On Monday, Sawayaka bustled with happy customers at the tail-end of lunch time, and I walked in ready to be wowed. I originally figured I would give him a hard time on purpose, but after hearing his history from Mom, I decided to be lenient and arrive on a positive note. I’d had a light breakfast and went for my first run in over a year, so I was starving and prepared to eat just about anything Yasahiro put in front of me. Ana, at the hostess station, squealed when I approached her.
“I’m so delighted to see you again, Mei-san.” She bowed to me and I bowed back, a little self-conscious with all the people turning to eye me. “I can’t wait to hear what you think of Yasahiro-san’s cooking. He’s been developing menus and testing out dishes on us all week long.” She closed her eyes and hummed. “It was delicious. I wish you could challenge him every week.”
Yikes. I’d had no idea he would take the challenge so seriously. I tucked my hair behind my ears and straightened out my shirt, nervous butterflies — no, nervous small birds — taking flight in my stomach and threatening to fly me straight to the bathroom. Whenever I got nervous, I wanted to puke. It wasn’t pretty.
“Well, I hope I didn’t cause him too much trouble!” I faked a smile and bowed again, hoping to calm the birds. “I’ve been looking forward to today since I was here last.”
Ana crooked her finger in my direction. “Follow me.”
We wove through the tables, most occupied, and she sat me next to the kitchen, plucking the “RESERVED” sign off the table and slipping it into the pocket of her apron. “I’ll let Yasahiro-san know you’re here. Enjoy the meal. Stop by on your way out and let me know what you think. I’m dying to hear all the details.”
She winked at me as I sat, and I suddenly felt self-conscious about everything. How was my hair? Was it behaving? It was a little humid out this morning and my hair had this wavy kink to it that fluffed out in weather like this. I straightened my button-down shirt, annoyed that my whole wardrobe was meant for working in an office and not for a farmer’s daughter out for lunch at a high-end restaurant. At least my flats were in good shape. I had a thing for shoes. It was quite possible that if I did not have a “thing” for shoes, I may have had an apartment in Tokyo still, but let’s not dwell on that.
I had no one to talk to, so I took my phone out of my purse and checked for text messages. Akiko wrote, “I’m jealous of your lunch plans. Please take photos and send them to me. House arrest is no fun.”
I frowned down at the screen. Why was she still being watched? She had attended to patients the entire day her father died. She wanted to go back to her job, but the police needed to leave her alone for that to happen. Were they watching Tama as diligently as they were watching her? He had as much motive as she did, though I didn’t believe either of them would kill their father. Tama had a job, his own place, and a fiancée. Akiko was doing well as a nurse and had had a roof over her head as long as her father was alive. It made no sense that either of them would commit the crime.
It must’ve been someone on the outside, and currently, my only picks were Tajima and Takahara. Both didn’t strike me as killers. I glanced around the busy restaurant, and an image of Yasahiro wielding a knife popped into my head. Maybe he was the killer? Oh no. What if I’m having lunch with a murderer?
Think, Mei! Motive and opportunity. What reason would Yasahiro have to kill Kano? And would he have the opportunity? If I suspected him at all, I’d have to find out if he ever took time off work, though he seemed like a workaholic. No one with a Michelin star works part time. He was at the funeral and said he only knew Kano from late night drinks. I’d have to look into it.
So far, my detective life proved to be a complete failure. Why was I not surprised? I’d been plagued with bad luck my entire life, and I didn’t see it stopping anytime soon.
“I haven’t even served lunch to you yet and you’re already frowning?” Yasahiro stood over the table, a plate in each hand, and a smile on his face.
He’s kidding, Mei. Kidding. Remember? Akiko said he had a sense of humor, unlike most people around here.
I returned his smile and took a deep breath through my nose, smelling something of toasted sesame. “I’m definitely not frowning over food,” I replied, careful to make eye contact. “Is this lunch?” I sat up to see the plates, but he glided them down to the table.
Yasahiro cleared his throat and raised his chin. “To start, we have a fresh green beans and lotus root salad. Crisp and tangy with toasted sesame seeds, rice vinegar, and ginger.” He pointed to the plate in front of me, greens and thin slices of lotus root arranged in a neat pile. “And these are my pork and scallion dumplings with Sriracha, ginger, and lemongrass dipping sauce.” Four plump dumplings sat on the other plate, and my mouth began to water.
“I hope you enjoy them,” he said, bowing and turning to go.
“Wait.” I snapped my hand out and grabbed the white fabric of his chef’s coat. “Won’t you be having lunch with me?”
I glanced around at the restaurant, crawling with people. Oh no. I’d honestly believed we’d have lunch together. He’d tell me about the food and his work and…
I blushed. Hard. I thought this was a date, didn’t I? Deep down, way down in the cellar of my brain, I’d daydreamed a date out of this. I was so stupid.
This was the lunch rush hour, and he only did this because I challenged him.
Snap out of it!
“I mean…” I stammered, and letting go of his chef’s coat, he smoothed out the wrinkles with his hand. “I know you can’t have lunch with me. It’s too busy in here. I just thought you might want to, um, explain a little more about the food?”
If only my lie sounded a little more confident.
A small smile grew across his lips, and my entire being died of embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I do have a lot of work to do, including your main course.”
“Oh yes, of course. I completely understand. I’m looking forward to eating everything you bring out today. I’m sure I’ll be won over by Wednesday, and we’ll declare you the winner of this silly challenge.”
Because I was not coming here and eating alone while everyone around me ate together. I was willing to do that once in a while, with a book, but not every day. I’d rather I ate at home with Mom.
“No, no, no. I said I was going to feed you lunch for a whole week, and you can’t capitulate right away. You said this food would be bland, and I’m going to prove it’s not.”
I nodded slowly, resigned. What had I gotten myself into? I’d challenged a chef with a prestigious resume, a student of my mother’s, and the town’s newest darling. I should never have opened my mouth. I was close to making a complete fool of myself, and I regretted it to my bones.
Yasahiro paused for a moment as I took a sip of water.
“But, if you’d like to come and eat lunch a little later tomorrow, maybe after 14:00, I could eat with you. Lunch usually slows down by 13:30 and then we close the kitchen from 14:00 to 16:30 to prepare for dinner.”
“I don’t want to bother you any more than I already have —”
“It’s not a bother,” he interrupted, and this time, he stammered and seemed eager to keep me there. Hmmm. Interesting. The daydream of Yasahiro wandering the streets of Paris popped into my head again, and I stopped to add more details to it: the tiny scar through his right eyebrow, the shape of his ears, his white teeth (he must go to a private dentist). The daydream shifted and I imagined him at the dentist’s office, in the chair. No! Back to Paris. Yes, that was better.
“Mei-san?” he asked, breaking into my daydream. “Is that okay? A later lunch? I wouldn’t want you to be hungry all morning.”
“No, that’s fine.” I cleared my thoughts and returned to the restaurant. “Sure. I’ll come tomorrow at 14:00, and I’ll be sure to eat a big breakfast.”
He smiled and left, heading into the kitchen.
I took out my phone again and snapped a few photos of the meal, posting them to Instagram where I had exactly twenty followers, all of whom were old college friends or coworkers I actually got along with. I tagged the food photos with the appropriate hashtags and included the location. Free advertising for Sawayaka! Then I sent them to Akiko, hoping to brighten her day a bit.
Before I could put my phone away, the screen blinked with a new message. “Hi! It’s Kumi. Mom gave me your number. I was wondering if you could come by after your lunch at Sawayaka today?”
“Sure.” I texted back. “How did you know I was at Sawayaka?”
“The whole town knows you’re there for lunch.” She included a sticker of a fat, grey cat eating ramen.
“Omg, really?”
I glanced around the restaurant, and yeah, dozens of people were eyeing me and nodding in my direction. Damned small towns.
“I’m being watched.” I sent a sticker of a panda bear with large eyes.
“Even if the food is horrible, pretend it’s amazing. Our entire town is following your every move. Before Sawayaka, we’d never had a restaurant with a Michelin star. Save face!”
I laughed at my phone. “I’ll be there when I’m done.”
I set my phone down and picked up a green bean with my chopsticks, popping it in my mouth.
Mmmm, still crisp and sweet, like it was plucked from the vine only hours ago, and the ginger and sesame oil lingered on my tongue, balanced and perfect for each other.
I didn’t have to pretend because this was delicious. I dug in and continually glanced towards the kitchen door wondering what to expect for my main course. I couldn’t wait.