Page 47

The Mirepoix kitchen was humming, clanging, and sizzling as it should.

The latest shipment of shiitakes from Rainland Mushrooms was delicious.

For the herculean task of not using his phone in the kitchen for a whole week, Sullivan had let Blake name the dish Let That Shiitake Go.

The name mortified her a bit, but the customers thought it was cute, and it had sold more orders than vegetarian dishes usually did.

Maybe Kia was right; maybe cute names did sell product.

Sullivan wasn’t happy though, not since Kia drove south.

Camping with Kia had been magical. It was the birthday date she’d always wanted.

Fun and sexy. Surrounded by nature and friends but held closest by a partner who cared about her, who knew her.

Kia hadn’t taken any videos for Kia Gourmazing, but she had taken a picture of Sullivan on her digital camera.

In the picture, Sullivan was standing by the creek, her back to the camera.

Early morning light streaking through the trees blended the edges of her curls with dawn.

This is exactly how I want to be , she’d said when Kia showed her the picture, and Kia had kissed her.

They’d been a couple, and Sullivan had forgotten about everything else until they got back home to Mega Eats’ trucks and Kia left for Grants Pass and wouldn’t take Sullivan.

Through the service window, the head server called out, “Chef Sullivan, there’s a customer with a question about the grass-fed bison. Nothing bad, they said they loved it, but they seriously want to meet you.”

“We gotcha covered,” Opal said. “Don’t we, Blake? We got Chef’s back because we’re not on our phones.”

Blake gave Opal a surly look, but he agreed, “Yes, Chef.”

A man in khakis and a blue button-down shirt sat alone in the corner, his face pleasantly illuminated by the recycled wax tea light that graced every table.

“Please, Chef, sit down,” he asked imploringly.

Hopefully he didn’t have a crush on her.

Occasionally customers flirted with her.

In school, when her hair had been longer, her walk swishier, and herself flirtier, she’d had no shortage of interested men.

Interesting men. She wasn’t interested in anyone now that she’d fallen asleep in Kia’s arms. Sullivan pulled out a chair and sat down on the edge of it, ready to hop up again. “Just for a minute.”

“Of course. Of course. You’ve got work to do. You don’t need me to tell you how amazing your food is.”

“Thank you.”

“Or how special Mirepoix is.”

“Thank you.”

Something in the man’s pleasant demeanor hardened. The man reached into the breast pocket of his shirt and slid a business card across the table, face down. She reached for it, but he placed his hand over the card before she could pick it up.

“Before you do,” he said, “hear me out. Have you heard of the Saville case?”

The name sounded vaguely familiar, like an actor from a movie everyone else thought was good but she hadn’t seen.

Was he going to tell her about a male chef he thought she should study because obviously a female chef—she hated when people referred to women as females—could improve with some male guidance? Maybe he’d even ask for a job.

“I’d love to chat more, but I need to get back to the kitchen,” Sullivan said.

“It’s a marriage fraud case that the fraudsters lost. Our attorneys will use it to nail you to the wall.”

Sullivan’s breath died at the bottom of her lungs. The man was from Mega Eats.

“Good night.” Sullivan rose.

“Your grandfather started the process of getting his land surveyed and his lot lines redrawn but died before he could register the paperwork.”

“Excuse me.” Sullivan turned away.

Customers at nearby tables were watching.

“A third of your house is in the Bois. The lot line goes right through what I’m guessing is your kitchen.

Mega Eats is going to win this case, and if you don’t help us, we’re going to build anything we want, and we’re going to build right up to the lot line.

Do you understand what that means? We’re going to shear off a third of your house. ”

He was bluffing.

“That’s not true, and even if it was, you can’t do that. Lot lines get adjusted all the time.”

“Not when Mega Eats wants them to stay the way they are.” He reached in his pocket again and passed her a flash drive. “All the documentation is here.”

Her home was her sanctuary. The Bois was her cathedral and her meditation room and the place where she talked to her grandfather when she was worried or sad or excited.

Mirepoix was her pride and joy. She looked around the restaurant at the servers moving gracefully between tables. She’d have to lay everyone off.

“I am not putting your virus-laden drive anywhere near my computer,” she spat.

The man shrugged. Sullivan sat back down so as to draw less attention from her customers.

“If you came here to intimidate me… fine, I’m intimidated. Job done. And I’m comping your meal, but you’re leaving right now.”

“I don’t want to intimidate you. I want to help you.”

Fuck off , Sullivan mouthed.

“You see, Mega Eats wants the Bois, but more than that, we don’t like to lose. We don’t want to give the impression that a couple of lesbians—”

“I’m not—”

The man rolled his eyes as if to say, Whatever, close enough .

“Nothing can stop Mega Eats. Not everyone appreciates a Mega Plex until it moves into their neighborhood.”

Sullivan clasped her hands tightly, feeling the strength of her chef’s scars.

“If we let citizens,” the man went on, “neighborhood associations, etcetera prevent us from building, people will never know how much they really do want to try our new Mega Southrn Cook’n.”

“That name is offensive. The south can spell perfectly well.”

“But you aren’t the issue. You’re not trying to buy the Bois.

You’re just one local who doesn’t like change.

Our problem”—he enunciated each word—“is Kia Jackson. So here’s the offer.

You file for divorce and you testify in court that Kia Jackson tricked you into marriage.

Spin that however you want. You were lonely.

She promised you a payout. Whatever. For that, Mega Eats will amend the lots.

We’ll leave fifty feet of green space around your house and around Mirepoix. ”

“I am not going to divorce Kia or tell some lies about how we did this for money. I love her.”

The truth came out so fast, Sullivan almost kept going, but she froze.

It felt like someone else had told her, but it was someone with absolute knowledge, someone who said something and made it true in the saying.

It almost felt like her grandfather reaching down from whatever mysterious existence followed this one, and said, You’re in love with Kia .

He’d have followed that with, I’m happy for you .

The man must have taken her pained expression for guilt.

“You can’t even keep up the lie in your own restaurant. How are you going to do when our lawyers cross-examine you in court?” The man sneered.

“I love her,” Sullivan said again.

“Fine. You love her. But I want you to take my card and think this through. You can stay married to a woman you’ve known for a few weeks—”

“I’ve known her since—”

He waved Sullivan off.

“Whenever and think you love.” He said love with more scorn than Nina had on her most jaded day. “And if you do that, we destroy your house, and we build a Mega Plex as close to your eco-friendly restaurant as we possibly can.”

A vision flashed in Sullivan’s mind: Mirepoix empty. The last fixtures sold at deep discount. Sullivan locking the door for the last time.

Sullivan would never drive through the Oakwood Heights neighborhood again. It would break her heart. She’d literally crash her car, not on purpose, but because grief would blind her like burning steam from a baozi cooked with too much liquid.

“Lots of cars. Lots of exhaust. Maybe some halogen lamps. How do you think that’s going to play with your outdoor seating?

” He turned over his business card like a dealer revealing the card that lost everyone at the table a round of blackjack.

“You can basically keep everything the way it is. Your customers will barely notice. You’ll see trees out your windows.

You can have Kia Jackson and we basically raze your house and destroy your business.

Or no Kia and you keep everything you have almost exactly the way it is now. Is she worth it?”

Sullivan rose again, slamming her chair into the table, not caring who noticed.

“Yes, she’s worth it.”

“Who was that?” Opal asked when Sullivan burst back into the kitchen.

“It was Mega Eats. I can’t think about it right now. Let’s just finish the night.”

“Tell me. This is my life too, Sullivan.” Opal brandished a spatula in a decidedly unprofessional manner, drops of ragout spattering the floor.

How could Sullivan forget that Opal was in it with her, for good and bad?

If Mirepoix closed, Opal would be out of a job.

Sullivan might open in a new location, but that meant weeks without work for Opal.

Could Sullivan afford to keep paying her?

Before Mega Eats, the answer would have been of course.

What if she ended up with fifty thousand in attorney fees?

She’d looked it up. That wasn’t an unreasonable sum.

Fighting with a giant corporation wasn’t cheap.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you two,” Blake called out. “I mean Chefs . We need three trout, one with sauce on the side.”

“The guy said if I don’t throw Kia under the bus, they’ll destroy my house. He said half my house is technically in the Bois. If they buy the Bois, they buy… everything.”

“He’s just trying to freak you out.”

Sullivan shook her head. A vague memory of her grandfather told her no.