“I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again, Bailey,” he said easily and extended his hand. We shook. If I could have nicknamed this restaurant, I would have called it “Chemistry” because, again, the chemistry between us could not be denied.

He motioned for me to sit down at one of the two sets of table and chairs. We were the only two people there.

“I’ve been reviewing your portfolio and wondering what incredible visions you would have for me today.” I sat down, and we were very close to one another. I could smell him—a mixture of the outdoors and lavender. I felt instantly comfortable. “I see you brought your sketchbook,” he commented.

“I never leave home without it,” I said. I was anxious to show him my ideas. He had turned his own chair around and was straddling it. “Wait a minute,” I said. “Before I begin, I thought you were going to give me a taste of what you cooked?”

“Who’s to say I won’t? All in good time, Ms. Edgeworth.”

I opened my sketchbook and began with his own question mark and my idea about working his name into the title with all the symbols.

Before I could complete my idea, he threw out, “It almost implies the name of the restaurant is: Fuck Grammar.” He chuckled. “As I was a poor grammar student, I happen to love that idea enormously.”

“I just like all the punctuation marks et cetera playing off your name.”

“I love it. Please continue,” he offered.

And for the next three hours, I described to him the color of the walls, the textured fabrics for the chairs and banquettes, the silverware, and artwork. This had been my first real solo presentation. I felt in control. Energized. Alive. If he could pay me enough money, I knew this could work. That was how my vision worked. I could tell Elliott and I were very simpatico. But first, he had to prove himself to me. Could he follow up my perfect vision with cuisine to match? Or was he just another good-looking Englishman?

“I love it,” he said and paused. “But you knew I would, didn’t you?”

“I don’t take anything for granted, Elliott. I liked it myself. And I hoped you would be able to see what I see.”

“Julian said you were the best. Yes, I have spoken with him,” he said as if answering my unasked question. “He actually said given the right set of circumstances, you may even surpass his reputation.”

“I’m glad I didn’t know that when I walked in,” I said. But the “right set of circumstances” could be an elusive and intangible creature. It made me happy to hear that Julian’s opinion matched my ambitions.

“You know, I’m still waiting to see if your food can match my brilliance,” I said. I was afraid he might be a god-awful cook. Daddy, my brother, and Griffin had left big shoes for any other chef to fill. Would I be disappointed?