She grinned. “I suppose I shouldn’t make some joke about keeping my own name?”
I laughed. “Yeah, no.” If that’d been the type of woman she was, it would’ve been a different matter. “Alessia Grady.”
She bit her lip then smiled widely.
I kissed her nose. “Act surprised when I join you on the floor.”
“That wasn’t a joke?”
I shook my head. “We gotta have a story for the grandkids, remember?”
She merely beamed up at me.
* * *
Halfway through our service, I finally saw my opening.
The last two couples of the first seating had left. No one would be waiting for a table for another hour or so, and everyone had a plate in front of them. Most of them had just been served their main course, and Alessia was making rounds to ensure everything was good.
I went over to the sink and washed barbecue grease off my hands, then wiped them on my short apron.
“Can you hold down the fort for a few minutes, man?” I asked Griffin.
“Yeah, sure.” He turned to Tracy, who was on his way out to the kitchen. “Tracy—I need one of the gluten-free shit biscuits.”
I chuckled and took a breath, feeling weirdly nervous. I’d already proposed to her, for fuck’s sake.
Heading over to the stereo, I changed the song to an appropriate tune I’d played before. One of my pinin’ tunes from back when she was just a dream.
Here goes.
I retrieved the ring from the pocket of my jeans, removed my cap and ran a hand through my hair, and I left the bar and walked past a few tables. She had her back to me and was asking someone if everything tasted good, and when they replied with their praise, I reached her. I grabbed her gently by the elbow and spun her to me.
Her eyes went large with genuine surprise before she blushed because she knew what was happening.
I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
Then I went down on one knee right fucking there, completely ignoring everyone around us—thankfully no family members during tonight’s service—and I grasped her left hand in both of mine and kissed her knuckles.
My heart hammered like I’d just run a marathon.
“When we opened Coho together, you said you loved how happy I was.” I felt the nerves leaving me when she smiled tenderly. All the love I needed was right there in her rich brown eyes. “Only one thing would make me happier.” I held up the ring, and she exhaled shakily and got teary-eyed. “It starts with you saying yes.” And ends when we’re a family. “Will you be my wife?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
I rose to a stand as the relief and sheer bliss surged through me, and I kissed her hard. There was no missing the applause around us, but I did my best to shove it outside of our little bubble.
“You’re my dream come true, Adam,” she murmured into the kiss.
I smiled and finally got my ring on her finger. “I love you.”
She grinned. “I love you too.”
Epilogue
Adam Grady
“Four minutes to go!”
Jesus Christ. I wiped my forehead on my sleeve and threw the last of the asparagus on the grill. They’d been precooked and marinated, but I wished I had an extra minute to make them perfect. Lifting the lid of the saucepan, I grabbed a whisk and stirred the thickening sauce. Almost done.
Next to me, Wren used his remaining time to create some crispy bark, which looked delicious but raised the flames on the grill to the limit. And I was sweating my balls off here. We all were.
When he’d told me he was opening a new restaurant in Vegas and wanted me to come out for the opening, I hadn’t hesitated. But what was once a kind invitation from an old buddy was now a mad event with four chefs creating four different items from his new menu.
The place was located in the Cosmopolitan, and it was packed. The kitchen was wide open, much like ours at home, only five or six times as big, and we had dinner guests as well as journalists and critics watching.
To make it worse, to turn it into a goddamn comedy show, we wore mics.
“Don’t make me look bad, Grady,” Wren commented with a smirk.
“Buddy, you’ve looked bad since birth.” I shook the skillet with the sizzling bacon and took some enjoyment from hearing the crowd crack up at my comeback.
“Two minutes!” the announcer called.
I grabbed a dish under my counter and began plating the mashed potatoes. The other two chefs were behind on time, so that removed some pressure from me. While Wren finished his meal, he plugged Coho for us and gave the audience a short history of my career as a chef. I would’ve stopped and listened to the compliments if I’d had the fucking time.
Instead, I was busy cutting the meat into four perfect slices. Medium rare, as they should be. Fuck. Alessia was better at design than I was, but I did okay. The meat ended up in a neat row at the center of the plate, followed by a bed of crispy bacon next to it.