Now comes the conversation I've been dreading and anticipating in equal measure.
Maya plates the final galette with the same care she's shown all night, and I watch her hands move. Those hands that I've imagined touching me, that I've thought about more than I should, that create beautiful food and would feel incredible against my skin.
Stop. Focus.
"Service," she says, sliding the plate to Jenny.
Tommy and Marcus start breaking down the dish station, their voices carrying through the kitchen as they joke about something I'm not paying attention to. Jenny pokes her head through the pass to tell us the dining room is almost clear, just a few tables finishing up.
Maya starts cleaning her station, and my pulse picks up.
This is it. Soon we'll be alone, and I'll have to find the words I've been trying to formulate all day.
*I want you. I can't stop thinking about you. You've become essential to this kitchen and to me, and I need to know if there's any chance you feel the same way.*
Too much. Not enough. I don't know.
"Great service tonight," I tell her, because I should, because she deserves to hear it.
"Thanks, Chef. The galettes went over really well."
"They did. That's a good sign."
Tommy and Marcus call out their goodnights and leave, their voices fading into the parking lot. Jenny finishes in the dining room and stops by the kitchen to drop off the night's receipts.
"Amazing night, you two," she says with a grin that feels a little too knowing. "See you tomorrow."
Then she's gone, and it's just Maya and me.
Just like last night. Except tonight, I'm not letting her leave without telling her the truth.
She finishes wiping down her station and turns to face me, and something in her expression makes me wonder if she knows. If she can sense the tension radiating off me, the nervous energy I've been trying to contain all night.
"Maya," I start, and my voice comes out rougher than intended. "I need to talk to you about something."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Okay?"
This is it. No more planning, no more rehearsing. Just honesty, raw and terrifying and necessary.
I open my mouth to speak—
And my phone rings.
The sound shatters the moment, loud and jarring in the quiet kitchen. I want to ignore it, want to let it go to voicemail, but the ringtone is the one I set for Granddad Jim.
Fuck.
"I'm sorry," I tell Maya, pulling out the phone. "It's my grandfather. I have to—"
"Of course. Take it."
I answer, turning slightly away. "Granddad? Everything okay?"
"Fine, fine," his familiar voice rumbles through the speaker. "Just wanted to call and tell you I heard about tonight. More than fifty tables? That's damn impressive, son."
Despite my frustration at the timing, I smile. "Thanks. It went well."
"I'm proud of you. Your grandmother would be proud too." He pauses. "You taking care of yourself? Eating? Sleeping?"
