“And more people wanting a place to get a great meal and watch the sunset over the sound.”

That was true, to a point. It was her assessment that a fancy meal was good for maybe one or two nights of a vacation. But she believed the bread and butter of her industry was casual dining. Not everyone wanted to dress up on vacation. She’d heard comments like that enough times at Vincenzo’s from travelers who’d returned night after night for the hand-tossed pizza.

“It sounds great,” she said as she raised her mug. “I’m sure you’ll make whatever you want happen.”

“It’s still an idea. I haven’t signed the lease on the space. Putting out feelers.”

“For?”

“A chef, for one.”

She sipped her beer and leaned back. “And who do you have in mind?”

“You.”

She laughed. “We really have come full circle. Back at Joe’s talking about me working for you.”

The furrow in his brow deepened. “I don’t see it that way. I see us as partners, Ivy. I’ll admit I was full of myself in high school.”

“Who wasn’t?”

“I can’t do it all myself. I’ve tried it a few times, and none of my ventures have hit a home run.”

“And you’d trust me to work with you?”

“I’m asking, aren’t I?”

If Ruth had taught her anything, it was that success came with a lot of consistent blood, sweat, and tears. Matthew was an idea man, and some were really good. But he would have to pair with a solid chef for this to work. “No.”

“No?” He leaned forward, his lips tweaking in a smile as if he thought she might be teasing him.

She wasn’t. “The last thing I’m going to do is jump back into the restaurant life, regret it, and then bolt in six months. I grew up in it and then spent over a decade living and breathing it. I need a break.”

“It’s in your blood. You won’t go long without a place to cook. Better you have ownership in the joint.”

Joe appeared with their platters and set them in front of them. He glanced between the two, clearly fascinated by the sight of Matthew tilting toward Ivy and her leaning back as far as the chair’s cane back allowed. “Some things never change. Enjoy.”

“Thanks, Joe,” she said. She plucked a fry from the plate and bit into it. “This isn’t about you, me, and our past. I’m burned out, Matthew. I don’t have the creative energy to run a kitchen right now.”

“Technically, you’re one of the best.”