Grateful Hearts (Home for the Holidays)

Chapter Two

Later that evening, Mario paced the dining room inside the restaurant. He ran a hand through his tousled hair. The place was supposed to open in two hours, but it felt like the walls were closing in on him. Chantel still hadn’t shown up, and without her, the restaurant might as well stay closed. The sous chefs were good, but not that good. No one could make the magic Chantel did. Without her, Mario’s prized establishment—the one people traveled from all over to eat at was nothing more than another overpriced place in the city.

He glanced down at his phone, scrolling through the dozen unanswered texts and missed calls. Where the hell was she? He had taken a chance and stopped by her place on the way to the restaurant, but she hadn’t answered the door to her apartment. He thought she maybe had headed to the restaurant early. But that obviously wasn’t the case because she wasn’t there.

Mario grimaced, thinking about the packed reservations for the entire week, including Thanksgiving. People loved Thanksgiving at his restaurant—but only because of Chantel’s incredible cooking.

Around him, the staff bustled to prepare for the opening. Normally, this pre-service chaos filled him with purpose. Tonight, it filled him with dread.

He looked at his watch again before redialing her number, his irritation mixing with an edge of panic as the line went straight to voicemail for the fifth time.

He hung up and muttered a curse under his breath. Chantel was sweet, but she had a vengeful streak. He should’ve known better than to invite Tatiana to his place. No, that wasn’t right. It was his and Chantel’s place. She stayed there enough for it to be her place, too.

He felt like a total ass. Chantel was the whole package, after all. She was sweet, gentle, and a damn culinary genius.

Brian, his General Manager, was waiting near the hostess stand with a clipboard in hand and concern written all over his face. “Still no word from her?” Brian asked as Mario approached.

Mario shook his head, running a hand through his dark, disheveled hair. “Nothing. I’ve been calling all day. She’s got her phone off.”

Brian frowned. “That’s not like her.”

“No kidding,” Mario muttered, his voice tight. Chantel was the heartbeat of this place. Her passion infused every dish and every service. Without her, the restaurant was like a ship without a captain, and Mario hated to admit it, but without her, his dream was dead in the water.

“Do you want me to try calling her?” Brian asked.

“No,” Mario snapped, then sighed, softening his tone. “She’s probably just… taking some time. She’ll come around.”

But he didn’t believe his own words. Chantel had every right to be furious. He’d betrayed her in the worst way possible. Sleeping with Tatiana, of all people, had been a colossal mistake, one he’d been regretting every second since. But Mario never imagined that Chantel would stay mad long enough to mess with the restaurant.

“Mario,” Brian pressed, his brow furrowing as he studied him. “What happened? Did you two fight or something? Because she never misses a shift. Ever.”

Mario’s jaw tightened. The last thing he needed was for Brian, or anyone else, to know the truth. The staff didn’t just adore Chantel; she was practically their queen. If word got out about what he’d done, not only would Brian walk, but so would Ivan, the waitstaff, the line cooks. Hell, everyone would.

“It’s personal,” Mario said, his tone clipped. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Brian’s eyes narrowed. “Well, it’s my job to worry if Chantel doesn’t show. She runs this place, Mario.”

Mario exhaled sharply. He knew Brian was right, but the reminder grated on his nerves. “Just get Ivan ready to lead the kitchen tonight,” he ordered. “We’re down to the wire, and I’m not counting on her walking through that door.”

Brian hesitated, clearly wanting to push for more answers, but he finally nodded. “Got it.” He walked off toward the kitchen, leaving Mario standing in the empty dining room.

Mario leaned against the hostess’s stand, pinching the bridge of his nose. His emotions churned between guilt and frustration. Chantel had a right to be upset—hell, she had every right to hate him—but now she was jeopardizing his livelihood.

“This is her life, too,” he muttered under his breath. Chantel had poured her heart into the restaurant. She wouldn’t just disappear. She was too professional for that, even if she was hurt. She wouldn’t really leave him high and dry. Or would she?

He wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Fuck! He would be ruined if she didn’t return. He needed to find out where she was.

Chantel kept her recipes under lock and key—figuratively and literally. No one else could replicate her signature dishes, and the thought of serving subpar food tonight made Mario’s stomach twist.

He clenched his fists. “Damn it,” he growled, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. Tatiana’s investment was supposed to secure the restaurant’s future, not unravel everything.

Reaching for his phone, Mario dialed Chantel’s number again.

The phone rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. He waited for the beep, his jaw working as he struggled to find the right words.

“Chantel, it’s me. Look, I know you’re upset. You’ve got every right to be. But you can’t just—” He stopped himself, taking a breath. “I mean, the restaurant needs you. We’ve got an hour until opening, and I need to know if you’re coming in. Please call me back.”

His voice softened, but his frustration bled through. “We’ll talk. Just don’t make me do this without you.”

Hanging up, Mario stared at the phone, the weight of his message lingering in the silence. If she didn’t show, tonight would be a disaster. And he had nobody else to blame but himself.

◆◆◆

Chantel sank into the armchair by the hotel room window, staring blankly at the planes taxiing on the runway. The low hum of airport activity outside was the only sound breaking the oppressive silence of her room. She’d opted for the airport hotel for two reasons: one, because she knew Mario had a key to her apartment and would likely show up there, and two, her flight left super early in the morning. It was better this way.

Her chest still ached with the weight of heartbreak. It was a throbbing reminder of just how stupid she’d been. She thought she knew Mario and all of his quirks, his dreams, and his faults. But clearly, she didn’t know him at all. He had betrayed her in the most intimate, devastating way possible, and now she was left trying to piece herself back together.

Her phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with his name—again.

Chantel stared at it, letting the call go to voicemail like all the others. Mario was undoubtedly in full-blown panic mode now. The restaurant was set to open in an hour, and for the first time since it launched, she wasn’t there.

Well, he better get used to it.

Chantel hugged her knees to her chest. She felt a pang of guilt thinking about Brian, Ivan, and the rest of the staff. They didn’t deserve this chaos. They were her family, in a way, and she hated leaving them in the lurch. But Mario had forced her hand.

If he could do this, it made her wonder what else he was capable of. How many other lies had he told? The thought made her stomach churn.

Her phone chimed, and she hesitated before swiping to listen to Mario’s latest voicemail.

“Chantel, it’s me.” His voice was tight and controlled, but she could hear the strain beneath the surface. “Look, I know you’re upset. You’ve got every right to be. But you can’t just—” He stopped, exhaling sharply. “I mean, the restaurant needs you. We’ve got an hour until opening, and I need to know if you’re coming in. Please call me back.”

She smirked despite herself. There it was—the little flash of anger he’d tried so hard to suppress. Mario hated losing control, and the fact that she had him scrambling was satisfying in a way she hadn’t expected. But then again, he’d done this to himself.

Still, her thoughts drifted to Brian and Ivan. They were probably freaking out, running around the kitchen in a blind panic, trying to figure out what to do.

With a sigh, Chantel picked up her phone and typed out a quick message to Brian.

Chantel: Check the top shelf of the coat closet in the break room. I keep some backup recipes there for emergencies. They’re nothing fancy, but they’ll do.

She stared at the screen for a moment before hitting send. It wasn’t her usual standard, and it certainly wasn’t her heart and soul on a plate, but it would keep the restaurant afloat for a bit.

She’d give it a few days, but eventually, she’d send a formal note to Mario letting him know she wasn’t coming back.

Her phone buzzed.

Brian: Are you okay? The boss is acting super weird, and you not showing up for work is unheard of.

Chantel stared at the phone, debating how to answer his question. Had Mario told him what happened? She shook her head. No, there was no way that Mario would tell anyone about his infidelity. She wasn’t planning on saying anything, either, at least not at the moment.

Chantel: I’m fine.

She hated lying to Brian, but she didn’t want to talk or text about what happened, especially when she was still trying to grasp the situation.

Chantel made sure her alarm was set for the following day before she set the phone down. After the day she had, she felt utterly exhausted. She stood up and walked over to her bag. When she opened it to grab her pajamas, she realized she forgot to pack them. Dammit! After rummaging through bags, she found a T-shirt and put it on. She pulled the blackout curtains closed, sending the room into darkness. She then slid into the bed and pulled the blankets up to her chin. The mattress was firm, the pillows too fluffy, but it didn’t matter. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.

Mario might be scrambling to save his precious restaurant tonight, but tomorrow, Chantel would be miles away, free from his betrayal and the life she thought they were building together.