When he confirmed he was coming in, I prepped his favorite pizza, so when he walked in to start his shift, I was pulling it out of the oven. His protest is merely a formality at this point. We both know that if he’s working, I’ll have something ready for him to eat as soon as he gets here. And we both know that I’ll make him sit and enjoy it, on the clock, before I’ll let him do any work. It’s so routine that he was on autopilot when we went through the usual song and dance, and he didn’t even hesitate to answer when I asked about his shoe size. I somehow even managed to get the brand and color of the shoe that he’s been dreaming about worked into the conversation, like some sort of conversational ninja wizard. With the food distracting him, it was nothing for me to navigate to the website and order the shoes, all before he’d finished his third piece of pizza. Whether I’m that good at subterfuge, or he indulges me because he knows I’d do this stuff for him regardless of how much he protests, isn’t really my concern. As long as I can get him fed, and help him do some things for himself instead of for his parents, then I don’t care much about how it gets done and whether he knows about it. Then again, it is pretty fun when I catch him off guard. There’s something special about the way his face lights up when he realizes someone is looking out for him for once. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. He’s a goodkid, and he deserves a better life than the one his parents provide for him.
“What time does the order need to go out for the gym?” Carson calls out over his shoulder. He’s checking temperatures in the workstation cooler and marking them off in our food safety binder. See? Work ethic. “When should we start on it?”
“Chloe’s taking it over at six.”
He nods, then looks up when he hears the door chime, greeting Wade before I get the chance. This kid is seriously a great employee.
“Hey, Mr. Biddescombe, how’re you doing tonight?”
“Hey, kid.” The way Wade’s eyes crinkle ever so slightly in the corners betrays the affection he feels for Carson, despite his gruff greeting, and I can’t help but smile.
Three years ago, Wade was doing some maintenance work around the back of the building when he discovered Carson, barely fourteen at the time, rummaging in the restaurant’s dumpster looking for something to eat. He marched Carson straight inside and bought him dinner. Then he pulled me aside and suggested I give the boy a job. My experience with Wade in the old neighborhood meant if he said this kid needed help, then hereallyneeded it. I hired Carson on the spot and haven’t regretted it for a single second.
“What’ll you have today, Mr. Biddescombe?” Carson asks.
“Actually, I have some manicotti set aside for you, if you like? I made extra when I prepared the catering order because I thought you might like it.”
He gives me the same crinkle-eyed non-smile as he gave Carson. “That sounds delicious, Valentina. Thanks.”
Since Nick wasn’t at the gym last night when I made the delivery, I asked Demetrius what kind of healthy meal he thought everyone would like me to make for today. The word “healthy” had barely escaped my lips before I was onthe receiving end of an epic side-eye the likes of which I’ve never seen. Someone should crown Demetrius the king of the side-eye. He’s that good at it. He convinced me to help him continue his cheat week as long as possible, practically begging me to make lasagna, like I did the first night. We settled on manicotti because there’s no way I was going to repeat a dish twice in less than a week’s worth of menus. I have standards, after all.
While I get Wade’s food ready, Carson tells him all about the basketball camp that he’s signing up for when he saves enough money. If Carson were anyone else, I’d think he was trying to guilt a customer into leaving a generous tip, but that’s not how Carson is. He’s genuinely excited about basketball camp, and so he’s telling one of the few friendly adults in his life about it. If Wade tried to leave anything larger than a standard tip, I can guarantee Carson would chase him out the door to give it back. The kid prefers to work for what he gets, which makes it a lot harder to help him out, but it does make me admire him even more. I just wish there was more I could do for him.
“Here you go, Wade.” I walk around to the front of the restaurant, setting Wade’s food down at his usual table. “Soup’s on.”
Wade nods to Carson, leaving him to his work as he joins me at the table. “Thanks, Valentina. You always take such good care of me.” He narrows his eyes at the vegetables I always try to sneak onto his plate. He rarely eats them, but putting them on his plate makes me feel better about his constant diet of wings, pizza, and pasta.
I scoff. “I think we both know who takes care of who in this relationship.” I wave a finger between the two of us. “Don’t think I don’t know what market rate is on a building like this, even in a town as small as Tuft Swallow.”
He shrugs and stuffs a forkful of cheesy pasta into his mouth. He chews thoughtfully, then swallows and says, “I got no idea what you’re talking about,” before turning back to his food, dismissing me. “Don’t you have something better to do than bother me when I’m trying to eat?”
I drop a hand on Wade’s shoulder, patting him twice before walking away. He’ll never admit it, but I know this place is worth at least quadruple what I’m paying now. There’s no way I could afford the rent on this place if Wade wasn’t either subsidizing it himself, or giving it to me at a huge discount. So, regardless of what he says, I know he’s looking out for me. And one day, I hope to repay the favor. For now, I’ll cook for him.
The door chime sounds behind me and Carson calls out a greeting. “Welcome to Wings and Pizza. Are you looking for wings or a slice? Maybe a whole pie?”
“Neither,” comes the reply, followed by a cough of disgust. “You couldn’t pay me to eat here. Not that I need the money. I do very well for myself.”
My stomach drops, and a sense of dread crawls over my flesh. This can’t be happening. Not again.
“I’m here to pick up my date, Tina Falcone.”
Fuck.
I spin toward him, pasting what I hope is a friendly smile on my face. “I’m afraid you’re in the wrong place. There’s no one here by that name.”
The guy looks me up and down, making zero effort to hide his blatantly obvious appraisal of my body. A body he finds lacking, if the curl in his upper lip is anything to go on. “You look different from your pictures. You’re so much... older.”
Returning the favor, I take in the man’s appearance. With short, dark hair, and a slight dusting of facial scruff, he’s not altogether unattractive. At least, he’s not ugly until you take in the twist of disdain on his lips and the hint of menace in hiseyes. If Iwereon a dating site, I would never match with a man like this. There’s something about the way he looks at me that makes my skin crawl.
“You caught me.” I force a humorless laugh. “I’m Tina. We don’t have a date, though. There’s been some sort of mistake.”
The man laughs cruelly. “You can say that again. You misrepresented yourself completely. Serves me right for lowering my standards such that I would use a dating site in the first place. You’ve really done it this time, Milton.” He looks me up and down again, still not liking what he sees. “I suppose there’s nothing to be done for it now. Put something nice on. I have dinner reservations at the hottest place in Spitz Hollow.”
“We. Don’t. Have. A. Date.” I enunciate each word precisely, but it doesn’t even phase him.
“Hurry along now. I don’t want to be late. I called in a favor to get this reservation, so you better not ruin it for me.”
What is this guy’s deal? It’s like he doesn’t even hear me when I tell him we don’t have a date. Either that, or he flat out doesn’t care what I think.
