Page 15 of For Butter or Worse
Jasmine had worked alongside Nina for years at Lyon, but she’d also been talking about starting a restaurant. While Jasmine may have had the ability to quickly master any DIY skill she tried, she’d been stuck on exactly what direction to take her most personal project.
“Honestly, no.” Jasmine popped a fallen piece of donut into her mouth. “The problem is, I like too many things. How can I start a restaurant when I can’t even decide what the menu will be?”
Nina nodded. She hadn’t considered that Jasmine’s hobbies, which were many, might not just be things she was interested in—they might also be superproductive ways to procrastinate on building her own restaurant.
“Do you want me to give you a spiel, or are you just venting?” They gave each other advice on everything, but Nina didn’t want to be pushy.
“I tend to like your spiels. Spiel away.” Jasmine leaned back in her chair and nibbled on the end of a “chicken” slider.
“Okay, when I opened Lyon, I started by thinking about what experience I wanted to create.” Nina had talked to Jasmine about this part of the process, but not in great detail. “I wanted people to walk in and know that they were in my home. Like they’d been invited to my house for the first time, and every detail would bring them into my world. Through the environment, and the furniture, and the little messages I scribble on each day’s menu—everything is personal, because Lyon is me. Which, now that I’m saying it out loud, sounds incredibly narcissistic. But I have a point of view, and I express that through my food. I needed my restaurant to tell the story of my life and childhood. I wanted it to feel the way my mother made me feel every day. So maybe think about your aesthetic, and the rest will come.”
“You like that word.Aesthetic. You’ve used it a lot today.”
“Word of the day.” Nina shrugged and picked up her tea. “Bottom line, I’d eat anything you cook. You’re the most incredible human in the world, and other people need to know that, too.”
Jasmine traced a finger along her jaw, finishing a bite of cornbread. “To use your word, I like theaestheticof this neighborhood. Even though I grew up here, every time I come back, there’s a new store or bar—more people wanting to move here. I know it’s complicated—gentrification is changing this place. But it’s an old neighborhood, and this feels like a part of LA that a lot of people don’t get to see. It’s so diverse. And when I come here... I feel like I’m invited, in a way. Maybe it’s just because my actual childhood home is here? I don’t know.”
Nina nodded. She wasn’t about to pretend like she would ever be able to grasp what it was like to be a Black female chef—a minority within a minority. But she did understand the importance of feeling accepted, and maybe that was what this area did for Jasmine.
“You might have to build a kitchen from scratch,” Nina said. The buildings had clearly been on this street for decades—heavy brickwork and intricately designed storefronts that just weren’t around in busier parts of the city. Which might mean they weren’t built for the full-size kitchen Jasmine would need. “But I bet they have some gorgeous spots with options for outdoor dining. You could do those hanging bistro lights and cover the walls with ivy.” Nina’s hands flew as she spoke, as she painted herself a picture of what Jasmine’s future could look like.
“Maybe this neighborhood could work.” Jasmine’s eyebrows raised.
“Dori and Cory would be thrilled.” Nina swallowed a bite of her potato-hash taco and was delighted to find that the “cream” drizzled across the top tasted remarkably like cheese.
Jasmine smiled at her, and Nina felt a rush of the energy she always had when they were together, inspiring each other.
“Do you think you’ll be able to get on the bike again, or should we call you an Uber?” Jasmine asked.
“Actually, I’m going to get another donut and do some work.” Nina needed to respond to some emails. And she also needed another donut, no doubt about that.
“Proud of your choices.” Jasmine leaned down and kissed Nina on the cheek. “Especially if you order a pink donut.”
“Love you,” Nina replied.
She leaned back in her chair and reached for her phone. She wasn’t interested in whatever nonsense was waiting for her there, but she couldn’t avoid her situation forever.
No pressure, babe!Tom had texted.But your moment with Leo is now!
She stuffed her phone back in the bag. She should’ve tossed it off the side of the bike and into the road when she’d had the chance. Because she knew in her bones that Tom was right. For better or worse, she’d made her bed, and Leo was already sleeping in it.
7
LEO
Leo sat across from his brother, Gavin. He made direct eye contact and nodded his head, checking off all the boxes for being an attentive, loving sibling. But he hadn’t heard a word of what was being said, seeing as he was distracted by a text from Nina that really had his head spinning.
“Bridget Jones’s Diary.”Gavin’s sharp voice snapped Leo back to the room.
“Is the greatest love story of all time. What about it?” Leo looked around the restaurant, which was currently empty after a particularly busy night. The press coverage from his and Nina’s nonkiss seemed to have piqued people’s interest, or appetite, or both. Either way, Leo was pleased with the results over the last few days.
The unexpected uptick in business had energized him. Or maybe, more accurately, he was just excited to have something else to focus on that didn’t involve Nina. So, the night before, he’d come into the restaurant and pulled an all-nighter, working on the bookkeeping. After all, if business continued to improve like this, maybe things could turn around for Vinny’s.
His family knew he was a workaholic by nature, but his mom and brother definitely wouldn’t be okay with him skipping sleep to crunch numbers. Especially if they had any clue about his history of panic attacks...
“So you approve of the new appetizers for the holiday season?” Gavin closed the binder he’d laid out—their dad’s old recipe book. Gavin, as the head chef, had updated it throughout the years.
“No, not approved. I wasn’t paying attention.” Okay, so he’d slipped, lost focus, and now his brother knew. Whatever.
