"Cleaner." His lips twisted in irritation.
I knew Cass hoped to find something. All of the guys wanted an excuse to go after Getzoff and get him off our backs. If we could do that without being caught.
"He knows something," Cass said, tossing the washcloth aside. "I don't know what it is, but he knows something."
"I get that impression too," I admitted.
As long as we played it cool, he wouldn't learn anything about us. If I kept looking panicked when he appeared, sooner or later he'd figure out something was up.
"Harlow." Shelly stepped over to the servery. "The customer at table four wants something that's not on the menu." She looked apologetic.
"Of course he does. What is he asking for?"
"He's requesting lasagna,” she said. "I told him it's not available today, but he's insisting."
"I'll rustle some up," I assured her. "Let him know it'll take a little bit extra time."
She nodded, "Yes, Chef."
Cass looked over at me from where he stood in front of the sink.
"You know what Boner would say to that."
I snorted. "Yes, I do, but it's still not grounds to…groundsomeone." Difficult customers were a dime a dozen around here. I lost count of the amount of times I'd been asked for things that weren't on the menu. Fortunately, this was one I could rectify quickly enough.
I grabbed another ball of pasta dough out of the fridge and made lasagna sheets to throw together with the Bolognese sauce.
I'd left it off the menu for the last few weeks to give it a rest. I liked to keep things interesting and fresh. There was a chance I was overthinking it. Should I add it back on? People would order it.
Although I suspected he would have asked for something else instead.
While the lasagna was in the oven, I put together a salad and plated it, leaving enough room for the lasagna.
"I like watching you work," Cass remarked.
"Because it's more fun to watch people work than it is to do it yourself?" I joked.
He was a hard worker. He knew that, but I couldn't resist the dig.
He pushed his glasses back up his nose and pretended to look offended. "It's because you make it look so easy," he said. "But it's really not. It's like watching an artist paint a masterpiece.”
"Their masterpieces last longer than mine do,” I said.
I didn't mind putting in the work to produce something that took a few minutes to eat. I loved what I did. And I loved seeing people enjoy food. Even people like Getzoff.
"Yours tastes better," Cass replied.
"Oh?" I arched an eyebrow at him. "How many paintings have you eaten?"
He tipped his head back and burst out laughing, which was too fucking adorable.
"None," he said once he caught his breath, "I'll stick to eating actual food."
"And drinking milkshakes," I finished for him.
"That too," he added.
I pulled the lasagna out of the oven, sliced it carefully and placed it on the plate beside the salad.
