“You were.”
He nods, looking down. “I know. I was going through some stuff and I took it out on you and that was wrong. I know that.” He meets my eyes. “I’m sorry.”
I study him. In the entire time I’ve known him, never has Rocco apologized for anything a single time. If my concern was even acknowledged, it was with a shrug and an eye roll and some version of ‘deal with it or don’t.’ This is unprecedented.
“Okay, Rocco,” I say slowly, taking a step back toward the kitchen. “Thank you for that. I need to get back to work now, though so—”
“Sophie, I want to show you that I can do better.”
I freeze and stare at him. “I’m not sure how you could do that.”
He nods and takes a step toward me; I instinctively step back and he stops. “I want to show you that you can trust me. That I can do a good job.”
“You’re… asking for your job back?” I’m beyond shocked. Slapping me, fucking my waitress in the staff room during a shift, all the aggressive behavior—who would do that much less come back and ask for the chance to do it again?
He looks sheepish hearing the incredulity in my voice. “I know. You must think I’m crazy. I almost came here a dozen times, but I couldn’t think of a reason why you would say yes and take me back.”
I blink. “Are you saying you’ve come up with something? Because I’d love to hear it.”
“No.” He ducks his head. “I’ve been looking for another job since I left here, and I’ve gotten a couple and none of them fit. Partly because nowhere good is going to take me with my criminal record and my only reference would be from you and well…”
I nod. The only reason I hired him was as a favor to my dad. He said a friend of his requested that I help him out after he got out of jail. I probably shouldn’t have agreed, but my dad asks me for so little, I couldn’t say no.
Rocco continues. “The vibe was always wrong everywhere else because here it was so perfect. I can’t believe I fucked it all up.I figure I couldn’t risk losing out on this forever because I didn’t have the balls to shoot my shot.”
The old version of me would have said yes immediately. Not because it was smart but because it felt unkind to say no to someone clearly struggling. I’ve been working on that version of myself, gently but with intention. Forgiveness and good business sense are not the same thing, and I’ve learned the hard way that mistaking one for the other costs everyone.
But he looks so nervous, so sad, kind of like a little kid. It’s been over a year since I last saw him. I know I’ve grown and changed tremendously in that time. Maybe he has too.
“This was just a great job, Sophie. I want to—”
“Chef.”
His brows furrow. “What?”
“If you’re going to work for me, you need to call me Chef like everyone else. And there are no openings for a sous chef. To be honest, Rocco, you weren’t that great at it.”
His jaw tightens for a split second, then he exhales and nods. “Fair.”
“I have a dishwasher position opening up on weekends.” I hold his gaze steadily. “That’s it.”
He looks relieved. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah.” He nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll take it.”
I watch him. “Before you agree, I need you to understand something. The first sign of aggressive behavior in my kitchen, toward me, toward my staff, toward anyone in this building, and you’re done. No conversation, no second chances. Done. Am I clear?”
“Crystal.”
“The first time you’re late without calling ahead, done.”
“Got it.”
“If you treat any of my staff the way you treated my waitress when you worked for me before—”
“I won’t.” His voice is hard. “I won’t.”
