Juniper Hill (The Edens #2)(43)

Lester laughed and pulled a notepad and pen from the pocket of his blazer. “Would you mind if I used that story in my review?”

“Not at all.”

He went about making a few notes, all while my mind reeled.

Quincy, Montana, was not known for its food scene. The locals didn’t give a shit about a critic’s review. They didn’t worry about presentation. They cared that the food was hot when it reached their table and the prices were fair. It was a bonus if I sourced items from local producers.

That was the fantastic part about living here. There was no posh. Food was to nourish hard-working bodies and if it tasted good, well . . . that was the goal.

A review from Lester wouldn’t drive foodies through Knuckles’ front doors. But it was an accomplishment for me. It was something I’d be proud of for years to come.

“I’ve just started writing a monthly piece for Travel and Leisure magazine.” Lester tucked his pen and notepad away. “I’d like to feature Quincy, The Eloise and, in particular, Knuckles.”

“I’d be honored.” I didn’t bother hiding my smile.

“I’ll be staying tonight and am looking forward to another dinner.”

“Friday nights I run a special. I haven’t decided what it will be yet. Any requests?”

He rubbed his hands together. “Surprise me.”

“You’re on.” Ideas raced through my mind. Dijon chicken. Pork medallions. Beef Wellington. I dismissed them all instantly, needing to hit the walk-in to see what I had on hand. Maybe a fish?

Quincy was all about comfort to me. It was home. Maybe I’d make Memphis’s mac ’n’ cheese and fry up a chicken with my favorite chipotle batter.

“For the article, the magazine will want to send out a photographer,” Lester said. “Would you mind?”

“Not a problem. Just tell me the day.”

“Excellent.” Lester stood, holding out his hand once more.

I got to my feet and shook it. “Thank you. Truly.”

“As I said, it was my pleasure. Until tonight.”

“If you’re exploring Quincy, I’d like to recommend Eden Coffee. My sister Lyla owns it. Though Cleo’s got her beat when it comes to cinnamon rolls and muffins. Please don’t tell Lyla I said that.”

Lester laughed. “Not a word.”

“But Lyla makes a tart cherry turnover that is incredible. She gets the cherries from Mom’s trees and her pastry crust is magical. She made some this morning. If they’re not sold out already, you won’t want to miss it.”

“You know, I was just thinking about getting a coffee.” He tightened the knot on his scarf. “I’ll have to hurry over.”

With a nod goodbye, I watched him cross the lobby’s floor and head out the doors. When he was out of sight from the large windows, I did a fist pump. “Yes.”

“Who was that?” Eloise asked as I passed by the desk and headed for the stairwell.

I held up a finger. “Tell you in a sec.”

The first person I wanted to tell was Memphis.

I took the stairs two at a time, rushing to find her on the second floor. She was finishing in the same room where we’d been earlier. The sound of her ringing phone chimed down the hallway.

She was sipping her coffee when I walked into the room, declining the call. Memphis declined a lot of calls.

“Hey,” I said so as not to startle her.

Her eyes whipped my direction and the crease between her eyebrows, the one that always came with those calls she never accepted, disappeared. “That was ten minutes.”

I walked right into her space, once more lifting the coffee from her hand. Then I framed her face and dropped my lips to hers for a quick kiss. “Guess what?”

She smiled. “What?”

I repeated my conversation with Lester in a blur and when I was done she beamed.

“Knox, this is . . .” Her hands flew in the air. “It’s Lester Novak. The Lester Novak.”

“I know.” God, I loved that she knew how big of a deal this was. That she was more excited than me.

“When I worked for Ward Hotels, we always tried to get him to stop by the restaurant and do a review. But he is nearly impossible to get. And he’s here.” Her hands went in the air again. “In Quincy.”

“And he didn’t hate my food.”

“Of course he wouldn’t hate your food. Duh. You’re the best chef I’ve ever met.”

The compliment was given so casually, like she was stating the obvious. The sky was blue. Snow was white. I was the best chef in the world.

Funny how weeks ago an opinion like Lester’s would have been the ruler by which I measured my success. Now, as long as Memphis enjoyed her meals, I didn’t need a critic’s review or five stars on Yelp.

“What are you going to make?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I was thinking comfort food. He liked the burger. I think sticking to food that is Quincy tried-and-true will be best. But I’ll probably make it up as I go. That’s usually the best.”

She nodded. “I agree.”

“Want to stick around? Go get Drake and have dinner here?”

“Yes, but I probably shouldn’t. I don’t want to distract you.”