Page 3 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

She places her hand on my forearm. “So, Mr. Fury, do you know what you're going to call the place?”

I pull my arm away from her and survey the building that will become the home of my first solo venture—well, solo aside from the whole Grant owning fifty-one percent thing.

A thousand different names have bounced around in my head since I first decided to take this step, but only one has stuck.

“I'm going to call it FURY.”

* * *

IZZY

There isn’t any use fighting the tears like I’ve had to so many other times. It would be a failing battle. They trickle down my cheeks unrestrained, the salty taste hitting my lips—so familiar after so many wept over my lifetime. Over Mom. Over my situation. Over losing Grams…

I brush them away as fast as possible, but it isn’t quick enough to keep Rochelle from seeing them and frowning with concern.

Shit.

Not only is this embarrassing, but I fucking hate that look from people. Pity. I’m so sick of people seeing me as weak and in need of constant help and support. Grams always knew how strong I am. She understood I would never give up, never stop pushing to ensure I got what I want.

She always said she admired my drive, that it would do me well in life, especially when she was gone and I was on my own. I never believed that day would come, though. Despite witnessing death and knowing it was inevitable for everyone, Grams always seemed so invincible. So full of life and brightness. The kind of person who truly lives forever.

I should have known better. Deep down, I did. Yet, her death still hit me harder than even Mom’s did.

But I shouldn’t be crying right now.

Not for her.

This is a happy thing. A day I’ve always fantasized about the way most little girls do their wedding. While some imagined white puffy dresses and a man waiting for them at the altar, I was dreaming of gleaming stainless-steel appliances, the smiles of customers I’ve just served delicious food to, and my name listed as executive chef.

And now, it’s all finally coming true, despite all the things standing in my way. Years of pain and struggle are finally paying off. But even with my heart full of hope for the future, it can’t mask the hole there left by the fact that Grams isn’t here to share this with me.

She’ll never get to see what the money she left me is going to allow me to do with this space. She won’t see the name of the restaurant on a sign over the door. She won’t be here opening night to celebrate and enjoy the dishes inspired by her recipes. I won’t get to see her eyes light up or that wide smile she always wore when she tasted my cooking.

Rochelle squeezes my arm. “You okay?”

Get it together, Iz. You look like a blubbering idiot.

I nod and swipe under my eyes again to remove the evidence of my meltdown. It’s a good thing I don’t really wear makeup, or I’d look like a drowned hooker right now. “I'm good.”

She dangles a set of keys in front of me. “Here they are. This place is all yours. At least, for the next five years under the lease.”

We share a laugh, and it helps loosen some of the tightness in my chest. Taking the keys from her and clutching them in my fist feels almost surreal. A dream I’ll wake up from and get snapped right back into my painful reality. Like this can’t really be happening—not to me.

Things like this don’t happen for me. Nothing is ever easy. I’ve had to make things happen and fight tooth and nail against all the ways life and the world try to beat me down.

And it’s only the beginning. It's going to take a lot of work to turn this place into what I’ve imagined in my head all these years, but I'm not afraid of hard work or a little adversity. Hell, I put myself through culinary school while working two jobs and taking care of Grams, despite everything else going on in my own life.

If I can do that, I can do this.

Rochelle pushes me forward. “Let's go in.”

I step up to entrance to the old building, insert the key into the ancient lock, and twist. It clicks open, and I push the door in to what will hopefully become a beautiful restaurant in the not-too-distant future.

My breath catches in my throat the same way it did the first time I stepped inside this place a week ago. “It's gorgeous.”

The perfect rustic, industrial style I was looking for. With the right furniture and décor, this place will be quaint and homey—exactly how I want it to feel for any customer who steps through the door.

Rochelle’s heels click across the hardwood floors as she makes her way to the center of the massive place. “You're very lucky to get a lease for this place. If you had waited a few more months, our prices probably would've doubled. The whole area is really starting to boom. You can’t even imagine what the owners paid for this space.”

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