My heart claws through my chest and chokes up my throat.
This isn’t like her.
She was lying. She’s fucking miserable here.
She’s gone.
Something’s happened. She’s been in an accident. She’s hurt or harmed or fuck, arrested. She’ll wither away in a place like prison. That would be worse than death for a woman like Sloane. Can you fucking imagine? Shy and acerbic Sloane Sutherland, surrounded by people twenty-four hours a day, never able to find a safe space to hide?
“Hey Chef. Sloane’s here,” one of the servers says casually as she picks up two mains from the pass. She darts away with the plates before I can even release my barrage of questions on the breath I’ve been holding.
But it’s enough relief to re-energize my efforts and recharge my spiraling focus.
The team and I plow through the service and I pay special attention to table seventeen, not knowing which of the six orders for that table is hers. And then the onslaught gradually wanes, and as we finally move into desserts, I unwrap the apron from my waist, thank my hard-working kitchen staff, and head into the front of house.
Smiles and applause and half-drunk, sated faces greet me as I enter the dining area, but my eyes immediately find Sloane where she sits surrounded by my brothers, Lark, Rose, and my friend Anna who she seems to be growing closer with. Ryan passes me a champagne flute as other servers float from table to table, handing complimentary glasses to the patrons.
“Thank you so much for coming tonight,” I say as I raise my glass in a toast. My gaze pans across the room, snagging on Dr. Stephan Rostis where he sits at a table with his wife before I force myself to look away. Fuck, that would really make my night to cut that asshole up. My smile brightens at the thought. “Without your support of 3 In Coach, this next venture of Butcher & Blackbird would not have been possible. I also want to thank my hard-working and dedicated staff, who have done an incredible job not only tonight, but in the run-up to opening.”
Applause rises around me as I shift my attention to Sloane’s table. She sits between Rose and Lark, who have both made the trip for opening night, my brothers on either end of the curved bench. “Thank you to my brothers, Lachlan and Fionn, without whom I know I wouldn’t be here. We might give each other shit, but they’ve always had my back. You know I love you boys.”
Rose leans close to Fionn and whispers something in his ear. He grins as he makes a flicking motion with his finger and thumb.
“Well, I kind of love you. Really I just tolerate you most of the time. Especially you, Fionn,” I clarify to the sound of laughter.
Then I turn my attention to Sloane.
She’s so fucking beatiful in that dress she wore the night of the Best of Boston gala, with her dark hair pulled across one shoulder in shining waves. Candlelight from the small votive dances in her hazel eyes as she smiles. Nobody’s ever looked at me the way she does, with an intoxicating mix of pride and secrets that only we share. The rest of the room disappears as I just soak it in for a moment.
When I speak, it’s only to her.
“To my beautiful girlfriend Sloane,” I say as I raise my glass in her direction. “Thank you for putting your trust in me. For putting up with my shit. For putting up with my brothers’ shit.” The crowd laughs and Sloane’s smile broadens as the blush creeps up her neck. “When I was young, I collected every lucky charm I could find. I carried a rabbit’s foot around everywhere. Don’t ask Fionn where I got it, he’ll never shut up,” I say, and laughter surrounds us again. But Sloane doesn’t laugh, she only flashes a melancholy smile as she stays hooked on the past beneath my words. “I couldn’t understand why those talismans never changed my luck, so I stopped believing. But now I know. I was saving it all up to meet you, Blackbird.”
Her eyes shine as she presses a kiss to her fingertips and offers it to the space between us on an upturned palm.
“To Butcher & Blackbird,” I say as I raise my glass. The crowd echoes my toast and we drink, the round of applause that follows easing my pent-up worries about our success.
I spend time checking on guests, most of whom have been regulars at 3 In Coach and were given preference on the limited opening night reservation list. Excitement follows me from table to table. They’re enthusiastic about everything from the interior design to the cocktails to the dinner menu. I know it’s a winner. I can feel it in my bones.
And maybe all this insanity from the last few months is worth it.
The last table I stop at is the booth beneath the center of the raven’s wing.
“I’m proud of you, you little shit,” Lachlan says as he folds a tattooed hand over the back of my neck and presses his forehead to mine, just like we’ve done since we were kids. “You did good.”
“Yeah, you’re not so bad. I guess we’ll keep you,” Fionn pipes up as he slaps me on the shoulder harder than necessary. Rose stays seated with her leg still trapped in a cast, so I lean down to press a kiss on each of her cheeks. Anna gives me a beaming smile and a brief hug before she returns to her conversation with Rose, the little banshee entertaining the table with her never-ending tales of circus life. From Lark, it’s a fierce embrace and a string of effervescent compliments as Lachlan watches her with a look of vexation. When I finally get to Sloane and slide in next to her on the padded booth, a combination of relief and exhaustion punches through the mask I feel I’ve been wearing for far too long. She wraps her arms around me as I lay my chin to her shoulder and run a hand down the soft velvet covering her back.
“You’re not just a pretty face,” Sloane says as I huff a laugh in her arms. “It’s amazing, Butcher. It’s perfect. And I’m sorry we were late.” She turns her lips to my ear, then whispers, “It was Lachlan and Lark’s fault. I think they hooked up but I’m confused, because it seems like they fucking hate each other.”
“Somehow, none of that feels like a surprise seeing as how Lachlan is involved,” I reply before I kiss her neck and pull back enough to see her eyes. She smiles when I trail my fingers through her hair. “I should be saying ‘let’s go out and party once everyone’s gone and we can place bets on whether or not they’ll hook up again’, but really I just want to steal your e-reader and curl up in bed with some pirate porn and then fall asleep for a thousand years.”
Sloane rolls her eyes and looks away as I grin. “You need to catch up. I’m on the hitchhiker smut now.”
“Then let me borrow your e–reader.”
“Get fucked,” she says, and presses her lips to my cheek before tucking herself beneath my arm and threading her fingers between mine. “In a loving way, of course.”
I settle in just long enough to feel the calm of her touch and the company of family and friends before I’m back in the kitchen, helping Mia and the team to prepare dinner for the staff to share. And then the whirlwind of chaos that I crave and thrive on ebbs away, leaving peace in its wake.
It’s well after midnight when Sloane and I get home, and it feels like I’m barely even into the bed before I’m asleep.
The next morning is a Sunday—technically my day off, though I usually end up working in some capacity. Sloane is already awake, coffee brewed, her laptop open, her eyes fixed to the screen as she shovels Froot Loops into her mouth. Winston sits on the opposite end of the table, staring her down as though trying to communicate his simmering judgements telepathically. I pick him up as I walk by and he growls as I plop him on the floor.
“What the fuck are you eating?” I ask as I trace a touch across her pulse as I continue my trek to the blessed coffee machine.
