Page 119 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

He steps out of the restaurant and joins me on the sidewalk. He’s dressed in his signature three-piece suit with a cobalt tie, the smell of his woodsy cologne reaching me before he does.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks.

“I wanted some fresh air and to take it all in.” I smile softly, gesturing to the building.

Harrison takes my hand in his, intertwining our fingers. “It’s remarkable, Fallon.” His voice is filled with admiration. “These are for you.”

He extends his other hand, revealing a bouquet of white tulips.

“Thank you,” I say, bringing them to my nose and inhaling their sweet scent. “They’re beautiful.”

“You left the apartment early this morning, and I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you properly today.” He winds his arm around my waist, drawing me flush to his chest. “I’m proud of you, trouble.” He tips my chin, his lips meeting mine in a kiss. “I love you so damn much.”

I run a finger along the stubble on his chin. “I love you too, hotshot. This is your night as much as it is mine. Thank you for being there from beginning. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

We’ve come a long way—what started as a whirlwind weekend together, followed by mutual disdain, has blossomed into being head over heels in love. The past year has been pure bliss, and I thank my lucky stars for getting to wake up with him by my side. Even after a year, my love for him grows stronger by the day.

Harrison has hired several executives at Stafford Holdings, giving him more time at home. Our nights and weekends are spent in the kitchen, curled up on the couch with Cat at our feet,and enjoying walks through Central Park when the weather is nice. Our life together might not be filled with grand adventures, but it’s proof that lasting love can be simple and still be extraordinary, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Why don’t we go inside?” Harrison suggests. “My family wants to see you before you go back to the kitchen.”

“I’d like that. Lead the way,” I say as I follow him inside.

Hand in hand, we step into the restaurant, immediately enveloped by the warmth. The air is filled with fresh basil and rosemary, with the subtle fragrance of mint from the plants around us.

Tables crafted from reclaimed wood are set up throughout the room, each paired with leather-upholstered chairs. Across the room, a bar stretches along the wall filled with top-shelf liquor, where the bartender mixes drinks with precision. Low wooden trays along the wall hold small clusters of herbs that we incorporate into the dishes.

I wave at Julie, the hostess, as we walk past. “You’re doing great tonight,” I commend.

“Thank you, Chef.” She beams.

The place is packed with family and friends of the staff. Tonight, we’re doing a soft opening to fine-tune the menu and service ahead of the grand opening next week. Lila and Brooks are coming to town for it, and I’m counting down the days. It’s been too long, and I have a list of places to take Lila while she’s in town.

The Staffords are at a large table in the corner, enjoying a sampler of appetizers, including stuffed mushrooms, sweet potato wedges, and smoked salmon cucumber bites.

As soon as Johanna sees us, she gets out of her chair and comes over to pull me into a hug.

“Sweetheart, this place is amazing,” she praises, pulling back to look at me. “And the food is flawless as always. Mike and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

Tears well in my eyes at her tenderness. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

I mean it. Since Harrison and I made our relationship official, Johanna has embraced me like her own daughter. She calls me every day, visits New York at least once a month, and is always available when I want to share a new recipe or simply talk. No one will ever replace my mom, but Johanna has become a close second, offering the guidance, love, and comfort that have helped me heal in ways I never thought were possible.

It’s a stark contrast to the relationship I had with my grandmother. I haven’t heard from her since she showed up at the apartment building last year, and I’m okay with that. I’m sure I’ll have to face her again someday, but she no longer holds any weight in my life. What matters now is that I’m surrounded by people who lift me up and care about me unconditionally.

“Yes, the food is excellent. You’ve really outdone yourself,” Mike says enthusiastically from his seat before popping a stuffed mushroom into his mouth.

“Fallon, when is the balloon maker coming?” Lola shouts from the other side of the table, sitting between Dylan and Marlow.

With so many kids here tonight, I wanted to make it special so a balloon artist seemed like the perfect choice to bring a little extra fun to the mix.

I glance at my watch. “He’ll be here by the time you finish your dinner.”

“Oh, goodie. This is the best day ever,” she exclaims through a mouthful of potato wedges. “I want him to make me a unicorn.”

Marlow leans in, softly touching her arm. “Lolabug, remember what I mentioned earlier—talking with your mouth full isn’t polite.”

“Sorry,” she says through a mouthful of food.

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