Page 100 of Operation Sunshine
He registered their disappointment, but he wasn’t about to roll over so quickly, not when he could still feel the sting of that overheard conversation.
“That’s fair,” Raj said, his tone flat.
“Yeah,” Lexie murmured.
“Take as much time as you need,” Willow offered.
“But in the meantime, we’ll keep our fingers crossed,” Ollie added.
Ben had no idea how much time it would take to erase the hurt, but he meant what he said.
He would think about it.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The end of September settled over the restaurant with a strange, unexpected calm. After the storm of revelations the previous week, things ran a little more smoothly, but Ben was always conscious of inquiring gazes, of silences when he went into the kitchen to speak to Raj.
They’re waiting for the axe to fall.
Willow stuck her head around the office door. She glanced at the coffee pot before addressing him. “I thought you might have run out. There’s some freshly brewed in the kitchen if you’re interested.” Then she withdrew before he could respond.
The feeling that everyone was walking on eggshells was a reminder all was not right.
Ben got up and went in search of coffee. It was still early, and the restaurant smelled faintly of fresh herbs. He stood at the threshold to the kitchen, letting the quiet of the early morning wash over him, and allowed himself to breathe. No emails, no orders, no chaos, only the faint hum of the fridge and the clatter of pans as the staff prepped for the day.
He poured himself a mug and leaned against the counter, drinking it all in.
Lexie moved between stations with an ease that had him momentarily distracted. She was humming under her breath, arranging knives and chopping boards, her usual sharp fire replaced by focus and diligence. She didn’t glance once in his direction, however.
Ollie carried a box of wine bottles through to the bar. He smiled when his gaze met Ben’s, a small, sheepish acknowledgment that made Ben’s chest tighten. He’d forgotten that smile.
Willow popped her head around the corner of the prep station, holding a small stack of papers. “Menu ideas for October,” she said in a low voice, placing them on the counter. “Thought you might want to take a look before service.”
Ben took the papers without a word, letting his gaze sweep over her, Lexie, Ollie, Raj, and Mina, noting the subtle movements, the quiet care, the unspoken effort to make this place work, even after what had happened.
They aren’t perfect.They’d made a mistake, a big one. But the thoughtfulness, the drive, the small moments of consideration? Those were real.
He thought of Franco, gone for four weeks, and his chest constricted. Franco’s emails continued to be careful, polite, distant, impersonal. Nothing that bridged the gap between them. Nothing that let Ben feel he was part of Franco’s days.
God, I miss him.
The thought of Franco returning to a restaurant that had been sold, or worse, left in shambles because Ben hadn’t trusted his team? It made his chest ache in a way that words couldn’t reach. He couldn’t let that happen, not now. Not when the bonds he’d built with the staff were already fragile but real.
He closed his eyes, letting the steam from the coffee curl into his face. It wasn’t only about the restaurant, it was about the people who had become his family here. It was about what he’d built with Franco.He couldn’t undo months of trust, effort, and love—with either of them—by walking away in anger or hurt.
A faint sound brought him back. Raj brought a tray of ingredients to the island, setting them down gently. “Figured you might want to test the new risotto before service,” he said, his deep voice low, deferential.
Ben smiled despite himself. He lifted his mug in a small, silent toast. “Thanks,” he said, his voice a little rough.
Lexie glanced up, catching the motion, and nodded once. Willow gave a small, encouraging smile. It wasn’t a grand gesture. No one got on their knees or shouted apologies. But it was real enough to remind him why he’d bought this restaurant in the first place, why he’d risked so much, why he had let people in when he normally kept walls higher than the city skyline.
Ben set the mug down and ran a hand over his face. The hurt hadn’t disappeared, and it probably never would completely, but he could see something better: the beginnings of trust being rebuilt, step by cautious step.
And then there was Franco. Ben could picture him walking through the door any day now, tired from several long flights, full of stories about Florence and kitchens and the Arno at sunset. Ben wanted that moment to happen with the place intact, with a team he could rely on, with a life he hadn’t abandoned.
He exhaled slowly, the decision settling over him like the warm morning sunlight through the front window. “All right,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. “Let’s do this. Step by step.”
Raj glanced up, his gaze inquiring. “Do what?”
