Melody’s Chapter 6

Today was the first day Melody’s Table opened its doors, and I don’t think I took a full breath until hour twelve. I worked the dining space nonstop, checking on every table, every plate, every smile that wasn’t quite a smile. The customers were happy… but also not. It’s a brand‑new restaurant with a brand‑new chef and a brand‑new server, and you can feel that in the air — the hesitations, the little stumbles, the timing that’s just a beat off.

And somehow, even with the chaos, we made a profit. A tiny one. Barely enough to buy a round of coffees. And I immediately spent it on staff training, because if we’re going to survive, we need to get better. Fast.

One part of that training — and I cannot believe this is a real sentence — is teaching Elsa not to dig through the trash while customers are sitting right there. She does it with such enthusiasm too, like she’s on a treasure hunt. I had to gently redirect her at least three times. “Elsa, sweetheart, maybe not during lunch rush.”

By the time I finally closed up, sent everyone home, and turned off the lights, my legs felt like noodles and my brain felt like it had been sautéed on high heat. I staggered home, smelling like fryer oil and determination, and all I could think was that tomorrow, we do it again.

I wasn’t too tired to celebrate with Sydney, though. Even after twelve hours on my feet, even after the chaos and the nerves and the tiny profit that felt like a miracle, I still had enough left in me to curl into her arms and let myself feel proud. She held me the way she always does — steady, grounding, like she’s reminding me that I’m not doing any of this alone. After that, I crashed hard, slipping into sleep the moment my head hit the pillow.

While I slept, Sydney handled everything — the dishes, the bedtime routine, the snuggles, the little worries that always come out at night. And tonight, the kids needed her more than usual, because the news came that Daryl had died. My dad. Sydney gathered them close, comforting them with that soft, patient strength she carries so easily, while I slept through the whole thing, unaware of the shift happening in our house.

I still had one goal left before I could call this chapter of my life complete: learning an experimental recipe. So Sydney and I decided to make a morning of it — a fancy brunch date, just the two of us, in our formal dresses like we were celebrating something bigger than a skill requirement. Maybe we were.

We ordered the Artisan Fish Trio and a glass of wine each. Yes, it was ten in the morning. Yes, we got looks. No, we cared absolutely not. The food was delicate and strange and wonderful, and the wine warmed me all the way down. Sydney kept brushing her knee against mine under the table, smiling that soft smile she saves just for me, and for a little while the world felt gentle again.

We talked, we laughed, we flirted like we were still on our first date. It was exactly what I needed — a breath, a pause, a reminder that even in the middle of grief and exhaustion and restaurant chaos, there is still room for joy.

After brunch, we headed home, hand in hand, ready to step back into the noise and the kids and the life we built together.

Even with the restaurant open, I still have my job as a Celebrity Chef. Melody’s Table isn’t paying the bills yet — not even close — so for now I’m juggling both. After our fancy brunch date, I dropped Sydney off at home and headed straight to work, already planning how I’d balance restaurant days with career days. I’ll open the restaurant on the days I’m not at my day job. It’s not ideal, but it’s what we have to do.

While I was gone, Sydney decided the front yard needed a little something and spent the last of our money on two workout machines. She was so proud of herself, even though it drained the account down to fumes. When I got a raise and a bonus later that day, the first thing I did was replace the money she spent.

That evening, I made dinner after work, and the kids crowded into the kitchen like I was performing a magic show. They watched every stir, every sprinkle, every sizzle. And then, by the time the food was finally ready… no one was hungry anymore. Classic.

The next morning, before I had to leave for another shift, Sydney and I tried out the new workout machines together. It felt good — grounding, energizing — until I had to dash off to work again.

While I was gone, Sydney braved the grill outside and made dinner. And miracle of miracles: no fire. Even better, she managed to get all the kids to sit at the table and eat at the same time.

With all the kids finally in school, Sydney suggested something that made perfect sense the moment she said it: she wanted to help at the restaurant. That way I could keep working my day job until Melody’s Table could stand on its own, and she could manage things while I was gone. It felt like a relief I didn’t know I needed.

So we headed over together and opened up for the day. Sydney took to it immediately — greeting customers, checking on tables, keeping the flow steady in a way that made the whole place feel calmer. By the time I had to slip out for my shift, she already looked like she belonged there.

While I was gone, she did so well that we decided it was time to expand. We hired a second waiter, Paola Rocca, and then invested in some renovations — expanding the kitchen to make room for a second chef someday.

The restaurant is sitting at 3.5 stars now, which is better than I expected this early on. Hopefully it keeps climbing. We updated the menu to the diner preset — simple, comforting, reliable — and decided to reopen tomorrow with a fresh start.

But for now, it was time to go home and check on the kids.

Soon enough, we fell into a rhythm. Send the kids to school, open the restaurant, come home around dinner, homework, bedtime. On the days I had to work my other job, I’d slip out from the restaurant and leave Sydney in charge, trusting her completely. She ran the place with this quiet confidence that made everything feel possible.

I was supposed to blow out my candles the day before Sydney, but life got busy — restaurant busy, kid busy, grief‑heavy busy — and somehow the day slipped right past us. So when Sydney’s birthday rolled around, we ended up blowing out our candles at the same time like we were stepping into the next stage together on purpose.

After the candles and the cheering and the kids running around the kitchen like it was a holiday, Sydney tugged me close with that look she gets when she’s feeling soft and mischievous at the same time. We slipped away for a little birthday celebration of our own, just the two of us, the kind that reminds me exactly why I adore her.

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