My palms are clammy, my stomach’s tied up in knots, and my heart keeps doing this anxious little two-step every time I think about walking through the kitchen doors.
It’s stupid.
It should be stupid.
I’ve worked here for months. I know the stations, the flow, the quirks. I know Gracie likes her knives exactly where she left them, and that the fryers have a weird hiss when they’re ready. I know the regulars, the chaos, the rhythm of a slammed dinner service.
But now?
Now it feels like walking into a stage play where I forgot all my lines.
I hover in the hallway for a beat, fingers picking at the fraying hem of my apron, then force myself to take a breath and walk in.
The kitchen’s loud. Hot. Alive.
Gracie’s the first to see me. She’s at the grill, flipping something one-handed like she was born doing it, and her eyes lock on me the second I step in.
“Well, well,” she calls, her grin already wide. “Look who decided she needed The Marrow just as much as we need her!”
I blink. “I... what?”
She smirks as she flings her arms around me. “I’m so glad you decided to stay. Silver Peak wouldn’t have been the same without you.”
My heart swells, throat tight as her warm embrace fills me completely, reassuring me that staying in Silver Peak is about more than just Knox.
“Yeah, me too.”
“Come on,” she says, slapping a clean apron into my hands. “We’re already buried. No time for a slow warm-up.”
That’s fine by me. I don’t want time to think. Or talk. Or notice how every pair of eyes in the kitchen lands on me the second I move past the swinging doors.
I duck my head and start toward the prep station, pretending not to hear the murmurs about me.
I focus on tying the apron around my waist. Nice and tight. Like armor.
Gracie doesn’t acknowledge the whispers. She just points toward the stack of orders piling up on the pass. “You take sauté. Wes’s drowning, and I know you can handle it.”
“Got it.” My voice comes out steadier than I feel.
I slide into place beside Wes, who gives me a look that’s halfway between “thank God” and “good luck.” I offer a tight smile, then throw myself into the work. Oil. Pan. Toss. Season. Plate. Move.
I let muscle memory take over. I let the rhythm drown out the nerves.
Still, I can feel it. The heat of their curiosity. The way the kitchen is just a few degrees warmer, not from the burners but from the attention clinging to my skin.
Is my return reallythatinteresting?
I mean... yes, I left in dramatic fashion. And yes, the rumors probably reached every table at The Marrow’s Sunday brunch. But this? This is something else.
The dining room is packed. Not just busy, buzzing. Like the kind of buzz that comes before the curtain rises on opening night. And everyone’s in on it except me.
I glance out through the pass, just long enough to catch Maya’s wide smile and Dee’s wildly sparkly eyes. They’re dressed like they’re going to prom. My mom’s at the same table, wearing the good earrings. The ones she only breaks out for weddings or funerals. Nova’s sipping from a champagne flute like this is normal.
It’s not normal.
And the rest of the tables? All regulars. Familiar faces. Not a single stranger in sight.
Something is happening.
