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I smiled, imagining her familiar shrug on the other end of the phone. No doubt she was playing with her hair as well. It almost made me wish I was at home.

“You still haven’t explained what you meant. About Justin knowing all along. That’s impossible.”

“It’s the same guy, Georgia.” Even saying the words aloud, the same wave of humiliation and mortification washed over me just as it had when I’d first discovered the truth. I wasn’t stupid. I knew I wasn’t exactly blameless. Justin had been right on that. He’d lied to me and I’d lied to him. The difference was, he seemed to think we could somehow get past this. Whereas, I knew we couldn’t. There was no way I could simply forgive and forget being made to feel like an idiot. Maybe it was a failing on my part, but I couldn’t help the way I felt.

I wasn’t at all surprised by the long silence that followed my statement. I waited, knowing it would take some time for her to wrap her head around it. I wasn’t even sure I had yet, and I’d had longer to get used to the idea. “Are you telling me that…that Justin…and Mr. Tuesday, are one and the same?”

“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Justin is…Jay…and Jay…is Justin.”

“Holy fucking cow, Dean! That’s…I can’t even…Oh my God!”

I sank back against the pillows, fatigue suddenly washing away the adrenaline. “Exactly.”

Chapter Sixteen

It shouldn’t have surprised me. In fact, I was stupid not to have anticipated it. It was the logical next move. But, when I glanced up to find Justin as he sat at one of my tables in the restaurant, it still came as a complete shock. That momentary glimpse affecting me like a physical blow.

Over the last few days, he’d continually kept calling. I hadn’t picked up. He’d left messages. I hadn’t listened to them. He’d tried turning up at my house, I hadn’t been there. If you weren’t going to give up, the workplace was the obvious next place to try. Maybe, I’d assumed he wouldn’t stoop to that. I cursed all the conversations that meant he knew my work schedule almost as well as I did. If I had suspected, I could have swapped my shifts around. But, it was too late now. He was there. And so was I.

I dragged my gaze away, not wanting him to see me looking over there. Then, I turned tail and ran. I arrived in the kitchen so fast, I almost knocked a full plate out of Kate’s hands. “I need a huge favor.”

She smiled. “Sure, Dean. What do you need?”

“I need you to take one of my tables.”

“Not a problem. Which one?”

Her easy acceptance shocked me. “Table fourteen. You don’t want to know why?”

“Not unless you want to tell me. I assume you’re avoiding someone. Which, if that’s the case, I better take thirteen as well. Because, avoiding someone whilst you’re standing right next to them at the next table isn’t really going to work.”

I let out a huge sigh of relief. “Would you? That would be great. I’ll owe you big-time, Kate.”

She frowned, turning to face me, the hand not balancing the plate planted firmly on her hip. “No, you don’t. How many times have you stuck your neck out for me? I already owe you, ten times over. So, don’t go saying ridiculous things like that.”

Suitably chastened, I could only shrug.

She winked. “I’m going to take this plate before it gets any colder. Then, I’m going to go straight over to table fourteen and take their order. Because, the sooner whoever it is has eaten, the sooner they can leave, and you can stop looking like a deer caught in the headlights.”

“Thanks, Kate. I really appreciate it.”

She smiled and then sashayed through the door with the plate.

For the next hour, I went through the motions: talking to customers, taking orders, and serving tables. I made sure to stay as far away from Justin as it was possible to get. The constant feeling of eyes burning into the back of my head never went away. But, I refused to look over to see whether he really was staring or if it was simply my imagination.

When my phone beeped with a message, I half expected Justin’s number to flash up. Maybe some sort of entreaty to come over and talk to him, but it was only Georgia. She wanted me to come and meet her at the bar where she worked. It wasn’t that unusual a request; she’d asked before. Usually it was when something had spooked her on the way home the night before and she didn’t want to make the short walk to the tube station on her own. I found a quiet corner in the back of the kitchen to message back, saying I’d see her there.

I’d just pressed send when I realized there was some sort of commotion happening at the front of the kitchen. One of the new kitchen hands had planted himself squarely in front of a customer, barring him, or her, from stepping any further into the kitchen. It happened occasionally. A few customers thought they could just stroll in and make their complaints personally to the chef. It was with a sinking heart that I realized it wasn’t just any customer. It was Justin. Of course, he wasn’t going to leave without at least trying to speak to me. I’d been stupid to think he would. But then, stupid seemed to be my default position when it came to the man. I was stupid not to have made any connection between the two men I was seeing. And I was even stupider to have ever believed we had any sort of future.

Frozen in indecision over the best way to handle the situation, my gaze met his over the kitchen hand’s shoulder. The latter was still trying to muscle him out of the kitchen. Given Justin carried a hell of a lot more muscle than the kitchen hand did, or probably ever would, his attempts weren’t proving that successful.

“I just need to speak to Dean. Let me speak to Dean, and then I’ll go.”

The kitchen hand turned, a look on inquiry on his face. I vaguely recalled his name being Richard. He’d only started a few days ago. That was a baptism of fire for him. I immediately shook my head.

An imploring look appeared on Justin’s face. “Dean, please. Two minutes. That’s all I want.”

I was still shaking my head. “Sorry…I—” Embarrassed my voice had cracked, and suddenly aware that all work seemed to have ceased in the usually hectic kitchen and multiple pairs of eyes were locked on the two of us, I made a concerted effort to sound more assertive. The last thing I needed was this to get back to the head chef. Thankfully, it was his night off. “Justin, I don’t want to talk to you now. I don’t want to talk to you later. I don’t want to talk to you at all. I told you that and I haven’t changed my mind. You shouldn’t have come here.” I risked a glance around the kitchen. A few people were polite enough to immediately turn away and pretend great interest in whatever task they’d been doing previously. The majority made no secret of unashamedly watching. They were obviously enjoying the drama. “You shouldn’t have come to my workplace. It’s not fair.”