“Not really. Just means the twats downstairs bang on my door every time they run out of butter.”
Lenny giggled, soft and light, like a feather that grazed Nero’s soul, and took another drag on the joint. “Don’t see how they dare. Everyone seems terrified of you.”
“Yeah? Why are they so fucking annoying, then?”
“Aw, come on. You can’t find everyone irritating.”
“Give it a few days. You’ll see.” Nero brought the joint back to his own mouth. “Speaking of which, you’re not on the rota yet ’cause I didn’t know you were coming. Any days you can’t do?”
Lenny snorted. “Not likely. My schedule’s pretty blank.”
“Don’t spread that around. You’ll end up working seven days a week if people figure out you ain’t got nothing better to do.”
“That’s okay. I had fun today.”
Bless him. Nero had heard that chestnut before from other rookie chefs who’d worked a couple of easy weekday shifts, only to find them weeping in the bogs by Saturday afternoon. “Leave it with me. I can have a word with Steph if you want some front-of-house shifts?”
“No!” Lenny shook his head. “I can’t work out front. I can’t . . . Fuck, I just can’t, okay?”
“Suit yourself. Don’t bother me.” But as he said it, Nero realised it wasn’t true. The fear in Lenny’s previously playful gaze was back, and he didn’t like it, and he liked the remorse that came next even less.
Lenny scrubbed a hand down his face. “Shit, I’m sorry. I’m in such a weird place right now, I don’t know what’s going on in my head.”
“You might not figure it out stuck in that kitchen. It’s sent far saner blokes than you round the bend.”
“I don’t mind being nuts. I . . .”
Nero waited, though his gut told him Lenny wouldn’t finish the sentence.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?” Lenny said finally.
“You want to tell me?”
“No.”
Nero finished his smoke and dropped it in his empty beer bottle. “Don’t really matter, then, does it? Get some sleep, mate. My ugly mug’s gonna be the first thing you see for the rest of the week. If fate wants us to talk, we’ll talk.”
Nero surveyed the exterior of the old warehouse in Vauxhall. The unit was close to the river, with good views over the water. If the finished bakery could bag some outside seating space, they’d be laughing. Or, at least, Urban Soul would.
He shoved open the rusty door, searching for Cass, who he was due to meet in twenty minutes, though he was almost certain that Cass would be late. Outside of the kitchen, Cass and mornings didn’t get on, and Nero prepared himself to face the spooky inside of the derelict old warehouse alone. It didn’t bode well that the place was unlocked—
“Morning, mate.”
Nero jumped a mile. “You’re not Cass.”
Jake Thompson, Nero’s third boss, grinned. “Nope. Good job too. Could you handle two—crunchy twats—of him?”
“Two crunchy twats? Probably not.”
Jake’s smile widened, reminding Nero that Cass wasn’t the only owner of Urban Soul who was devilishly attractive. “Making fun of my tics again?”
“As if. Just don’t call me a pirate cunt, eh?”
“Dick bag.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nero punched Jake’s arm. It was good to see him, and Jake’s Tourette’s aside, their foulmouthed exchange was fairly typical. “Where’s Cass?”
“Fast asleep. His snooze button was doing my head in, so I switched it off and left him in bed. I did swipe his kitchen plans, though. Want to take a look?”
