Page 3

THREE

HELENA

H elena slid her key into the front door lock of Ember & Spice at precisely 5:30 AM the next morning. As she pushed the door open, the restaurant sat in morning darkness, still holding the subtle scents of last night’s closing service—garlic, white wine, and a lingering hint of smoke that made her stomach tighten.

She flipped on the lights and made her way to the small office tucked behind the kitchen. The kitchen had been her sanctuary for years, the place where chaos bent to her will. Unlike the strange incident with the birthday candles that still prickled at the edge of her thoughts.

She settled into her chair and opened her laptop, the blue glow illuminating her tired face. Sleep had been fitful, her dreams filled with dancing flames that called to her rather than frightened her. She shook her head and focused on her morning routine—checking inventory, reviewing reservations, and scrolling through emails.

Her finger froze mid-scroll.

“What the hell?”

The email from San Diego’s city manager sat boldly in her inbox, subject line reading: “Urgent: Property Acquisition Notice - Ember & Spice Location.”

Her heart hammered as she clicked it open. Her hazel eyes widened as she scanned the contents, each word landing like a blow.

“Redevelopment... corporate complex... condos... acquisition of current property...”

But then her gaze caught on a surprising detail.

“Restaurant identified as a cultural asset... buyer interested in retaining operation... substantial buyout offer for current owner...”

Helena let out a string of curses that would’ve made her line cooks blush. She grabbed her phone and dialed the number at the bottom of the email.

“City Manager’s office, this is Rachel.”

“This is Helena Divata, owner of Ember & Spice. I just received your email about our property.”

“Oh yes, Miss Divata! I was hoping you’d call early. The investor is quite eager.”

“I bet he is,” Helena said, twirling a strand of red hair around her finger. “Can you explain exactly what this means for my restaurant? For my staff?”

Twenty minutes later, Helena hung up, her mind racing. The offer was staggering—enough to clear all her debts, provide generous bonuses to her loyal staff, and still leave her as executive chef with a substantial salary increase.

She glanced around her cramped office at the stack of unpaid invoices and the dwindling profit projections she’d been working on before the birthday incident. The restaurant industry was brutal, and competition had been eating into their margins. The security this deal offered was tempting.

“You look like someone just offered to buy your soul,” Tyanna said, poking her head through the doorway. “I knocked, but you were somewhere else.”

Helena’s lips curved into a wry smile. “Someone just offered to buy the restaurant.”

“What?” Tyanna stepped fully into the office. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Some millionaire is buying up the whole block for redevelopment but wants to keep us as the crown jewel of his fancy new complex.”

“And?”

“And I think I’m going to take it.” The words felt strange leaving her mouth but also freeing. “We’ve been treading water for months.”

By ten o’clock, the entire staff arrived, and Helena gathered them all in the dining room.

“So,” Helena said, clasping her hands together. “I have news. Big news.”

Her stomach fluttered as fifteen pairs of eyes fixed on her. The kitchen staff still wore their whites, prep half-finished for the day ahead. The servers stood with notepads in hand. Helena had rehearsed this speech a dozen times in her head, but now the words seemed to evaporate like water on a hot skillet.

“I sold the restaurant,” she blurted out, then quickly raised her hands as gasps rippled through the room. “But before you panic—everyone’s jobs are safe. More than safe, actually.”

She tucked her red hair behind her ear, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “The investor is some tech millionaire looking to revitalize this block. He wants Ember & Spice as his flagship restaurant. And...” She took a deep breath, savoring the moment. “He’s providing substantial bonuses for every single one of you.”

Helena watched their expressions transform from shock to disbelief to cautious excitement. Marco, her sous chef, stepped forward with arms crossed.

“How substantial are we talking?”

Helena smiled and named the figure. The room erupted.

“Holy shit, Chef!” Tyanna squealed. “That’s three months’ rent!”

“And health insurance,” Helena added, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. The staff’s medical benefits had been keeping her awake at night for months. “Full coverage, starting next month.”

Joey, their youngest line cook, looked up from the calculator on his phone. “But what about you, Chef? Are you still...”

“I’ll be staying on as executive chef with complete creative control and a proper salary that doesn’t involve me eating ramen four nights a week.” She felt a blush creeping up her neck. “And we’re meeting the new owner today.”

The announcement sent the kitchen into overdrive. Suddenly everyone was polishing surfaces that had already been cleaned, rearranging perfectly arranged place settings, and debating what special to feature.

Helena fled to the safety of her kitchen where Marco was aggressively chopping scallions.

“So, who is this mystery millionaire?” he asked, knife flashing. “Should we be worried?”

Helena’s hands found comfort in the familiar ritual of kneading dough. “Honestly, I have no idea. The city manager just said he was young, ambitious, and specifically requested that we stay operational.”

“Young, rich, and interested in fine dining?” Tyanna wiggled her eyebrows as she passed by with a tray of dessert glasses. “Maybe he’s single too.”

Helena rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at her lips. Though her practical nature had always kept romance low on her priority list, something about this birthday—candle disaster aside—had awakened a restlessness inside her. A hunger for something beyond the comfortable rhythms of her kitchen.

“Let’s focus on impressing him with our food first,” Helena said, wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron. But even as she turned her attention to the day’s menu, she couldn’t help but wonder about the mysterious investor who had just changed all their lives.

Helena soon found herself straightening the menus at the hostess stand, adjusting them for the fifth time. The restaurant wouldn’t open for another two hours, but the investor who’d just bought the place could arrive at any moment. She combed her fingers through her red hair and smoothed her chef’s coat, aware that her usual kitchen attire wasn’t the most glamorous outfit to greet a millionaire in.

The front door suddenly swung open, sending a shaft of golden California sunlight across the polished floor. Helena blinked against the brightness, then froze as a silhouette filled the doorframe.

The man who stepped through wasn’t what she expected. Instead of some tech-bro in a hoodie or an old-money type with slicked-back hair, he moved with the fluid grace of a predator. His broad shoulders seemed to test the limits of what appeared to be a custom-tailored charcoal suit. No tie, just a crisp white shirt with the top button undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of tanned skin. His dark brown hair was styled in that effortlessly perfect way that suggested both sophistication and a hint of wildness—short at the sides, fuller on top.

But it was his eyes that caught her off guard. Green like the forest trees, that locked onto her with an intensity that made her heart stumble over its next beat.

Helena cleared her throat. “Welcome to Ember & Spice.”

“Thank you.” His voice was deep and warm.

He approached her with confident strides, crossing the short space with a presence that seemed to compress the air around them. Something primal skittered up Helena’s spine as he drew closer—a sensation both foreign and strangely familiar.

“I’m Sol Cadoret.” He extended his hand.

Helena placed her hand in his, and the instant their skin connected, warmth spiraled up her arm. Not uncomfortable, but surprising enough that she almost pulled away. “Helena Divata.”

His fingers lingered against hers a beat longer than necessary. “Helena.” The way he said her name made it sound like something precious.

“Can I help you today, Mr. Cadoret?” She tried to sound professional and unassuming, but her voice came out huskier than intended.

“Sol, please.” His eyes hadn’t left hers, even as his thumb brushed once across her knuckles before releasing her hand. “And I think perhaps we can help each other.”

Helena took an instinctive step back, needing to reestablish some professional distance. The movement caused her to bump against the hostess stand, sending the carefully arranged menus sliding.

Sol reached out with surprising speed, catching them before they hit the floor. As he straightened, a hint of a smile played on the corners of his mouth, partially hidden by his neatly trimmed beard.

“Quick reflexes,” Helena said, accepting the menus back.

“You have no idea.” His smile deepened, revealing a flash of perfect white teeth.

“Would you like a tour?” Helena gestured toward the dining room, desperate to redirect her thoughts away from speculating what else those reflexes might be good for.

“Lead the way.”

She felt his presence at her back as they moved through the dining area, her awareness of him almost tactile. “The dining room seats sixty-five. We’re known for creating an intimate atmosphere despite the open layout.”

“It’s beautiful. Warm.” His gaze swept the room before returning to her, something appreciative and possessive in his eyes. “I can see why people are drawn here.”

Helena soon led Sol through the gleaming kitchen, hyperaware of how his presence seemed to fill the entire space. The staff paused in their tasks, eyeing the stranger in the expensive suit with undisguised curiosity. She felt oddly protective of her domain, yet proud to show it off.

“And this is where the magic happens,” Helena said, gesturing to the custom-built wood-fired oven that was the heart of her kitchen. “We use local oak that gives the food a distinctive smokiness.”

Sol leaned closer to the oven, inhaling deeply. “It reminds me of home,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a fondness that piqued her curiosity.

“Well, Mr. Cadoret,” Helena said, placing her hands on her hips as she concluded the tour, “what do you think of your new acquisition? Will Ember & Spice meet your expectations?”

Sol’s eyebrows shot up, his green eyes widening slightly before a slow, amused smile spread across his face. “My acquisition? You think I’m buying this restaurant?”

Heat flashed through Helena’s body, starting at her core and rushing to her cheeks. “You’re not?” Her voice emerged as a mortified whisper.

“I’m afraid not.” His smile widened.

Helena’s embarrassment quickly morphed into irritation. “Then why did you let me give you an entire tour? I’ve spent the last thirty minutes showing you around like you own the place!” She glanced nervously at the clock on the wall. “The actual investor will be here any minute.”

Sol stepped closer, his tall frame forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “Because I wanted to spend time with you.” The direct simplicity of his statement knocked the breath from her lungs.

“You need to leave. Now.” Helena pointed toward the exit, ignoring the curious glances from her staff.

“I will,” he agreed, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through her chest. “If you have dinner with me tonight.”

The audacity stunned her. “Are you serious? I just told you my new boss is coming today. I need to be here for dinner service. To make a good impression.”

“Tomorrow, then.” His persistence should have annoyed her, but something in his unwavering attention sent thrills racing through her body.

“Look,” Helena sighed, “I need you to go. The investor could literally be here any minute.”

Sol pulled a business card from his inner pocket and held it between two fingers. “Take this. Call me when you’re ready.”

Helena snatched the card, shoving it into her chef’s coat pocket without looking at it. “Fine. I’ll call. Now please, leave.”

His gaze held her for a moment longer, intense and searching, before he nodded. “Until then, Helena.”

The way he spoke her name—like he was tasting it—sent another ripple of heat through her body. She watched him stride away, noting how the staff seemed to unconsciously make way for him, parting like water around a stone.

The moment the door swung shut behind him, Helena exhaled shakily, pressing her palm against her pocket where his card burned like a promise.