Page 116 of Best I Never Had

“They’re waiting outside,” Natalia says, taking my hand as we walk out to the brisk spring air providing the perfect backdrop for our grand opening. A sweet smile peeks through her cherry lips matching the redsundress twirling at her waist. Her hair, wavy and half of it piled on top of her head, billows down her back as she turns to look at me over her shoulder.

Just a year and a half after working with Pat as his head chef, popularity for Pour Toujours seemed to grow overnight. I started incorporating dishes and culinary techniques that were new and bold. And it caught the attention of food crazed New Yorkers and those that traveled the trek to Manhattan to sample Pour Toujours’s emergent menu. The restaurant that was already fairly busy with regulars and tourists started to grow cramped with reservations filling five to six months in advance.

When I set up announcements about my restaurant’s opening, journalists, food critics, and even social media influencers reached out to me, wanting to be one of the first to try my food. So naturally, what would have been a simple grand opening turned into a frenzy of photographers, upbeat music, and good food.

I reach for the obnoxiously large gold scissors and grip the heavy handles as the photographers position themselves at the far end of the sidewalk close to the bustling street. I stand on the other side of the wide red ribbon, Natalia standing on one side of me and my mom and Pat standing on the other, my uncle extending the same support he’s offered since I told him about my plans to branch out on my own. The four of us smile proudly, gleaming with glee as we face the cameras, and I slice open the blades toward the waiting ribbon.

I turn to Natalia before I squeeze the handles together. “Come on,” I say, gesturing toward my ready hands. “You’re doing this with me.”

“Hayden, this is your day,” she protests through a sweet smile, her brown eyes looking like warm pools of honey in the bright sunlight.

I lean down and quickly peck her cheek. “This is as much my day as it is yours.” I say it because it’s true.

Every fruit of labor that I poured into this restaurant over the past seventeen months was all with Natalia by my side.She was the one who slapped on protective goggles and gloves as she tore down drywall. She was the one who scurried all over town, choosing the right china and glassware when I was elbow deep in vendor selections and employee interviews. She was the one who stayed up with me late at night when the doubts still filtered through, reminding me that every bit of my hard work was proof that I could do this.

And it was she who inspired the name I gave our restaurant. My bright ray of sunshine that lights up everything around her, causing the air to shift into something hopeful.

Soleil. I literally could not have done this without her.

I nudge at her again, watching the way her smile widens and her eyes light up with laughter as she gently grips the scissors that are becoming heavier in my hands.

“For Soleil,” Natalia whispers as she lets me guide the way.

“For Soleil,” I repeat.

We look back at the cameras as the ribbon breaks between the surprisingly sharp blades, dropping to the concrete as a roar of clapping and flashes of cameras surround us.

Natalia

The dining room is empty. The floor swept clear of the littered trash and remnants of a celebration. Hayden and I are surrounded by the lowglow of candlelight still lit on the tables, all now cleared and cleaned with the essential staff having gone home for the night. It’s late, nearing one a.m., but we’re both still high on the day. A day spent surrounded by our friends and family, all supporting Hayden while extending their true congratulations on such a successful grand opening.

“Is everything locked up?” I ask, gesturing toward the back door on the other side of the kitchen.

Hayden nods as he neatly tucks away a stack of menus behind the hostess desk at the front entrance. His chef’s uniform, with the Soleil name embroidered in a golden yellow over the left side of his chest, is unbuttoned, exposing his white undershirt pulled tight over his torso. He looks so comfortable, completely in his element, as if finally finding a place where he belongs. He rummages through something else with his head ducked low behind the hostess desk.

“Was there something else that you needed to take care of?” I ask.

And instead of answering, Hayden’s face reemerges with a grin and a small speaker held in his hand.

“What’s that?”

He clicks on the speaker that’s already connected to his phone via Bluetooth, and music filled with guitar strings and slow piano tunes fills the air. He saunters toward me with a hand extended my way as a small giggle leaves my lips.

“May I have this dance?” he asks, tilting his head toward me. I gently place my hand in his as he pulls me to him. His arm snakes around my waist at the same time my hand reaches for his shoulder. We start to sway, moving gently with the music as our bodies finally relax.

I hum against his warmth, letting the day melt off, finally able to enjoy my alone time with Hayden. As much as I spent most of the day by his side, I missed him. I missed being alone with him in our own little Hayden and Natalia bubble.

“Thank you for all of your help today,” he whispers into my hair. “I think a nice foot massage is in order when we get home.”

I nod against his chest. “I agree.” I feel his body vibrate with a light laughter as his hold on me tightens, pulling me closer as his warmth spreads through me.

I can’t wait to get home, our home. As soon as the grand opening for Soleil was set on paper, we hunted down an apartment for us two. Something small and affordable where we could comfortably watch Hayden’s business grow. When we finally found a one-bedroom that fit our budget in Brooklyn Heights with a teeny-tiny view of the East River, we were ecstatic. No more late nights having to sleep in separate apartments with good night texts and good morning phone calls instead of extending those greetings face to face. No more tiptoeing around Dexter or Carmen when we would spend the night at each other’s apartments. Since we moved in two months ago, we’ve been gradually furnishing our apartment and unpacking our things into an area of permanence rather than a small sock drawer in the other’s bedrooms. We’re making the small apartment ours, and it couldn’t be more perfect.

“You did good, Hayden,” I whisper, my eyes closed while letting Hayden continue leading our dance. “Your dad would have been so proud.”

I pull away to look at him, peering up as he swallows a knotted ball down his throat. He nods, his brow furrowing with understanding. We both turn our heads at the same time, our gazes landing on the small table situated in the far corner of the restaurant. It sits empty, much like all the other tables, but this one will stay empty, with a framed photo hanging on the wall above it. It’s an old grainy picture of Hayden and his dad. Hayden is sitting square on his dad’s shoulders, both of them wearing matching football jerseys as their focus is on the football field behind the camera. Hayden told me it was taken when he was four years old at his first Cleveland Browns game. When he showed it to me, I had it framed, set aside so that we could reservethis table for his dad. So that he’ll always be there. For every day the restaurant opens and every night that it closes, Greg Marshall will be there, right next to his son.

“I couldn’t have done this without you,” he whispers, his voice cracking as he rests his forehead against mine. “Soleil would never have happened without you by my side.”

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