I sighed. “No one else came in?”
“Not yet. We’re open for another hour unless Grey decides to call it.”
“Great.” I sighed. “Luca?”
There was no response. I walked forward a few paces and waved my hand in Luca’s direction until the motion caught his eye and he popped out a headphone.
“Yeah?”
“Go home,” I told him. The stack of dishes in front of him was all clean, nothing left for him to keep up with. There was no point in keeping him here. If I did find the odd item that still needed washing, I could always do it myself.
“Just us for the next hour, then,” Kit said, smiling gamely. “Nik’s going home, too.”
“Just us,” I confirmed. “And the eternal boredom of an empty restaurant.”
Kit laughed. It had a way of lighting up his eyes. Even though he was younger, I probably would have considered it – if it wasn’t for the fact that my thoughts were already consumed by someone else. “Come out and sit,” he said. “You can duck and hide in the kitchen if someone comes in to eat.”
“Sure,” I agreed, following him out and sitting down. It was odd to be in the restaurant at night when all the lights were on and everything was set up for customers. Normally, when we ate family dinner, it was still bright enough outside to keep the neon off.
I sat and looked around, my eyes catching on the host stand. The swanky, professional computer system that kept track of booked tables and orders was still turned on, the screen lit up and ready for use.
“Say,” I said casually. “I don’t suppose you have access to data and statistics on that thing.”
Kit caught my eye with a twinkle in his. “The number of times customers have ordered a certain dish, for example?”
There wasn’t much point in pretending – he’d figured out exactly what I wanted to know.
“I don’t suppose you know the numbers for, let’s say for example, the seared scallops and the lobster risotto?”
Kit grinned at me. “Not only do I have the ability to look them up, but I’ve been looking them up this whole time. I know what the numbers are.”
“And?”
“For repeat customers only, you’re winning by enough that unless all of Rafael’s past customers come in at once, he’s got no chance of catching up with you.”
I looked away from him for a minute, digesting the news. “Wow,” I said at last. I had a feeling I’d had more orders – I knew how many dishes I’d had to prepare with my own hands, and I’d kept an eye on Rafael as well – but to hear that it was such a huge gulf…
“How does it feel to be a winner?” Kit asked me. Something was starting to make a little more sense. He and Nikolai hadn’t taken part in the silent treatment as much as the others, and they hadn’t been quite so obviously on Rafael’s side for all this time, either. It was because they’d known.
“Great,” I said automatically, but on the inside, I was wondering whether that was the true answer.
I was winning. That meant I was going to get the job.
And Rafael was going to leave.
How did I feel about that?
About Rafael losing his job so that I could have one?
About the team losing the person who was willing to stand up for them, even when it cost them his job? Who gave them almost fatherly advice, let everyone go home early while volunteering to stay, and dedicated everything he had to this kitchen and keeping it running smoothly?
I didn’t owe him anything. He wasn’t anythingtome. We’d kissed one single time, and since then, there had been nothing. If anything, given the kiss was triggered by pure rage, we had the opposite of something.
He should have been nothing to me. Someone I had crushed on my way up the ladder – someone who failed to pass the test that I aced.
So why did I feel like the biggest piece of shit in the universe?
Rafael
