It’s not that he’s my staff.
It’s not even that he’s ten years younger than me. Well, maybe it’s a little of that.
It’s that he came into my town, insulted our local culture, thinking he’s better than us because he’s from the big city, and that his way is what should be done around here.
It doesn’t matter that he’s ridiculously hot, has a tongue that should come with a battery, and hands that deserve statues in their honor.
I wanted him from the first time I saw him, and I would’ve happily given into a tryst for however long he stays in town, had he not had that air oftoo good for hereand brought it into my restaurant.
Maybe I’m a little fucking sensitive after what happened in my own family, but I’m real tired of people bringing that shit to the Heights.
If your precious New York City is so great, so much better than our simple life here, why are you here?
I’m not even sure if my mental tirade is at Wilder, or my sister at this point.
But by the time I exit the freezer, steaks in hand, wafts of cold air that look like steam are spewing from my form and follow me as I head back to the dining room to do another round of checks on my tables.
Luckily, the lunch rush is coming to a close, with most checks closed out, and only a few tables left.
When I hear “order up” come from the back of the house, I lock eyes with Wanda and she nods, telling me the ticket is mine.
I envy the way her mind works. Able to keep track of all of her tables, the status of each, staying ahead of her guests’ needs and never falling behind.
Mine is more of a jumble. Like spinning around, trying to hit all the moles with that puffy mallet. They’re all justthereand sometimes one pops its head up to shout for attention, and by the time I take care of it, another one or two tables are poking their heads up too. Just a constant shitshow, with a dizzy Lexi in the middle of it all.
I much prefer the managerial role to waiting tables. If I had any doubt of that before today, it is now crystal clear.
Having to see Wilder’s smirking face when I pick up their order is the opposite of a cherry on top, it’s finding a roach at the bottom of your sundae. Like breaking your favorite flip flops when your thighs are already chafed. It just makes waiting tables that much more irritating.
So when I drop off the plates to Weston and his mama, rattling off the name of the dish, it’s all I can do to smile at themand not snarl when they mention they didn’t see the dish on the menu.
If I have my way, they never will.
I’m getting a little sick of Wilder proposing a new dish every day of the week. The way he makes a plate for the staff to try, it feels mutinous, getting them all riled up in his favor.
We haven’t even been open a week, for crying out loud. Can we focus on getting through these opening days, and the soft opening Rory has planned for downtown Smoky Heights? This is the first time the town has had an actual restaurant for lunch and dinner in almost fifteen years. Our menu is just fine. We’re never going to be some fancy New York eatery.
My part of the deal was to entertain his ideas, not approve them.
“Lexi!” Charlie’s voice nabs my attention, pulling me from my stew session.
“Yeah?”
“Sorry to bug you, but there’s a delivery here and I don’t know where Chef went.”
Boisterous laughter spilling in from the dining room gives me a good idea about exactly where he went, and my eye twitches at the positive response he seems to be getting from the guests.
How am I the only one in town who isn’t smitten with him?
They aren’t even scared off by his ginormous frame, those intimidating tattoos that trace his fingers, forearms, and peek out of his collar, shadowing his neck and chin? The man is wrapped in danger, and maybe I thought it was hot the first time I saw him—before he opened his fat mouth—but surely the wholesome people of the Heights should take that as a warning sign?
Where is the self-preservation?
This welcoming Southern hospitality they’re all showing is bullshit.
“CHEF!”
Should probably have considered the few remaining patrons before I let out the beast Wilder brings out of me, but whoops, too late now.
