that you wanted to come here. When I heard that you were requesting a table, I was flattered that you even knew my restaurant existed. Your restaurants and food inspired me to open this place. I didn't even know if you followed the food scene anymore. You've been like a ghost for the last three years. An illusion. No one has seen or heard from you or..." She shook her head, gushing. "I'm sorry, I'm talking a lot."
"It's okay." I say, running a hand over my jaw. "This is Story, my date."
Lizelle reaches out and shakes Story's hand. "I'm so pleased to meet you. Honored, really. I didn't know that Truett was with someone. I guess maybe that's why you disappeared into anonymity. You fell in love."
"And you?" Story asks. "Are you in love? Is that what inspired your restaurant?"
Lizelle smiles. "Yes, actually. I fell in love at first sight when I was 19 years old. And while my parents thought it was a terrible idea, I thought it was beautiful."
Story smiles. "I love that. I've always been a hopeless romantic myself."
Lizelle grins. "When I went to chef school, I had this glorious idea for Perfect Pair. Of course, some people think it's a little cheesy, but once they have the experience of eating a delectable meal with someone that they truly are connected with, there’s something magical that happens. Undeniable, really."
She scrunches up her nose, and I can see that she is a warm and welcoming person. I can imagine whatever she does in the kitchen comes through in her food.
I didn't expect it to happen, but there's a tightening in my chest when I hear her talk about what she does as a cook. A longing, something I'm missing. I fucking find myself blinking back tears.
"I'm sorry. Did I say something to upset you?" she asks.
"No, no, I'm fine," I say, rubbing my eyes. "I just... I'm sorry. I'm just happy to be here with Story and to have met you, and it's just nice is all."
Lizelle smiles slowly. "I'm surprised," she says. "I always had the impression that you were this stoic, reserved man, this reclusive mountain man type. Some people said it was an act. You know, that it was all for fame, to get customers or the book deals – the foraging in the woods and the fish that you caught by hand in the river. A shtick or something." Lizelle shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to sound rude."