Page 27 of Forever Fighting
“Leaf,” Roman replies, shaking his hand before panning it toward me. “This is my friend Braelyn.”
“Leaf Gomez. I’m the head chef here. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”
Finally? I blink, surprised again at being known. “Likewise,” I manage.
Roman clears his throat. “What are we tasting today?”
The redirect is obvious, but I let it slide, curious about what exactly Roman has been saying about me to his staff. Leaf leadsus to a preparation table where several dishes are arranged in various stages of completion.
“Each course has a wine pairing except for the dessert, where we have a cocktail to go with it. Allow me to present roasted heirloom tomato and burrata with crispy prosciutto, topped with a pea and walnut pesto, and an aged balsamic glaze. Homemade fettuccine con fungi with shrimp, lobster, and scallops in a black truffle cream sauce. The Wagyu preparation you were concerned about, and finally the almond indulgence cake with a chocolate and coconut glaze paired with an espresso martini.”
Roman examines each preparation with the intense focus I’ve seen him apply countless times over his own dishes. He’s meticulous. A control freak through and through. He tastes, considers, and makes small adjustments. A sprinkle of salt here, a repositioning of a garnish there, a change in the wine pairing with the pasta. When he’s satisfied, he turns to me.
“Your turn. And be honest.”
I approach the tasting with the seriousness it deserves, though I’m hardly a foodie. I’m also spoiled by Roman’s cooking. The tomato and burrata explode in my mouth, the pasta melts on my tongue, and the Wagyu is, well, it’s fucking fantastic. It’s cooked to a perfect medium-rare, with a crust that creates a textural contrast to the buttery interior. I legit just had a food orgasm.
“Well?” Roman asks, a touch of uncharacteristic impatience in his tone, and I notice both him and Leaf watching me intently.
“It’s…” I search for words that won’t sound hyperbolic. “Extraordinary. I mean, I’ve had your food more times than I can count, but these dishes are fun, with unique twists that take my mouth on an adventure, and the wine complements them all. And this cake and martini are scrumptious.”
“Yeah? No bullshit?”
“No bullshit. I swear. This might be my favorite of your restaurants.” I finish off the martini because hello, alcohol and caffeine in one.
“I’ve been very intentional with this menu,” Roman tells me, sipping at some of the wine.
“Yes. We wanted it to be a journey,” Leaf agrees. “We really stretched our creative minds with this. Sort of old and new Roman.”
“Explain that to me.”
“All my menus are personal,” Roman states matter-of-factly. “I pick every dish on them. Some are fun for me. Some are challenging for both the chef and diner. But Decision has a journey to it. Choices I’ve made along the way. Things that have happened. Some I’ve won and some I haven’t.”
“You don’t lose, Roman, and you fail at nothing.”
His lips twist down. “That’s not true, kid. I’ve lost plenty, and I don’t always get what I want.”
The weight of those words hangs between us, laden with meanings I’m not sure I’m able to fully decipher.
“But I’m excited for this,” he finishes.
I beam at him. “Me too. And you’re very nice to the people here.”
He laughs, and so does Leaf. “I see she knows you well.” Leaf turns to me. “Trust me when I say, this is a rarity, and it must be because of the company, so thank you for coming. Otherwise, we’d get Chef and not Roman.”
Roman simply shrugs, unapologetic as he always is.
“Show me the rest?” I ask, gesturing to the broader kitchen. “I want to see everything.” Roman takes me on a tour, showing me every last detail. When it’s done, we’re back where we started in the kitchen. “I think you’ve created something remarkable,” I tell him honestly. “Not just the food, but the whole experience. It feels like you. Precise but not cold. Thoughtful but not pretentious.”
His eyes move to mine for a long moment, an expression I can’t quite read crossing his features. “Thank you. That means everything. Your opinion is the one I value most.”
“Other than the critics,” I quip.
“No. It’s yours.”
Heat floods me, sending sparks of pleasure across my skin.
The moment stretches between us until he suggests we take a walk, and I don’t know what’s happening or why my heart is beating like this today. I think of Adam, of the life I thought I was building that’s now collapsed. I think of Roman, always there, always solid, even as he pursued his own dreams across the globe. I think of us, standing here in Vegas, both unmoored in different ways.
