Page 16 of Sold To My Ex's Dad

I’m impressed. “Well, if she's thrived under his reign for two years …”

"Exactly my point, Dad," Caleb says.

"That's something," I admit grudgingly. Surviving in Marco's kitchen speaks volumes about her resilience and skill.

Changing gears, Caleb looks around the bustling kitchen. "Any chance I can grab something to eat while I'm here? The smell's killing me."

I shoot him a look, half amused, half exasperated. "Your appetite's going to bankrupt me one of these days," I joke, but I'm already reaching for ingredients. Caleb’s my favorite person to cook for and always has been.

Within minutes, I've got a scallops sizzling in a pan.

As I plate the dish, arranging the scallops with a drizzle of sauce, Caleb's eyes widen. "That looks incredible, Dad."

I carry the plate into my office, where we can continue our conversation away from the cooks in the kitchen. As Caleb dives in with gusto, I can't help but feel a twinge of pride. Cooking is my language, my way of connecting.

Between bites, he says, "You know, she's really passionate about cooking. It's not just a job for her; it's like her calling or something."

I nod, understanding that feeling all too well. "Passion's what separates the good from the great," I agree, suddenly intrigued by the idea of meeting someone with that level of dedication.

"Why the sudden need for a new sous chef anyway?" Caleb asks.

I sigh, leaning back in my chair. "Sarah is leaving s. Her first baby is due at the end of the month, and she wants to be a stay-at-home mom. It's a big loss for the team, so I need someone to fill her shoes and get up to speed."

Caleb's eyes light up. "That's perfect timing, then. Your kitchen, her talent—it could be the perfect match."

I pause, considering the possibility of what he’s saying. "Tell her to come by and drop off her resume," I say, already mapping out in my mind how I'd onboard a new sous chef with such little lead time.

Caleb's grin widens. "Already did that. I stopped there on my way over here."

I can't help but laugh, shaking my head at his forwardness. "Confident about your sales pitch, huh? Well, if she impresses me, we'll give her a trial run. See if she can handle the pressure of my kitchen."

Caleb nods in agreement. "Oh, she can."

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I ask, "Why do you care so much about what an ex is up to?"

He leans back, his plate clean, and looks me straight in the eye. "Because she's got real talent, Dad. And talent like that shouldn't be wasted. She deserves to be doing great things with it. We didn’t work out, but the breakup wasn’t bad, and she’s a great person."

Hearing the conviction in Caleb's voice, I can't argue with that. Talent is the lifeblood of any great kitchen, and if she's as good as he claims, then maybe she's exactly what Savor needs right now.

Caleb wipes his mouth on a napkin and stands. "I should get going. I need to change before tonight. I have that client dinner for my internship," he says.

As he's about to leave, I can't resist a little jab, nodding toward the empty plate on the table. "Don't forget to wash that up at the dish area on the way out," I tell him, half-serious.

He laughs, the sound echoing in the office. "Ah, that'll bring back memories of my dishwasher days back in undergrad," he says, picking up the plate. It's a small reminder of how far he's come, from washing dishes in my kitchen to navigating the legal world by interning at a law firm.

With a final wave, Caleb heads out, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The conversation about the potential new hire lingers in my mind. Marco DiCampi, for all his faults, is undeniably talented, and his kitchen is a great proving ground. If she's managed to thrive there, she's got the kind of mettle I respect.

Once Caleb's gone, I step back into the fray of the kitchen, making sure everything's running smoothly.

Eventually, I retreat to my office, where I await the least favorite part of my day: the administrative side of owning a restaurant. It isn't glamorous, but it's necessary. As I sift through invoices and schedules, the thought of bringing in someone new, someone who's managed to hold her own in Marco's kitchen, keeps circling back into my thoughts.

I make a mental note to review her resume as soon as it comes in. If she's as good as Caleb says, I want to see it for myself.

As I plow through the paperwork, the restaurant's rhythm beginning to hum with the pre-dinner rush energy, my focus is abruptly redirected. The phone buzzes, and it's Alex, my front-of-house manager.

"Chef, there's a gentleman here asking to speak with you privately in your office," Alex's voice carries a note of curiosity, maybe even a hint of concern.

“Is there a reason you’re bothering me with this instead of handling him yourself?”

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