Chapter Twenty-Three
Luke
Tayler looks like shit, and it’s my fault. She’s walking like a zombie around her kitchen. She’s made coffee and pulled out the last two pieces of bread, though I’m not sure what she’s going to do with the bread because right this second, she’s just holding it and staring at her cup of coffee.
“You gonna eat that bread, babe?”
“Oh.” She looks up at me and smiles. God, she’s beautiful, even this morning with barely any sleep and her long red hair sort of all over the place. Her face gleams this time of the morning. “I was going to make you toast, but I’m out of butter.”
“You don’t need to make me toast.”
“And another thing,” she says, looking pretty cross at me. “How can you look this good with practically no sleep?”
I haven’t looked in the mirror but I’m guessing I don’t have bedhead like she does. I shrug. “Natural good looks?”
“Fuck you,” she mutters. “I need to get ready. I’m meeting with Dr. Bushnell and her husband this morning.”
“Oh? You mentioned a dentist appointment. Something wrong with your teeth?” And why is she meeting with the husband too?
“No. My final project is to redesign the interior of a commercial property. Part of the assignment is to find a client willing to let me get in there and measure everything, create a design, and maybe even convince them to redo their place. Dr. Bushnell’s office issodated.” She rolls her eyes. “The 80s were terrible for design.”
“Uh-huh.” I nod like I know what she’s saying. “Well, I’ll get out of your hair.” I smirk, pointing at her bedhead.
“Fuck you,” she grumbles, attempting to run her fingers through the mess on her head.
Standing up, I walk over to her, lean down, and kiss her softly. “Come by the bar later. I’ve got to work lunch.”
Giving me a sleepy smile, she says, “Okay. I’ll let you know what the Bushnells say.”
“Good. Later, babe.”
* * *
Comingout of the kitchen with two cheeseburger baskets, I see her sitting at the bar. She doesn’t look happy, but I’m swamped, so I can’t really take the time to find out what’s wrong, though something tells me it has to do with the dentist.
“This place is crazy,” she says as I pass her again.
“Yep.” I practically jog back into the kitchen, hoping my part-time cook, Zach, has gotten the lead out and caught up.
The second I get back into the kitchen, I see he not only hasn’t gotten the lead out, but he’s nowhere to be seen. “Zach!” I yell, but not so loud that the customers can hear me. “Zach!” I try again as I make my way out the door that leads to the alleyway behind the bar. I spy him leaning against the wall, smoking. “Fuck, man. Get your ass in here. And I told you not to smoke out here. Jesus, man.”
“Sorry,” the asshole says, tossing the butt out into the alley. The fucker doesn’t even put it out first.
“Put that shit out and pick up the butt.”
“Sure, Luke.”
I’d like to stay and watch to make sure he does it, but people are going to start rioting if food doesn’t get out there.
I stomp back into the kitchen, ready to cook, when I see her standing at the griddle. She’s got five or six burgers cooking on the grill and the fryer is going, most likely filled with fries.
“Babe.”
I want to reach out and kiss her, but she’s busy. And cute in one of my Cy’s Roost aprons.
“I used to work at the country club. We had to do everything there.”
She shrugs like it’s not a big deal. It is, though. To me.
