Page 76 of The Wedding Menu

He tilts his head, his radiant smile looking only half as good as it does in real life but, even so, stealing my breath away. “Of course. Beautiful Amelie the entrepreneur.” He takes another bite, and even the way he eats has me almost drooling at the screen. How his jaw snaps open and closed rhythmically, the way his tongue darts out of his mouth to lick his lips every once in a while. He’s illegally pretty.

“I know we’re in taboo territory,” he says with a smirk, “but you can tell me it’s a strip joint. I won’t judge.”

“A what?” I screech. “Is that what you think I am? Astripper?”

“Aren’t you, with those hours you work? Night shifts?” He grins, his good mood so freaking contagious, I can’t help but smile widely myself. “Okay, so… you want to open your own strip joint.”

My cheeks flush again. “It’s not a strip joint, and I didn’t say I want to. I said Iwantedto.”

“And now you don’t.”

I shake my head, though the firm no I was planning on saying doesn’t come out. The idea of opening my own restaurant sounds so obvious, I’m trying to figure out when I abandoned that dream and why. At some point, getting my dad’s approval became more important than what I wanted. “Maybe I do.”

He snorts. “Yeah, you definitely do. So… forget about your dad for a minute. How do you get there? How do you achieve your dream?”

“I mean, I could do it already. I have the experience I need,” I say. It’s not like I’d really do it right now, but I can savor the possibility. Imagine my father’s shocked expression if I told him I was leaving to open my own restaurant, the sense of achievement I’d get from running my own kitchen, the freedom of choosing my own menu.

“Okay. Let’s do that, then,” Ian says.

With a chuckle, I study his expression. He’s dead serious.

“I mean it.”

“Right,” I say with a cynical smile. “So I’ll just pop in, tell my dad I quit, and go to the bank for a loan.”

“Awesome.” Noticing my bemused expression, he leans closer to the screen. Stoic. Unblinking. Ian’s never stoic or unblinking. “Amelie, give me a good reason not to. If you can get a loan and have the experience to do it, then what’s stopping you?”

My mouth opens, millions of reasons flashing through my mind. “I can’t just quit.”

“Why not?”

“Well, because my dad—”

“He’ll be fine.”

“But the wedding… Frank…”

“He doesn’t need you to babysit him, Amelie.”

I sigh, looking away. I can’t believe I’m considering quitting and opening my own restaurant. It’s a stupid idea, and not a decision you make in a minute. And with the wedding, I already have enough on my plate. No, it’s definitely not doable. “Ian, be serious.”

“Iamserious,” he insists. He leans back on the bench, holding his phone up high enough that I can see just a hint of his shirt, his coat sitting casually on his shoulders and wrapping his thick biceps. “Amelie, you need to rip the weeds out of your life. If there’s something that doesn’t make you happy and you have the power to change it, then you have to. You owe it to yourself.”

God, does he make it sound simple.

He lazily chews his sandwich. “Promise me you’ll think about it. For real.”

“I promise,” I say, and when I look at the time, I point behind me. “My shift is starting now.”

“Don’t you owe me something?”

Owe him something? Oh, right. I give him an exaggerated grin, and his serious expression turns into one of genuine joy.

Ian always makes me smile.

He nods as if proven right. “See? Gorgeous. Go, beautiful Amelie.”

A Spoonful of Truth

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