“He said a week.”
“Mm.” Another note. “He eating?”
Anna glanced toward the hallway. “Just coffee.”
“At a restaurant.” Bernie shook his head slowly, as if this were a personal failing of some significance, and went back to his tablet.
Joey arrived just before noon — no shift scheduled, but his Thursday class had been canceled and he’d driven the twenty minutes from campus. He had his backpack over one shoulder and his apron already retied before the door swung shut behind him.
“I’m here until close,” he announced. “Rearranged my study group.”
“Joey, you don’t have a shift today.”
“I’m aware. But Brian texted me a photo of the condiment station and the ketchups were in the mustard slots, Anna. The mustard slots.”
“I moved them because we ran out of?—”
“The system exists for a reason.” Joey was already behind the counter, relocating bottles one by one, checking each label before setting it down. “Also, Tyler told me the auditor’s here. Where is he?”
Anna pointed toward the hallway.
Joey leaned sideways to look down the hall, then straightened. “Has he eaten?”
“No.”
“Has he ordered anything?”
“Black coffee.”
Joey stared at her. “He’s at a restaurant.” He checked the clock. “He’s been at a restaurant since—when did he get here?”
“Eight.”
“He’s been at a restaurant for four hours and he’s had one cup of coffee.” Joey repositioned the final ketchup bottle, examined his work, adjusted it a quarter-inch to the left. “That’s not okay.”
“Maybe he’s not hungry.”
“Nobody’s not hungry for four hours. That’s not how digestion works. I took Biology.” He turned to face her fully. “You need to ask him what he wants to eat.”
“I’m not going to interrogate the auditor about his lunch plans.”
“You’re the manager. Go manage.”
“Joey—”
“Anna. The man is in our restaurant. Not eating. That’s a hospitality crisis.” Joey folded his arms. “I’ll make him whatever he wants. You just have to find out what that is.”
Anna looked at the hallway. She looked at Joey. Joey’s expression made it clear that he was prepared to wait.
“Fine.”
She walked down the hall and stopped in the office doorway. Michael was still typing. The coffee cup was empty—same spot, not even a ring on the wood.
“Can I get you something to eat?”
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
“You’ve been here since eight. It’s noon.”
