He’s thoughtful when he eats, but he doesn’t give away much.
Not until the end of the night, when he turns to me and folds his hands in his lap.
I immediately dissolve into a blubbery mess.
“I under-salted the filling in the ravioli,” I blurt. “And I over-seasoned the lobster.”
“The bitterness in the jus balanced it out,” Santiago reassures me.
I look down, embarrassed beyond measure. “The jus wasn’t meant to be bitter at all.”
He hesitates only for a second. “A happy mistake, then. The best kind.”
I grit my teeth and bite back the angry tears as I force a smile onto my face. “Thank you, Chef.”
“You know,” he remarks, “I’m looking for a pair of extra hands for one of my restaurants. You mighthave heard of it—Echo?”
That’s an understatement. Echo has two Michelin stars and
