Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Sure we will.” I glance beyond the hostess podium into the restaurant, noting the decor mostly comprising dark leather and weathered wood. “Please tell me food is part of the program.”
“Oh, yeah. Merry and Ken have something special prepared for you,” Harvey says and motions for us to follow him into the restaurant.
It’s smaller than Grits, a little cozier. We really lean into the highlife down-home vibe, and our decor reflects the come up. The dishes may be homestyle favorites, but Grits’s luxurious decor and first-rate presentation elevate the experience. At least that’s what we’re going for. Here there’s a warmth and intimacy that could be a function of the smaller city, but is probably a deliberate calculation by the owners.
“They’re already waiting for us,” Harvey says, leading us to the couple seated at the large booth at the back of the restaurant. “Josiah and Yasmen Wade, meet Merry Herman and Ken Harris.”
Yasmen extends a hand and a friendly smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“We’ve been looking forward to this,” Merry says, taking Yasmen’s hand and then mine into hers. “So nice to meet you both. We have prepared our most popular dish, but if there’s something else you prefer on the menu, just let us know.”
“Maybe we should tell them what their options are, baby,” Ken says, a white man of medium height with graying hair and alert hazel eyes. I’d put him between sixty-five and seventy, but it can be hard to tell sometimes.
“You’re right.” Merry is a woman of average height with pale skin whose hair was probably once blond but now blends with gray, and her blue eyes sparkle when she laughs up at her husband. “Let’s sit and then we’ll get into it.”
Yasmen and I scoot into one side of the curved booth, Harvey sits in the middle, and Merry and Ken face us. I flinch when the long line of Yasmen’s thigh touches mine.
“You okay?” she asks, watching me with a concerned frown.
She leans over a little and her breast presses into my arm.
Dammit. This whole meal will be torture if I can’t get my head in the game.
“Yeah. Fine.” Out of habit, I push down my lust, call up a smile, and turn it on the couple. “I’m starving. What we got?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Yasmen
Merry and Ken are couple goals. Over a potpie stuffed with perfectly seasoned pulled chicken and tender vegetables, we get to know the older couple. They can’t keep their hands off each other. Not in a salacious way. When they’re not holding a fork, they’re holding hands. He toys with her earring while he’s talking. She leans into the crook of his arm, rests her head on his shoulder. They share an easy intimacy that’s as tried and warm as a blanket you’ve had for years and still treasure.
“That was one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time,” Josiah says, sitting back when the last morsel disappears from his plate. “And our chef is one of the finest in Atlanta.”
Vashti.
I’ve barely had time to process that they aren’t together anymore. A dozen questions batter my mind, and now isn’t the time for answers to any of them. He doesn’t owe me answers or explanation. They were dating. Now they’re not. It doesn’t change a thing between us, but watching Merry and Ken, I can’t help but think of how Josiah and I used to be. Ironic that when we were younger we had this zeal for each other, and now we sit across from a couple twice our age whose love still burns hot, while ours lies in ashes.
“We have an excellent chef,” Ken says. “But she’s moving to Paris once this place shuts down.”
Surprisingly, it’s the first time we’ve broached the subject of the sale, which is why we’re here. They’ve told us about their kids, and we’ve shown them pictures of ours. We swapped starter stories, how our businesses came to be. They met through a large catering business where they both worked and decided to strike out on their own.
“We’d have no problem finding a great chef to guarantee continuity between the Atlanta location and this one,” Josiah says, sipping his water. “Should it come to that.”
“You’ve seen our numbers,” Merry says. “You know how profitable our business has been here. We’ve done our homework, too, and we know a little about Grits. There’s a lot of similarities between what we do and what you do. NoDa is one of the hottest parts of the city. It’s a boom within a boom. Charlotte’s star is rising fast, and this neighborhood is one of its most sought after.”
“It’s eclectic,” Ken picks up. “There’s a community of artisans here, along with some of the best food in the city. Makes for great foot traffic. We can barely keep up with our weekend crowd.”