Carmen felt the tension in his shoulders as plated the dish, wanting to ensure it was absolutely perfect. He’d seen your name in the guestbook, and it had left him on edge the entire week.

Of course, Carmen knew you were in town, but only through little tidbits on Facebook. He should’ve known you’d hunt down his restaurant. That’s so you, because instead of just asking, you’d figure it out yourself all in the name of a surprise. Carmen hated surprises.

The pair of you had worked together at Noma. Though, Carmen had heard you were in Belgium now, at some other 3-Michelin star restaurant. He wanted to know more, to grill you on all you’ve learned, to pick your brain and pull you apart.

But first he’d have to give you this meal. You saw him coming from a mile away (or, as soon as he left the kitchen door), standing out like a sore thumb in his chef whites. He willed his hands not to shake as he came to deliver the dish: wanting, needing to see your expression firsthand when you saw his work.