Page 97 of Operation Sunshine
— Discreet inquiries to brokers
— Timeline: 3–6 months
— Staff handover? Or just cut ties?
His pen moved steadily, his mind falling into the familiar rhythm of planning, the only thing that kept the gnawing ache in his chest from swallowing him whole. When he finally set the pen down, the page looked like something between a battle plan and a surrender note.
Ben sat back, staring at it, the weight of the decision pressing down.
Am Ireallyready to give it up? To walk away from the place that’s become my anchor?
Except he knew the anchor had been Franco, and right then Ben felt adrift.
His gaze fell on the pad of paper, to the stark black lines of his own handwriting.Sell. Exit. Cut ties.
But what about Franco?
The thought cut through him like glass. What if Franco really did come back in December, full of stories about Florence, with that fire in his eyes that only cooking gave him? What if he stood in this very flat, his suitcase at his feet, and saidI’m here. I’m ready. Let’s do this.
Except Ben wasn’t here anymore, and someone else inhabited this space.
Could I live with that?Could he walk away from the restaurant—the one tether that had tied them together—and risk not just losing his staff, his livelihood, but Franco too?
Ben pressed the heel of his hand against his sternum, as though he could push back the ache. It wasn’t just about Franco, and yet… God, it was, more than he wanted to admit.
But the truth pressed back harder: the cracks had already shown. His trust in the restaurant, in the people he’d built it with, was broken. And if he stayed, pretending nothing had shifted, he’d only rot alongside it.
Franco deserved someone whole. Someone who wasn’t bleeding out from every betrayal, who wasn’t clawing for control just to keep standing.
Ben’s throat tightened. Maybe, if Franco came back and still wanted him, they’d find a way. Maybe they’d build something new, someplace else. But he couldn’t stay here, not now, not after what he’d heard.
He picked up the pad and stared at the neat bullet points again. His decision didn’t feel clean, but it felt necessary.
He was torn down the middle, with guilt and longing tangling until he could barely breathe. There was only one path he could see.
Tomorrow, I’ll make the calls.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
As soon as he’d walked in that morning, Ben had told Willow there would be a meeting before service, and since then the restaurant had buzzed with an energy that felt off-kilter, like a violin string tuned too tight. Lexie stomped around, muttering curses under her breath. Ollie pretended to polish glasses but kept shooting anxious glances toward Raj. Willow practically vibrated with nervous energy, twisting a napkin into knots.
When Ben finally stepped out of the office, the chatter stilled in a heartbeat. His posture was rigid, as if every muscle in his body was braced for impact. Keeping his expression neutral took every ounce of effort he possessed. He waited until everyone was seated before clearing his throat.
Lexie crossed her arms. “For God’s sake, Ben, you look like you’re about to read out someone’s last rites.”
Ben’s mouth twitched.You havenoidea.Leading in gently was obviously not an option.
“I’ve decided to sell the restaurant.”
The words dropped like a rock into deep water, and silencerippled out, swallowing the room. Several mouths fell open, facial muscles slackened, and everyone froze.
“What the actualfuck?” Lexie exploded. “You’re joking.Tellme you’re joking.”
Raj’s brows knitted together, his usually calm face contorted with unease.
Mina let out a small, strangled sound and covered her mouth, her wide eyes shining. “Ben… what? Why?”
Ben drew in a slow breath, steadying himself. “I bought this place because I needed a fresh start. Because I thought I could make something here. But somewhere along the line, I lost sight of what that meant. And I… I think I made a mistake. I don’t belong here.”
