I don’tremember ever working this hard. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. There werenights in the kitchen that totally and completely kicked my ass. But usually Icould end the night at only completely exhausted, instead of the way I wasgoing to end it tonight—utterlyexhausted.
Anothertable paid their bill and I patiently waited for them to gather themselves andleave. I took the opportunity to glance at my phone. My focus narrowed on theonly notifications I cared about. Three missed texts from Wyatt.
You’re not here again. And it’sthe worst. Benny bumped into Gail and made her drop three plates. I’m nevergoing to get this risotto out of my shoes. I blame you.
Seriously, where are you? Are youbored? You should bring me dinner. Something greasy and terrible for me.
Igrinned at my phone and wondered when I’d become so totally infatuated withthis man. He was too bold and too pushy and too totally ridiculous. And yet myhead felt dizzy and the invasive butterflies were back, swooping and twirlingand reminding me that his adorable texts were stronger than my will to stayaway from him.
Tenminutes ago, he’d texted to say,Fine,I’ll let you bring me tacos. Hector’s please.I realized that I might havedone just that had I not been preoccupied. Especially since he’d picked thebest taco truck in all the land. There was a serious problem if I was willingto drop everything to take Wyatt supper on my night off.
Sorry, chef. I’m unavailable fortacos tonight. Maybe I’ll let you buy them for me some other time though. Ifyou’re good.
Hisresponse was much faster than I expected.Toobusy for tacos? It must be serious.
Hewas fishing. My smile stretched until my cheeks hurt. God, this man.I’m in the middle of dishes, Iconfessed.Obviously, it’s very serious.
Liar.
Never.
Hesent back the halo emoji to which I countered with the kissy face one. I pretendedthat small interaction didn’t make my entire night.
Tuckingmy phone back into my apron, I hurried over to the now abandoned two-top andstarted stacking messy plates and ice-filled cocktail glasses into my tub, so Icould wipe down the table and set it for the next couple.
Idid appreciate how small the tables were here. At first, I had expected them tobe an annoyance to diners because there was barely enough room for the towersof tapas and multitude of drinks. But after a couple of nights observing thedining room, I’d changed my mind. The intimate atmosphere pushed couplestogether. And for bigger parties, the servers simply combined tables.
UnlikeLilou, where everything felt staged and carefully planned, Sarita had a warm,inviting atmosphere that drew people together. Lilou was a dining experience.Sarita was a relationship experience. And it helped that the dishes were sharedfamily style. Customers ordered a number of small plates, so everyone could trya little of everything.
Themore I worked at Sarita, the more I loved her. The more I wanted her.
Ihad come to believe Vera was a genius for giving me this view of therestaurant. On the off chance that I had been hired based on my skill levelalone, I wouldn’t have seen this side of the business, I wouldn’t have had theprivilege of knowing her this intimately.
Thiswas a gift. And I planned to use it to my full advantage.
“Kaya?”
Shit.
I took it back. All of it. This wasn’t a gift,this was exposure I wasn’t ready to face yet. And mildly embarrassing since Iwas sous chef at one of the best restaurants in the city and I was currentlybussing tables pro bono at a competing restaurant.
“Whatare you doing?” Killian’s voice was obviously confused.
Itucked a strand of my curly short hair behind my ear and turned around to facehim. “Oh, h-hey, chef.”
Oursmiles wobbled, mine because I was humiliated and his because he had no ideawhat to make of the tub of dishes in my hand and the dishrag hanging out of myapron pocket.
“Sincewhen do you work here?” he pressed, his eyebrows furrowing into a concernedexpression.
“I,uh, don’t.”
Hiseyes dropped to the bucket of dirty dishes in my hand. “That’s not what itlooks like.”
Clearingmy throat, I decided honesty was probably the best policy here. Okay, realtalk, I couldn’t think of a lie fast enough, so honesty spilled out in an openconfession. “I want Sarita,” I confessed, hating the words once they were inthe air between us. They left me too exposed, too vulnerable. I wanted to gohide in the kitchen and not come out until Ezra gave me the job. “I mean, Iwant the executive chef position. Vera has been, er, coaching me to get it.”
“Vera?”he asked, sounding more befuddled than ever. “My Vera?”
“Yeah.She’s the only Vera I know.”
