With a wink that has her scraping her memory, the door is already closed before she puts it together.
Her frustrated scream makes it to me even as I’m climbing on the bike and heading to town.
Lunch service is justabout ready to kick off with surprisingly few hiccups by the time I get into the café and behind my station to relieve Charlie of solo prep duty.
Today’s Samuel’s day off, so I’ve got the lunch to dinner shift on the hot line, but I don’t mind.
As much as I enjoy the executive functions that come with being head chef—even of a small place like this—nothing does it for me like getting to cook for others. It’s my favorite part of the job, hands down, and I jump at the chance to hop in on the line when the guys are slammed and could use extra hands.
Our part-time server, Violet, Tracy’s oldest daughter and mother of her granddaughters, skips into the kitchen, pulling up short when she sees me and only me in the kitchen. Sheets of white-blonde hair frame her face and accentuate the pink that rises in the apples of her cheeks when our eyes meet.
“Chef,” she says quietly, surprise in her tone. “I thought…”
“Charlie? He’s on break,” I tell her. “What can I do ya for?”
“To go order. Strawberry salad, light dressing?—”
“Add grilled chicken,” I finish for her, and her cheeks heat again.
Aurora—Rory’s—standing lunchtime order. Still getting used to her nickname, but it’s what everyone here calls her and I’m trying to adapt.
“Yeah,” Violet whispers, eyes falling to the ground.
The girl is way too young for me, but her crush is adorable.
She’s only eight years younger than me, shit, there’s a bigger age gap between Lexi and me, but I’ve always had a thing for older women. Vi is about twenty years too young for my taste.
I wonder if she notices the way Charlie fumbles plates and misfires orders in her presence, or if she’s too wrapped up in her own world to notice what’s right in front of her.
Not my circus, I remind myself.
Swapping to the other side of the kitchen, I head to the garde manger and prep Rory’s salad for her, sprinkling a little extra goodness on there for her, the way I know she’ll like it.
Been feeding the woman for years, I know how to make her smile almost as well as her husband does.
When I holler “Order up!” no one comes to the back, even minutes later. So I head into the dining room, bringing the box to the pick-up station by the register.
Off to the side, by the hallway in the back that leads to the storage and office spaces, are Violet and Charlie, absorbed in a conversation. Our one and only server has abandoned the floor.
Good thing we’re not exactly packed at this time of day. Rory must’ve been swamped to have such a late lunch, probably prepping the formal grand opening. It’s less than two months away now, and from what I’ve heard—both in the Heights Hotties chat, and from the talk around town—it’s going to be the event of a lifetime for this town.
My three-month stage will be up around the same time. Every mention of the grand opening makes me wonder if Lexi and the owner have decided whether to bring me on permanently yet, or what else I can show them to sell them on having me here in time.
The café has been doing great, beating the projections they’d hoped for. But I know if she would just approve some of the recipes I’ve been proposing we’d be doing even better.
Rather than sigh, I double down on this game Lexi is playing with me and remind myself that I’ve waited years for a chance like this. And a woman like her. I can be patient when it counts.
Plopping the container down, I’m on my way back to the kitchen when the bell of the front door tinkles, and I turn to see Rory sweep in. In a pantsuit and high heels, sunglasses holding back her brown hair, the woman looks like she’s striding downFifth, hunting for the next acquisition for her bag collection, not the only restaurant on Main Street in a town of a few thousand.
“Got the goods right here,” I tell her, picking up the box and waving it at her.
“I’m starved,” she says, reaching for it with a thin arm. “Got wrapped up in call after call. You’re saving me, Wilder.”
“Can’t have you wasting away on us now,” I tell her with a wink.
“What do I owe you?” she asks.
“It’s on the house,” I tell her.
