Page 44 of Lost At Sea With A Billionaire

“He’s in a board meeting.He’ll be here by five.”I adjusted the arrangement of spices at my station, ensuring everything was within easy reach.“How’s the staff doing?”

“Nervous but ready.You’ve trained them well.”

I’d assembled a team of talented young chefs, many from disadvantaged backgrounds who wouldn’t usually have access to high-end restaurant opportunities.It was one of many ways Jonathan and I had found to combine our different worlds and resources.

My phone buzzed with a text from Jonathan:“This meeting is running long.I’ll be there by five thirty.I love you.”

I typed back a quick acknowledgment, trying to ignore the flutter of anxiety.This opening meant everything to me—a second chance at the dream I’d almost abandoned and the first real test of whether Jonathan and I could maintain our connection amid the pressures of our respective careers.

The past six months had been a whirlwind.After Reynolds’ dramatic rescue and our return to civilization, we’d split our time between San Juan and Seattle, merging our lives in expected and surprising ways.

Jonathan had been true to his word about the restaurant being my vision.He’d provided capital and business connections but stayed out of creative decisions.When I’d chosen this location—more modest than what he’d initially suggested—he’d supported me without question.

“This one feels right,” I’d explained, walking through the space that would become Salvaged.“It’s about the food and the experience, not luxury for its own sake.”

He’d understood immediately.“It’s authentic.Like you.”

Our relationship had deepened, and the challenges of his corporate responsibilities and my restaurant development hadn’t interfered.We’d established routines that kept us connected—cooking together on Sundays, holding regular video calls when travel separated us, and having honest discussions about expectations and boundaries.

Not that it had been perfect.Jonathan’s controlling tendencies occasionally resurfaced, especially when he was stressed about work.My stubborn independence sometimes pushed him away when I should have let him in.But unlike my past relationships, we faced these issues directly, learning to navigate our different approaches to life.

“Chef?”My sous chef’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.“The fish delivery is here, but they’ve brought sea bass instead of the snapper we ordered.”

I switched immediately into problem-solving mode.“Let me see it.”

The sea bass was exceptional—firm, fresh, with clear eyes and bright gills.“We’ll adjust.Tell Marco to prep it with the ginger-scallion sauce instead of the citrus marinade.”

What I loved most about cooking was the constant adaptation and creativity that resulted from unexpected challenges.It reminded me of our island days, when we would make delicious meals from whatever resources we had available.

By five o’clock, the restaurant was transformed.Tables were set with simple but elegant place settings, staff were in their positions, and the bar was stocked with curated wines and spirits.Everything was ready except for one crucial element.

“He’ll be here,” Melanie reassured me, noting my frequent glances at the door.

“I know.”And I did know.Jonathan had never let me down when it mattered.But this opening represented more than just a restaurant launch—it was the public debut of our combined lives, the first step toward our future together.

At five-twenty-five, the door opened, and Jonathan walked in.He’d come straight from his meeting, still in his impeccable suit, but his eyes sought mine immediately, his smile warming me from across the room.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, crossing to me.“The board members and their endless questions stalled me.”

“You’re right on time.”I reached up to straighten his tie, a gesture that had become habitual between us.“Nervous?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”His hands settled on my waist.“It’s your night, after all.”

“Our night,” I corrected.“I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“You would have found your way back eventually.”His faith in me never wavered.“I just expedited the process.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”I teased, some of my tension easing in his presence.

He laughed, then grew serious.“I have something for you.An opening night gift.”

“Jonathan, you didn’t need to?—”

“I know I didn’t need to.I wanted to.”He pulled a small package from his pocket.

Inside was a chef’s knife—not just any knife, but a perfect replica of the santoku my father had given me, which had been lost when the yacht sank.

My eyes watered and emotion hit me in my gut.“How did you find one of these?”

---