Only You by K.T. Quinn

52

Molly

The Day We Opened The Restaurant

We spent the summer renovating the store. Even after all the interest-free small-business loans, I had to take out a mortgage on the building to pay for everything. But it was worth it.

Knocking down interior walls was the fun part. Donovan was sexier than ever while wielding a sledgehammer, muscles bulging with every swing. He was only five minutes into the first wall knock-down before I jumped his bones and rode him there on the floor.

“Pregnancy hormones are a hell of a thing,” I said afterward. “I keep bouncing between horny, worried, and hungry.”

“I don’t mind!” Donovan said while resting the sledgehammer against his shoulder. “When I’m done with this I’ll pick up lunch from the cafe.”

I swear, I could have made love to him again right then.

After all the internal walls were knocked down, we installed the kitchen. Donovan nervously instructed the delivery guys while they carried the industrial appliances through the building. When everything was installed, he rested his arms and head on the flat-top stove and smiled like he had never been happier. He spent the end of every day wiping down construction dust and dirt from the stainless-steel appliances with a micro-fiber cloth.

If he was half as caring for our child as he was for that kitchen, then he would be an amazing father.

We did most of the renovations ourselves, which took extra time but saved us money. We redid the floors and installed a fire-suppression system that was up to code. We painted the walls, and put up Italian landscape paintings. We bought tables and chairs from another restaurant that had gone out of business during the pandemic.

We made love on the floor, on the tables, and on every surface of the kitchen. Donovan made a joke about how we had to get it out of our system now, because we wouldn’t want to get a health code violation once we opened.

For the Fourth of July, we took a road trip back to Boston to get Donovan’s belongings and car. Sure enough, the diner he used to work at had permanently closed. Then we packed up his stuff into both cars.

“Thanks for not tossing all my stuff out on the curb,” Donovan told his landlord. “Give me a few months and I’ll pay back all the rent I missed.”

“You don’t owe me nothin’,” the old man said. He was wearing a Red Sox mask. “Always paid your rent on time, and never complained when somethin’ broke. Take care of yourselves. Send me a postcard.”

The lockdown ended in July. Restaurants were allowed to open at half-capacity, and certain stores and bars could re-open.

But Donovan wasn’t ready to open our restaurant. He spent all of August and September working on the menu. While I finished all the little details in the restaurant, he cooked food around the clock, tweaking recipes and throwing entire dishes out. He was like a composer working on his magnum opus.

I didn’t mind because I got to be his taste tester. And now that I was nearing the end of my second trimester, I had a newfound appetite. Flatbread pizza, ground-lamb lasagna, veal osso bucco… I wolfed everything down and gave him my opinion.

I was also starting to show by this point. Every time I woke up and looked in the mirror it seemed like my belly was just a little more swollen than the night before.

“I still don’t understand why you don’t want to know,” I told him one afternoon in the kitchen. He was coating two chicken breasts in breading while I sat and watched.

“It’s more fun to wait,” he said. “I want to find out when we’re in the delivery room, and the doctor announces that it’s a boy or girl.”

“All right,” I said. “But it just means that when he or she is born, you’re going to have to re-paint the nursery.”

“Green is a good neutral color.” He gestured with the chicken breast. “There’s going to be plenty of blue-or-pink clothes and toys in the baby’s life. He or she won’t need to have the walls of the nursery gendered too.”

“It makes names difficult too,” I pointed out.

“We’ll come up with gender-neutral names.” Donovan placed the chicken breast in a pan of oil, which immediately began sizzling. “Alex. Blake. Taylor. Jordan.”

“I went to school with a guy named Jordan, and he was a huge asshole. Veto. And I don’t like Blake because one of my exes had a huge crush on Blake Lively.”

He glanced sideways at me. “Hmm. You wouldn’t be saying that if the baby was a boy.”

“Do you want to know the sex or not?”

“I don’t! I just like analyzing your clues.” He scratched his chin with the spatula. “It’s totally a boy, isn’t it?”

“If you keep pestering me I’m going to blurt it out,” I warned.

By the end of September, Donovan had decided on a menu for opening night. My business degree helped me handle the logistics of supply delivery, and by the first week of October we were ready for our grand opening.

The two of us stood outside the restaurant. The name was written in cursive above the entranceway: Solo Tu. We took a selfie in front of it and then went inside.

“All the tables are prepped,” I said, running down my checklist. “We have eight beers on tap, and sixteen different wines. You have all the food ingredients you need for tonight?”

“My sous-chefs are prepping them now,” Donovan replied.

I nodded. In addition to Donovan himself, he had two station chefs and three sous-chefs working for him. We had one bartender, two bussers, and six servers working in the front-of-house. I didn’t know what to do with myself tonight, so I was hostessing.

“You look dashing in your chef’s uniform,” I told him.

He gave a little bow. “And you look stunning in, uh, the front-of-house uniform.”

“It’s just black slacks and a blouse,” I replied. “And I don’t feel very sexy with this big bump.”

Donovan laughed and kissed me on the forehead. “You’ve never been sexier. When we get home late tonight, I’m going to prove it in the bedroom.”

“We’ll see how much energy you have by then.” I glanced at my watch. “Okay, it’s time. Here we go!” I ceremonially flipped the sign by the front door from CLOSED to OPEN.

Donovan and I stood by the front door, gazing out at Elkhart’s main street. There were eight street-parking spaces in front of the restaurant. All of them were empty.

Five minutes later, nothing had changed.

“It’s fine,” Donovan said. “It can take weeks to get up to normal speed. Especially with the pandemic happening. Lots of people aren’t ready to eat indoors.”

“That’s why we have the outdoor patio,” I replied. “And we’ve spent hundreds of dollars on ads in the local newspaper and on Facebook.”

His hand rubbed my upper back. “It’s opening night. We might not have many customers. Things might go wrong. That’s okay. We’ll go with the flow.”

“We should have started with only five servers,” I muttered. “Six is too many.”

“Six is the right amount,” he insisted. “Better to over-prepare.”

Suddenly a car pulled into one of the spots in front of the restaurant. I slapped at Donovan’s arm to get his attention. But when the people got out of the car, they weren’t random customers. They were people I recognized.

“Andrea!” I said when the old manager for Nelly’s Boutique came through the door. “You came!”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world! This is my boyfriend, Blake.”

“Blake, nice name,” Donovan said. He glanced sideways at me.

“Uh, thanks?” Blake replied.

Andrea approached me, then hesitated behind her mask and said, “Can I hug you? Is it safe?”

“We already had the virus, so hugs are safe.” We embraced, and then I grabbed two menus from the hostess station. I cleared my throat and formally said, “Welcome to Solo Tu! Right this way to your table…”

By the time I returned to the front, there was another car parking. Before they could get out, four twenty-somethings walked by the restaurant, stopped, and then came inside.

“Better get to the back.” Donovan gave me an eskimo kiss through our masks. “Good luck!”

“I don’t need it—I’ve got the easy job. Good luck in the kitchen!”

I smiled as Donovan practically skipped back into the kitchen.

A steady trickle of customers arrived over the next hour. When the restaurant was a quarter full, I started to breathe easier. We could call that a successful first night.

Then one of my best friends came barging through the front door. “There she is, pregnant and glowing!” Sara exclaimed. Behind her followed Becky, Marisa, and Wanda. The four girls who were supposed to go to Rome with me.

We giggled and hugged. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Are you kidding? We weren’t going to miss your big opening,” Sara replied.

“I only came because I want to see this man I’ve been hearing so much about,” Wanda said. “Where are you hiding him?”

“He’s working in the kitchen.”

“Tell him to get his cute butt out here,” Sara insisted. “We want to see his dumplings.”

The girls showered me with compliments about how wonderful I looked now that my baby bump was beginning to show. More customers were coming through the door so I led the girls to a table, then resumed my hostess duties.

Growing up, I had never felt like Nelly’s Boutique was mine. It was mom’s store, her pride and joy, and I was just a helper while I was there.

But this place, Solo Tu? Donovan and I had built it from the ground-up. We’d knocked out walls and painted and planned and fretted. The outer building may have been the same, but everything on the inside was different. And I had a strong desire to see it become successful. I welcomed every customer warmly and answered questions. I marked off tables on my hostess map with a highlighter to indicate which were occupied. Knowing this was our place made all the difference in the world.

And based on all the wine we were selling, I started feeling hopeful about the profitability, too.

An hour after we opened, a middle-aged couple came through the door. The husband had the crew-cut look of a military man, and the wife had gorgeous dark hair and an olive-colored complexion that reminded me of the women I had seen in Italy.

The wife glanced down at my name tag. “Molly?”

“That’s me!” I said cheerfully. “How many are in your party?”

The couple grinned at each other. “Just the two of us.”

“Can we have a larger table?” the husband asked. He glanced at my belly and said, “We don’t like to be cramped in those tiny booths.”

“Not a problem.” I gathered two menus and asked, “Is this a special occasion?”

The wife beamed at me behind her mask. “Just a happy night out. How far along are you, dear?”

“Six months,” I said while leading them into the restaurant. “Just started my third trimester.”

“Oh, that’s so wonderful! I remember my pregnancy like it was yesterday. It was a delightful time.”

“You hated it,” the husband said. He smiled at me. “She hated it. Trust me.”

“Oh shush.” She smiled at me some more, eyes flicking down to my belly. “I’m sure your pregnancy is going just fine.”

We reached their table and I placed their menus down. “Maggie will be your server. Tonight’s special is steak pizzaiola, and…”

I trailed off as Donovan came out of the kitchen, weaving through the tables to reach me.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Yeah, we have a huge problem,” he said. “I haven’t gotten to introduce you to my parents.”

It took me a second to realize what he was saying.

I glanced down at the table. The lovely couple was grinning up at me with pride.

I gasped. “No.”

“Mom, dad. This is her. This is Molly.” He smiled warmly at me. “These are my parents, Herbert and Gloria.”

“Come here, you!” Herbert—Donovan’s dad—got up and wrapped his son in a big bear hug. I saw the resemblance now: the sharp nose, chiseled jawline, and the same dark hair but with a little salt sprinkled in.

“We’re so happy to finally meet you,” Gloria said while hugging me. “I can see why Donny fell in love.”

“Donny?”

Donovan pointed at me. “Don’t get any ideas.”

I hugged Herbert and wiped tears from my eyes. That’s why they kept glancing at my belly. Because their grandchild was inside. And to think I thought they were weirded out by a pregnant hostess.

“You don’t need to order,” Donovan told them, “because I know what I’m making both of you. Just sit down and enjoy the evening with Molly.”

“I need to get back to the hostess station,” I whispered.

“You will do no such thing,” he replied. “That’s why I insisted on six servers tonight. Zoey is handling the hostess duties now.”

I glanced across the room and saw that Zoey was already behind the hostess podium, waving back at me happily.

“I’ve got to run,” Donovan said. He kissed me, then kissed his mom on the cheek. “I’ll sneak back out here when I get some free time.”

I watched him rush back into the kitchen.

I smiled at the couple seated across from me. “I’m sorry, I’m just so overwhelmed,” I said.

Gloria reached across the table and patted my hand. “It’s not fair to be surprised like this. Meeting your boyfriend’s parents for the first time. And you can’t even drink to soothe your nerves!”

“I know!” I laughed.

“I needed a bottle of wine the first time I met Herb’s parents,” Gloria explained.

“My mother was a pill.” Herbert leaned across the table. “I said we should come a week later, not on opening night. But Donovan insisted.”

“I’m so happy you’re here,” I said. “Donovan said you might come visit for Christmas, but this is wonderful too.”

They ordered a bottle of wine, and I sipped on water. Despite the pressure of the situation, the two of them were absolutely delightful. Sweet, and funny, and loving. I could feel how warm and welcoming they were towards me, a woman they barely knew. It was no wonder Donovan had turned out the way he had.

I kept glancing back at the hostess table, but Zoey had it covered. We were somewhere around half capacity now, too. Things were going well!

The server brought out our food some time later. Three bowls of angel hair pasta, with a creamy white sauce and slices of grilled chicken. Moments later Donovan came weaving through the restaurant toward us.

“Hot back there, son?” Herbert asked him.

Donovan wiped his forehead with a sleeve. “You know what they say about heat and kitchens.”

I frowned down at my bowl. “What is this? I don’t remember this being on the menu…”

“It’s not on the menu,” he said. “This was the very first meal I gave you. You said you were starving, and you traded me a bottle of wine for it.”

“Oh! I remember now!” Memories flooded back to me and my heart swelled with love. “Donovan was cooking this in the room next to mine, and the smell drifted over to my room. It was the best meal I had ever eaten.”

I saw motion to my left. Sara and the girls were two tables over, and Sara had pulled her phone out. She was discreetly taking a video of our table.

“You’re embarrassing me,” I told her. “Put that away. We don’t need a video of our food coming out.”

“She’s not recording the food, Molly,” Donovan said.

“What do you mean she’s—”

When I turned around, Donovan’s face was on my level. He was on the ground.

On one knee.