Even if opening week is going better than anyone could’ve expected.
Not even Rory’s best-case-scenario spreadsheets predictedthisstrong of a start.
Without another Facebook poll, I can’t be sure whether the rushes have been coming for the food, the new guy in town, or just to check out the one and only restaurant, but I vote we give Wilder as little credit as possible here.
I jump when my back pocket buzzes, and look around to make sure no one else can see my caller ID before I pull out my phone.
A sigh of relief hits my lips when it’s not my dad’s fake contact name on the screen but Tracy’s.
My eyes flit to the clock and see it’s twenty minutes until opening, and I know this won’t be good.
I start wandering as I answer the phone out of habit. “Hey,” I answer my phone like a polite human, because I like to remember that I have social skills when it comes to anyone other than my 6’5” chef with tattoos and bad ideas for days.
“I’m gonna have to—” Tracy’s voice cuts out as there’s a loud clack and some distant—disgusting—sounds.
Pacing the linoleum floor of the breakroom, I grip the phone tighter. “Tracy, tell me you aren’t sick.”
There’s some moaning on the other end, and one weak word is all she gives me. “Can’t.”
I feel my brows dip down toward my nose. “Oh no, are you okay?”
“Great,” she clips, and then there’s more noises I wish I could unhear.
At least I’m not turned on anymore.
“I’m impressed with your dedication,” I tell her, nodding my head like she can see me. “You could’ve texted, and spared me the sound effects, but you committed to a phone call.”
“I thought I could make it two minutes.”
“You poor thing.” I grab the black half apron hung up in my locker and wrap it around my waist. “Can I bring you anything?”
Tracy groans. “Don’t come near my house. The grandbabies got us all sick. Save yourself.”
“Aww. I’ll ask Samuel to bring you some soup on his way home.”
More retching noises.
“Or maybe just water,” I amend.
“Please don’t mention food right now,” she whimpers.
“Take care of yourself, babe. We got this here today.”
“You sure?” she asks.
Like I’m going to ask her or her daughter to come in while they’re going throughthat? Yeah, I might not be the world’s best server, but surely I’ll be better than someone with active food poisoning. Between Wanda and I, it’ll be fine.
“Rest up. That’s an order,” I tell her, my raspy voice soft in a way it only gets for a few people.
“Don’t kill the chef while I’m gone. I wanna catch it when you do so we go viral.”
“Ha!” I bark out a loud laugh. “I’ll try to save it for you, but only if you split the money with me.”
“Deal,” she croaks out, and we hang up as more noises start up.
I gag like a cat, mouth wide, tongue out, trying to get the heebie jeebies out before I have to go in the next room and… Yikes. Come face to face with a certain someone.
“Bad news,” I start off with no lead-in when I’m through the doorway near the dish pit.
