Chapter 17 Seventeen

Chapter 17 Seventeen
I arrived at The Seven at 9 am to find Alexander already there, pacing in the parking lot with his phone pressed to his ear. His face was dark, his body tense.

When he saw me, he held up a finger—one minute—and continued his conversation.

"I don't care what you have to do, find out who it was... Yes, I'll be here all day... Fine. Call me when you know something."

He hung up and turned to me, and whatever softness had been in his eyes last night was gone.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Someone broke into the office last night. Made a mess of the files, rifled through the desk."

My stomach dropped. "Was anything taken?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. The safe wasn't touched, and the cash from last night's service is still in the deposit bag. But something feels off."

We went inside together. The office was indeed a mess—papers scattered, drawers hanging open, filing cabinet doors ajar. But Alexander was right; nothing obvious seemed to be missing.

"This doesn't make sense," I said. "Why break in if you're not going to steal anything?"

"I don't know. But I've called the police. They should be here soon." He started gathering papers, his movements sharp and frustrated.

I helped him organize, and we worked in tense silence until two police officers arrived. They took statements, dusted for fingerprints, and promised to review the security footage from outside the building.

After they left, Alexander slumped into his desk chair, exhaustion written across his face.

"First the health inspector, now this. It's like the universe is testing us."

"We'll figure it out." I sat on the edge of the desk. "At least nothing major was taken."

"That we know of." He looked up at me, and some of the warmth from last night returned. "I'm sorry. This isn't how I wanted to start the day after our date."

"Life doesn't pause for romance."

"No, I suppose it doesn't." He stood and pulled me into a brief hug. "Thank you for being here."

"Where else would I be?"

The day proceeded normally—lunch service, prep for dinner, the usual rhythm of the restaurant. But there was an undercurrent of unease that no one could quite shake.

Around 6 pm, as dinner service began to pick up, Marco realized we were running low on a key ingredient for one of the most popular dishes.

"How did we not notice this during prep?" he demanded.

"I checked inventory this morning," Lena said defensively. "We had plenty then."

"Well, we don't have plenty now."

I followed them to the storage room to investigate. Sure enough, the shelf that should have held containers of the specialty mushrooms Marco needed was nearly empty.

"This is impossible," Marco said. "We had at least twenty pounds this morning."

"Could they have gone bad? Maybe we had to throw them out?" I suggested.

"I would have noticed. And I would have reordered immediately." He was getting agitated, his chef's pride wounded.

Alexander appeared in the doorway. "What's the problem?"

Marco explained while I checked the inventory logs on my tablet. According to the records, we'd received a shipment three days ago. Twenty-five pounds of mushrooms, properly stored.

"They can't have just disappeared," Alexander said.

But they had. We searched the entire storage room, checking every shelf, every corner. Nothing.

"I'll have to adjust the menu for tonight," Marco said grimly. "But I'm not happy about it."

He stalked back to the kitchen, leaving Alexander and me in the storage room.

"This is related to the break-in," I said. "It has to be."

"But why steal mushrooms? They're expensive, but not valuable enough to justify breaking in."

"Unless someone's trying to sabotage us."

The thought hung in the air between us. Who would want to sabotage The Seven? And why now, when things were finally turning around?

"We need to check everything," Alexander decided. "Full inventory. I want to know if anything else is missing."

"I'll help."

We spent the next hour going through every item in the storage room, comparing physical counts against the digital logs. Most everything matched up, but we found a few other small discrepancies—nothing as dramatic as the mushrooms, but enough to confirm that someone had been taking things.

"I don't understand," I said, making notes on my tablet. "If someone on staff is stealing, why would they break into the office? They already have access to everything."

"Maybe they were looking for something specific. Personnel files? Financial records?"

"Or maybe—"

The storage room door suddenly slammed shut behind us. We both jumped, and Alexander immediately tried the handle.

It didn't budge.

"What the hell?" He tried again, putting his shoulder into it. Nothing.

"Is it locked?"

"It shouldn't be. This door doesn't lock from the outside." He pulled out his phone. "And of course, no signal down here."

I checked mine. Same problem. The storage room was in the basement level of the building, and the concrete walls made it a dead zone for cell reception.

"Someone must have closed it," I said. "One of the staff?"

"During dinner service? Everyone should be upstairs." Alexander banged on the door. "Hello? Can anyone hear us?"

Silence.

He banged again, harder. "This is ridiculous."

"Maybe it's stuck? Old building, old doors..."

"This door has never stuck before." But he tried shouldering it again anyway, with no success.

I looked around the storage room. It was large, well-lit, and thankfully not claustrophobic. But it also had no other exits.

"How long until someone notices we're missing?" I asked.

Alexander checked his watch. "Dinner service is in full swing. Robert will notice eventually, but he might assume we're dealing with the inventory issues or that we left. Could be hours."

"Hours?"

"The last diners usually leave around 10 pm. If no one finds us before then..." He trailed off.

I sank down onto a stack of flour bags, the reality of the situation sinking in. We were trapped in a storage room, with no way to contact anyone, potentially for hours.

"Well," I said finally. "At least we won't starve."

Alexander laughed despite himself and sat down beside me. "Always looking for the bright side."

"One of us has to."

We sat in silence for a few minutes. The muffled sounds of the restaurant filtered down to us—voices, clattering dishes, the general hum of service. It felt surreal to be so close to everyone yet completely cut off.

"I'm sorry," Alexander said finally.

"For what? You didn't lock us in here."

"For everything. For how I treated you when we first met, for the accusations, for making your life hell." He turned to face me. "You didn't deserve any of it."

"We've been over this—"

"I know, but I need to say it again. Properly." He took my hand. "You came into this situation with nothing but questions, and I treated you like a criminal. I let my grief and my fear turn me into someone I'm ashamed of."

"Alexander—"

"Please, let me finish." He squeezed my hand. "These past few weeks, watching you work, seeing your dedication, your kindness, your strength—I've realized that my father was right. Whatever his reasons for choosing you, he saw something in you that I was too blind to see."

"You see it now though. That's what matters."

"Do I though? Because I still don't understand why he chose you. I still don't know what the connection was. And part of me worries that when I finally find out, it'll change everything between us."

His honesty took my breath away. "What if there's nothing to find out? What if it really was just a kind gesture from a generous man?"

"Then why not tell me? Why keep it secret?"

"I don't know. But Alexander, whatever the reason, it doesn't change who I am. It doesn't change what we're building together."

He studied my face for a long moment. "Last night, when I kissed you—"

"That was real. Whatever else is uncertain, that was real."

"Yeah?" His eyes dropped to my lips.

"Yeah."

He kissed me then, different from last night. More urgent, more desperate. Like he was trying to prove something to both of us. I kissed him back with equal fervor, my hands tangling in his hair, his arms tight around my waist.

When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.

"We're trapped in a storage room," I said.

"I'm aware."

"And we're kissing."

"Also aware." He smiled. "Is that a problem?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know." I laughed. "This is insane."

"Completely." He pulled me closer. "Tell me something true, Isabella. Something you've never told anyone."

The request caught me off guard. "Why?"

"Because we have time, and I want to know you. Really know you. Not the version you show the world, but the real Isabella Long."

I thought about it, deciding how vulnerable I wanted to be. Then I thought about what it meant that we were here, together, and decided to take the leap.

"I'm terrified," I said quietly. "All the time. Terrified that I'll fail again, that I'll let Brodie down, that I'm not good enough for this opportunity your father gave me. Terrified that one day you'll realize I'm a fraud and everything will fall apart."

"You're not a fraud."

"I feel like one. I'm playing at being a restaurant owner, at being someone who knows what she's doing. But inside, I'm still the girl whose business failed, whose friends betrayed her, who can't even keep her brother out of trouble."

Alexander cupped my face in his hands. "That girl is strong and resilient and capable of amazing things. Your business failed, but you learned from it. Your friends betrayed you, but you didn't let it make you bitter. Your brother got in trouble, but you fought for him anyway. That's not fraud, Isabella. That's courage."

Tears pricked my eyes. "You really believe that?"

"I do." He kissed me softly. "Now let me tell you something true."

"Okay."

"I'm falling for you.”