Last Olive Bistro ✓

Chapter 38: Offer

I shook up the large iced coffee I bought for Rory, as the ice melted fast underneath the end-of-summer sunshine, causing the drink to water down. With two coffees in each hand, it was tricky to push up my sunglasses with my forearm, but I succeeded. I took the moment to glance at my new watch—a gift from Jacob for the start of our business together (as if the business itself wasn't elaborate enough of a gift). It was just past ten o'clock in the morning.

A couple of quick minutes went by and Rory walked out of his first shift at his first job of the day. He stopped suddenly, in shock to see me waiting for him. I held up his coffee and flashed an enormous, goofy grin. He rolled his eyes and slowly approached me.

"Hello?" he greeted, curious of my presence. I handed him his iced caramel macchiato. I opted for the iced matcha green tea. He took a few long gulps and breathed out like he was a dolphin coming up for air, "I needed this, so, so much. Thanks. What are you doing here?"

I ushered him along and we walked through Times Square. I led the reluctant Rory up the red steps in Duffy Square, all the way to the top. It wasn't too packed with tourists just yet and we had ample breathing room. All of this was just for dramatic effect; call it a persuasion tactic, if you will.

"Look out there," I pointed into the cluster of digital billboards, flashing and beaming every color of the rainbow, begging each passerby to come see their glorious stage production or buy their life-changing product. "Every billboard ad you see—there's a gazillion people involved in whatever show or company it is, right?"

He glared at me then back out to the sea of ads. "Sure?"

"That can be you."

He rolled his eyes. "Where is this going? I have to get to my other job."

I smirked, a devious twist that crossed my mouth. "I'm gonna make you an offer you can't refuse."

Rory stomped his foot and threw his head back, squeezing his eyes shut. "You didn't just say that, did you? How long were you waiting to use that?"

I laughed and smacked his arm. He straightened up. "I'm actually serious."

"Go on... but I better not wake up with a horse head in my bed tomorrow morning if I don't do it."

I cleared my throat. "How would you like a job that makes more money, and that gives you all the flexibility you need to get back into the dance industry?" I raised my eyebrows, then down, several times like the slyest Groucho Marx.

He sighed and replied in a low voice, "You want me to work at the Bistro?"

I instantly lifted to my toes for a second, getting lost in the excitement. "Yes!"

Rory grimaced and turned his torso away from me, crossing his arms. "Chloe..." he whined.

I grabbed his shoulder and shook him, gripping my drink in my other hand. "But you won't be a waiter—you'll be the General Manager."

He gulped and shook his head. "No, please don't do this to me."

"Why?"

He exhaled. "What do I know about being a manager? I'm lucky that I can manage having two jobs at once, which by the way, I'm going to be late." Rory descended the red steps; I followed close behind, almost stepping on the backs of his sneakers. My shorter legs hurried, doing double the work to keep up.

"Think about it!" I called out over the growing crowd of tourists. Rory crossed 7th and finally stopped, turning back to face me.

"I'll think about it, but I can't promise it right now. Okay?"

I studied his eyes which told me that he was being honest, and was already considering it. The way his eyebrows lifted and his lips stretched tight across his face—he didn't want to let me down.

"I promised that I wouldn't leave you hanging," I reminded him. "This is me keeping that promise."

His lips relaxed into a semi-smirk in appreciation for me holding up my end of the bargain. He nodded and repeated, "I'll think about it. That's only fair."

"Fair."

At that moment, a small group of mounted NYPD officers passed behind Rory. I tilted my chin up just enough for Rory to get the cue and look back. When he saw the horses, he sighed heavily, but then we both burst into laughter.

~ ~ ~

I cleaned up the bedroom Morgan and I once shared, which it was in desperate need of. I opened the blinds to let the sunshine in and got straight to work. The air conditioning was running at full blast but the temperature outside wasn't too hot, so it was freezing cold inside. Though it was late August, I threw a lightweight cardigan over my frumpy t-shirt.

I pushed my metal bed frame up against the wall, not minding the hardwood floors that were already scuffed to hell when we moved in, and ran the vacuum. It was well over a year since the room's floor had been cleaned, but Morgan and I were both fairly tidy (and busy) people who didn't eat in our room. However, no amount of neatness would've stopped all the dust bunnies from gathering for a party.

Like a 1950s housewife, I cleaned the bedroom top to bottom all morning, until one could theoretically eat off the floor. I rearranged the furniture so my bed was positioned in the middle of the room and my dresser no longer blocked the window. The space instantly was bigger and brighter, and I felt productive—an energy which I was getting used to.

When my stomach grumbled, I forced myself to stop and head to the kitchen to fix myself lunch—a mini microwavable pizza would do just fine.

Jacob would be so disappointed in microwaveable pizza.

I laughed to myself as I thought about him and how much we accomplished in the short time we owned our restaurant together. He had taught me an entire menu of recipes, which we then narrowed down to only the best with our chefs. Everyone agreed on the finalized menu—that in itself was a tremendous sense of teamwork well done.

As the frozen mini pizza spun in the microwave, I flicked through the social media feed on my phone. Morgan's account scrolled up the page and featured recent pictures she had posted. She was hiking in the Superior National Forest, glowing with a healthy smile and athletic body.

In one picture, she gave a thumbs-up standing on top of a huge boulder, overlooking a lush, green forest. In another, she crouched beside a crystal clear stream with a handful of pebbles. And in the last, she sipped on a light craft beer, foam drenching her upper lip. She looked happier than she ever did when I knew her; I almost didn't recognize the young woman, and realized how the city life never allowed her to be her true self.

I left a 'heart' and wrote a comment, "Looking gorgeous, we need to video chat soon!"

Life for both of us was fresh again, and all that was left was to convince Rory to take the jump into the clear waters too. I knew he would fit right in, if only he'd take the opportunity. Morgan's sparkling smile was a reminder to me that life does get better—sometimes you just have to jump in and stay afloat, no matter what.

The microwave dinged and I retrieved my lunch, which I ate in solitude. The apartment felt more lonely without a third roommate, and knowing Rory wouldn't be home until later. I was meeting with Jacob in a few hours to work on our Grand Re-Opening night.

We scheduled it for three weeks from now, when all of the renovations were expected to be finished. The Bistro was going to look like a whole new place—more modern, cozy, and romantic. It would be a place for couples to dine and businesspeople to have a drink after work.

'Four Roses, neat.'

I replayed our first meeting in my mind and imagined the future couples who would find each other in the restaurant. It was all coming together that the Last Olive Bistro was more than a restaurant, but a place of fond memories with an abundance more to be made.