Page 88 of The Reaper
Finn appeared from the dining room, a frown tugging at his mouth. “Hey. It’s just one night’s menu. We’ll swap it for?—”
“No!” The word tore out of me sharper than I meant, bouncing off the tile like a whip crack. “We don’t just ‘swap’ when we’re this close. Do you understand what that means? Every detail matters. Every plate matters. You think they hand out stars because you can improvise? No. They don’t reward ‘good enough.’ They don’t care that you had a rough morningor a broken shipment. They give stars because you execute—flawlessly—every single time. No excuses. No shortcuts. No substitutions that you hope the diner doesn’t notice.”
I could feel the words pouring out, unspooling years of pressure I’d never said aloud. My voice sharpened, my chest heaving as I kept going. “This isn’t a neighborhood bistro where people shrug and say, ‘Oh well, the fish is out, guess we’ll try the chicken.’ This isPromenade. People book flights to eat here. They trust me to give them an experience worth their money, worth their time, worth their goddamn faith. And inspectors—those anonymous bastards—they watch everything. They sit there silent, judging the curve of a sauce smear, the sear on a scallop, whether the bread hits the table at precisely the right temperature. They don’t forgive. They don’t forget. And if we fail? They don’t come back.”
I slammed the prep list down, my finger stabbing at it like it was to blame. “This is the game we play. Consistency. Precision. Excellence without fail. You don’t ‘swap’ and survive in this arena. You don’t pivot and hope no one notices. You deliver what you promised, exactly as you promised it, or you might as well lock the doors and tell everyone to go home.”
My chest rose and fell, heat rushing to my cheeks. “Do you know how many years I’ve given to this place? How many nights I’ve slept on that office couch just to make sure the béchamel didn’t break, or that the morning deliveries weren’t left too long in the heat? I’ve bled on these counters. I’ve pushed myself past exhaustion, past reason, because this place isn’t just a job—it’s my life. My reputation. My redemption. And all of it—every ounce of it—rides on the fact that we don’t miss. Not once. Not ever.”
My voice was too loud now, bouncing off stainless steel and tile. I saw Carly flinch. Michael’s shoulders hunched. Alba had frozen at the pass, a stack of plates in her hands.
Caleb stepped fully into the kitchen, that quiet, immovable presence that made everyone else seem smaller. “Meg, you need to breathe.”
I spun on him, the pressure in my chest snapping like an overstretched wire. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to know you’re the reason your parents never saw their dream come true? That they died because they were coming to get you? Do you know what it’s like to wake up every day trying to earn back something you can’t ever give them?”
Silence.
The words were out now, raw, hanging in the heat of the kitchen.
“I thought if I made this place perfect—if I could get that star—they’d know. Wherever they are, they’d know I didn’t waste what they gave me. That I’m sorry. That I’d trade it all if I could just go back and tell them to stay home that night.”
The words tore out of me, jagged, scraping up years I’d kept locked tight behind my ribs. My hands were trembling, hard. My fingers curled against the steel counter, trying to hold onto something solid while everything inside me shook loose.
“They worked their whole lives for this—dreamed of it—burned themselves down to the wick trying to keep Meggie’s afloat. And when it all went up in flames, when the fire gutted not just the building but the only dream they had left … they didn’t quit. They never quit. And then one night, one stupid, ordinary night, they got in that car to pick me up, and they never made it home. And I …” My throat locked, the word catching. “… I lived. I lived, and they didn’t, and I don’t know how to carry that except to build something that proves it wasn’t all wasted.”
I dragged in a ragged breath, the kitchen spinning with too much memory. “Every dish, every plate, every ridiculous twelve-hour reduction or perfect brunoise—it isn’t just food. It’s me trying to reach them. To send a signal out into the universe thatsays, ‘Look. Look at what I’ve done. Look at how I’ve kept your dream alive. Look at howI’m sorry.’ And if I can get that star—if I can make this place flawless—maybe it’ll mean something. Maybe it’ll undo even a fraction of the guilt that sits in my chest like a stone every damn day.”
My vision blurred, heat stinging behind my eyes. “But no matter how hard I push, no matter how many nights I bleed on this line, it’s never enough. It’ll never be enough to bring them back or erase the fact that if I’d just told them to wait, or walked home, or—God—done anything different, they’d still be here.”
Carly’s eyes were shining. Finn looked like he’d taken a punch. Michael stared at the floor.
Caleb closed the space between us in two strides, his hands finding my shoulders, steadying me. “Meg, it wasn’t your fault.”
I saw it happen—the flicker in his eyes, the way his brow drew in just enough to tell me he was putting something together. He’d known my parents were gone. I’d told him that much. But I’d never told him the rest. Never said the words about that rainy night, the car, the headlights that never appeared in my friend’s driveway. Never admitted that they’d been on their way to get me when it happened.
His thumbs brushed over my shoulders, slow, deliberate, like he was afraid I’d bolt if he moved too fast. “They were coming for you,” he said quietly—not a question, not an accusation, just fact.
My stomach clenched. I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. The truth was in the way my gaze slid to the floor, in the way my chest locked tight.
“And this place,” he went on, his voice even lower now, “it’s not just a restaurant to you. It’s theirs.” His eyes searched mine, seeing more than I wanted him to. “You’ve been carrying it for them.”
The air between us felt heavier, like the kitchen walls were closing in. He was right. God, help me, he was right. Andsomehow, having him say it out loud made the guilt sharper, not softer.
But the thing about guilt? You can’t logic it away.
I shook my head, the burn in my throat threatening to spill over. “If I let this place close, even for a week, it’ll be like I’m letting go of them. Like I’m admitting it’s all for nothing.”
Caleb’s grip tightened, his voice low but fierce. “This isn’t nothing. And it’s not just theirs anymore. It’s yours. You built this. You keep it alive. Or not.”
I swallowed hard, the weight in my chest shifting but not lifting. The truth was, I didn’t know how to separate the restaurant from the debt I thought I owed. They were braided together, root and vine, choking me even as they held me upright.
Behind us, Finn cleared his throat softly. “We’ll figure out the fish. I’ll call every contact I’ve got.”
Carly wiped her hands on her apron, stepping up beside Michael. “We’ll rework the sides. Make something beautiful.”
Alba’s voice carried from the pass, steady and warm. “You’ve got a whole crew here who’d stand outside in the dark for you. Don’t forget that.”
The words hit me like a soft blow. I turned, looking at them—really looking—and for the first time that morning, I saw more than the list of things that could go wrong. I saw the people who’d shown up, anyway.
