Matt seemed like a good balance.
“How so?” he asked as he looked toward the counter.
Did he want to get a cup of coffee? He could totally get something. I would wait… He looked back at me and smiled. “The staff, mostly,” I told him. “They haven’t been the most receptive kitchen in the world.” I lifted my gaze to his, my heart squeezing tightly at the memory. “I’ve already had to fire someone. It’s killed me the last couple weeks.”
His lips pressed together in a frown. “Are you serious?”
I laid my hand across my eyes. “I know. I’m horrible.”
“Hard-ass,” he chuckled. “You’re a boss bitch.”
“No, I’m not! That’s the thing. I’m a total pushover. I can’t even believe I did it.”
He gave me a look that had me flushing from the inside out. It was a look that said he didn’t believe me. “I don’t think pushovers fire people in the first week. Sounds like you’re kind of a tyrant.”
Was this his idea of flirting? This wasn’t as fun as when we’d joked over text.
Or maybe I was the only one joking when we’d texted. It was hard to say when you’d never spoken to someone in person before.
I smiled, but it was wobbly and unsure. Shaking my head, I said, “Not really. I just, uh, I want the restaurant to survive. It’s had a difficult year.”
“Which restaurant?”
“Bianca.”
His eyes lit with recognition. “Oh, that’s right. I forgot you told me that.” Disappointment spiraled through me that he couldn’t seem to remember the minimal information we’d exchanged texting. But it grew to a tsunami of what the hell am I doing here when he said, “I’ve heard some bad things about that place. I think it’s…” he made a swirling motion with his finger, pointing at the ground. I didn’t know exactly what he meant by it, but I interpreted it to mean circling the drain to its death. “You sure that was a good career move? Hitching your wagon to a burning building?”
I took a sip of my cooled coffee, holding it tightly so he couldn’t see my hands trembling with anger and frustration. “My brother owns it,” I snapped, hoping that would put things into perspective for him. “He asked me to step in and help him save it.”
He sat back in his chair, his legs sprawling wide. “Ah,” he laughed. “Now I get it.”
Leaning forward, I tried to stay calm. “Get what?”
He waved his hand at me again. “The job. Why you got the job.”
“You’ll need to be more specific.” Oh, how I wished my coffee was still hot. That would have been a much more satisfying sizzle when I dumped it on his lap.
“Bianca sat without a head chef for how long? Nobody wanted that place. You’re saving your brother’s ass. I think it’s admirable.”
His explanation was just generous enough for me to retract my claws.
But then he added, “It also explains why you got the job.”
My jaw dropped as everything attractive about him turned to dust. He stood up without saying another word and walked to the counter. No excuse me for a second. And no explanation why he just walked away. He just left.
Had he not totally insulted my career and family seconds ago, I would have excused his social awkwardness as quirky and tried to convince myself it was cute. Maybe even charming.
But now I just wanted to do the same thing to him and get up and leave. Without an explanation.
Unfortunately, I was raised with manners.
Instead of storming out, I gazed out the big picture window to my right and admired this artsy section of Durham. It was near the farmer’s market where Jo sold her produce. If I could wrap this up fast enough, I might make it over there before it closed.
I needed to talk to her about Bianca and I needed a few things for my apartment. Currently I was living off salted tomatoes and beef jerky scrambled eggs.
The eggs tasted better than they sounded.
Matt sat again, a plate clattering to the table. “Have you eaten?”
