Page 4 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

“Oh, I believe it.” I twirl around and take it all in like it’s the first time. “It's beautiful and a great location.”

I’ve never wanted a restaurant in the hustle and bustle of Manhattan. That just isn’t me or my vision. I want somewhere locals can gather. A place the neighborhood can think of as their own. A welcoming hub.

Rochelle raises a brow. “You have any ideas about interior yet?”

I grin and walk over to the far side of the space where a basic kitchen is already set up with appliances that look almost as old as me. “I’ll keep the kitchen over here, obviously, since it’s already built out somewhat. I still can’t believe someone had a restaurant here at one time and abandoned it.”

She nods her agreement as I walk the perimeter of the room. “That was well before my time, but I imagine this neighborhood twenty or thirty years ago was a lot different than it is today.”

No doubt.

While it saddens me to think someone tried and failed here, it also makes this start-up a little bit easier and faster. Time isn’t exactly on my side, and I want to get as much done as possible before anything gets in the way.

Looking around, a vision takes shape, crystal clear in my head, almost like I’m viewing it on a movie screen in front of me. “I think I'm going to have about twenty-five tables. Varying sizes. I want to do some long community tables, some round tables so everyone engages in conversation with each other, and then some smaller, more intimate ones for couples.”

Rochelle smiles, her dark pink lips curling up naturally. “Wow, you've really been thinking about this a lot.”

I grin at her and clutch the keys tightly in my hand. “My entire life.”

Literally.

“I grew up in my grandmother's kitchen and always wanted to share her recipes and what she taught me with the world.” Emotion tightens my chest, and I rub at it absently. “When I graduated from culinary school, I thought it would take me decades to have the money to open my own place, but my grandmother's passing brought me an unexpected small inheritance.”

Barely enough to afford a year’s worth of rent on this place and not nearly what I’ll need to open a restaurant. The small personal loan I managed to secure using Grams’ house as collateral is the only reason I’m holding these keys.

Her death almost broke me emotionally, but it offered me an opportunity for something she always wanted for me. I just have to keep reminding myself of that as I go through the steps of getting this place ready.

Rochelle's eyes soften, and she offers me a sympathetic look. “I'm so sorry about your grandmother.”

I smile at her through the unshed tears blurring my vision. “It's okay. She was ninety-three years old. She lived a good, long life full of happiness and family and friends. It's all anyone can ask for.”

“True.” She glances around the space. “Well, you know under the terms of the lease that you're permitted to make any changes you need to convert this to a functioning restaurant, but the owners don't want any work done on the exterior or any changes to the interior architectural elements.”

“No worries. It's perfect. I'm not going to change anything that I don't have to.”

“Excellent.” She claps her hands. “I'll leave you to it, then. I have another meeting downtown in an hour.”

I glance at my watch. “An hour? Do you have enough time with traffic to get down there?”

She chuckles and shakes her head. “Probably not, but they can wait.”

Not exactly the attitude I would use for clients, but I guess when you work for such a wealthy investment firm that owns properties all over the city, you can kind of do what you want and treat people like they aren’t worth your time.

It's the same thing they do at all the fancy restaurants. Those arrogant chefs who think their shit doesn't stink serve fancy food you can’t even recognize and use ingredients most people can’t even pronounce.

Those places are stuffy and cold. My place will be different. I'll create a community here. Another home where I can make the people of the neighborhood my family and share all the love Grams bestowed on me through her food with them.

Rochelle makes her way toward the door. “Have you figured out what you’re going to name it?”

I shake my head. “Something will come to me eventually.”

“I'm sure it will. Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

She ducks out the door, and I'm left standing alone…but I don't feel alone. Not when I’m finally here. I can almost feel Grandma’s presence with me, guiding me and helping me stay strong when I have no doubt this entire process is going to break me down mentally and physically.

“Thank you so much for helping me get here, Grams.”

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