"That's the dream," I replied, feeling a twinge of sadness.
"So what's stopping you?"
"Oh, I don't know, how about everything? You need money and connections and experience, none of which I have. I'm not even a working chef, right now."
"So maybe it's time to get back in the game? In the least sexist way possible, this meal basically convinces me that you belong in the kitchen."
I punched him in the shoulder, feigning mock offense. "How dare you?"
"Oh don't get all feminazi on me. You know it's true. I've been watching you watch me eat. You get some kind of perverse joy out of pleasuring people's taste buds."
"What can I say? I give good food." I wished I could just deflect the topic with jokes, but Logan continued to stare while the question hung in the air. "I've thought about going back to it, but a few months ago, when I tried, nowhere was hiring."
"So maybe it's time to start trying again? You're clearly passionate about this stuff. It'd be a crime to let that go to waste."
"I know. You're right," I replied, but I didn't sound convinced. The idea of getting back into that life was certainly tempting, but also intimidating. The pace of it, the long hours, the stress; I didn't know if I could cope. Things right now were simple, comfortable. The bar was easy work and Logan and Joy were constant fixtures. I felt better than I had at any time since Tom died, but that didn't mean I was in the clear. Things could spiral out of control again in the blink of an eye.
Again, Logan displayed an uncanny ability to read me. "Hey. You'd be fine. You've been doing really well."
"I know," I said again, "it's just a little scary. Things are good right now, and if I wind up back in a restaurant, a lot of stuff is going to change. My schedule would be crazy, for one thing. I don't know when we'd get the time to see each other. And I wouldn't want to leave Charlie in the lurch like that."
"Now you're just making excuses. Charlie would be fine, and we'd find time for one another. I'll do what I have to do. I'm not saying it has to be right now, just think about it, alright?"
I nodded. "I will."
We didn't speak for a few minutes besides the odd mumble of approval. Logan was right; just watching him enjoy the fruits of my labor brought me a huge amount of satisfaction. Food made me happy in a way few other things did. Maybe it really was time.
Gazing out at the dessert, I began to understand why he liked it here so much. It gave off this amazing sense of peace. Nothing moved in that space. It was just the world, pure and open before us. If I ignored the hum of the city to our backs, it was easy to imagine that we were the last people on the planet. You'd think that would be a scary thought, but it wasn't. A simple life with him was the most perfect thing I could imagine.
"Tell me about your restaurant," he said, as he began loading up his plate for round three.
"What?"
"If you were to open a restaurant, what would it be like? I know you, Grace. There's no way you haven't thought about this."
I couldn't help but smile. He was right. You know how some girls plan their dream wedding from the time they're old enough to twirl their hair at a boy? Well that was me, except replace "twirl my hair at a boy" with "pick up a wooden spoon," and "wedding" with "restaurant." I went through phases of course — the angsty fusion place where everything is a foam or a deconstruction, the ultra-hip and minimalist modern Japanese den, the eco-friendly vegan hang out — but once I left the hormones behind, I settled on something and haven't looked back.
"It would be Italian. Lots of pasta, pizza, garlic, prosciutto. Real comfort food. I want it to be the kind of place you're just as happy ducking down to for a weeknight meal as you are booking a romantic Saturday dinner for two. And it wouldn't be too big; thirty or forty seats. Nice and friendly. I want regular customers that know me by name and come in and order the same thing every week. Of course, I'll also have three Michelin Stars and be in Bon Appétit magazine and I'll be friends with Heston Blumenthal and Ferran Adria and go to all kinds of parties with them."
His expression had grown increasingly confused as I talked. "I'm not sure what any of those last things you said are, but the restaurant sounds good."
I laughed. "Yes, yes it does."
A few minutes later, Logan pushed his plate forward. "Well, I'm officially stuffed."
"Hopefully not too much. There's still dessert."
"Seriously?"
I nodded. "Back at my place."
His expression turned sly. "Do I get a choice of options? Because I think I know what I want."