Turn. Itturnsmy stomach.
At least that’s what I’m trying to convince myself.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I grumble, getting back to my flowers.
“Guess I can just message Aurora.” He sighs in the open doorway, reaching for his phone. “She offered to help if I needed anything.”
My eye twitches. If he tells Rory he’s waiting for me, she’ll be up my ass. Apparently he’s some hot-shot chef from New York. Even the voice in my head sounds mocking, the way only siblings can be to one another.
“I’ll make a call,” I tell him, begrudgingly.
“Thanks, you’re a doll.”
Holding the phone up for a second, so it looks like I’m doing it, I wait until he turns around again—after waving one of those beefy paws at me in thanks—and I go back to my flowers.
I wait minutes. A lot longer than I need to. Then I pull out my phone and send an email.
To: Wilder Amante
From: Heights Bites
Re: Your Interview
The gardener told me you’re waiting at the café. I regret to inform you on such short notice that I won’t be able to make your interview today after all.
Best of luck,
Management
Heights Bites
Going through the motions of tamping down soil, I put on a convincing act should Wilder take a closer look at me from inside the restaurant. But I’m watching from the street as he pulls his phone out of his black pants, uses an oversized finger to swipe open the screen, and reads the message.
His head falls back, knees giving a bit so he bounces with the news, like it’s a physical blow.
A smirk yanks up one side of my mouth, and I don’t even feel bad. This jerk is going to step off the bus in my hometown and start mocking us? Judging us like he’s superior? Just because he was some hottie of a chef in NYC doesn’t mean I owe him anything.
My restaurant is going to dojustfine with the two line cooks I already hired. Sure, one of them is a volunteer firefighter, and if he gets a call, he might have to go, but we’ll cross that bridge when it burns, or however the saying goes.
We’re all going from no restaurant in town to having one, which is a big step up if you ask me. The kinks will have to work themselves out.
Self-satisfaction brimming over in my icy heart, I take my time finishing up with the flower boxes. I chose the perfect blend of buds to complement the café and the trees framing the street to make the place even cuter on the limited budget I’m working with. Rory better appreciate this, Miss You Don’t Need Any More Landscaping.
When I get my phone out to check the time, I realize it’s past noon now. It’s been almost an hour since I sent the email. My stomach grumbles, but I ignore the bitch, cocking my head to the side and trying to peer hard enough into the restaurant to figure out why the fuck Wilder hasn’t come back out of it yet. I know the back exit is locked, so he would’ve had to come this way.
Curiosity gets the better of me—and real talk, I’m melting out here anyway. I could go for a bathroom break and a cold drink.
Leaving my potting supplies and the flower boxes on the street, where they’ll be more than safe in this town—I could leave my purse out here and someone will probably slip a ten dollar bill in it while I’m gone—I open the door to the café and relish the blast of air conditioning that hits me.
Wilder is nowhere in sight.
Walking back toward the employee only areas, a delicious aroma hits me.
Son of a biscuit that smells good.
My stomach rumbles so loud in response, I’m surprised the walls don’t shake.
Ugh, now I’m pissedandstarving.
