Chapter Twelve
“Son of a bitch!” I shouted at the full glass of Diet Coke that slipped from my hands and crashed to the ground. Miraculously, the glass didn’t break thanks to the rubber mats beneath my feet, but I did end up with sticky soda all over my shoes.
My shoes would never be the same. Damn it.
“How’s it going over there?” Vera called across the kitchen.
I bit my tongue to keep from telling her exactly how it was going. Because that explanation would have involved more expletives. An excessive number of expletives.
“Have you ever bussed tables before?” I called back, already knowing the answer. At least I thought I knew the answer.
“I ran a food truck, sweetheart,” she sassed back. “I worked the whole damn operation by myself.”
I rubbed the sole of my shoe on my pant leg, hoping to wipe off the remaining liquid, then I set my foot down and realized that my pants as well as my shoes were wet now. So there was that. “Yeah, yeah, you’re superwoman. But have you ever bussed tables at a real restaurant before?”
The entire kitchen burst to life with “oohs” and “burns” and someone even snuck an “oh, snap” in there. I blushed but held my ground.
Vera’s head tipped back, and she laughed at my dig. “Can’t say that I have.”
Our eyes met across the busy kitchen. “We’re not paying our bussers enough money. They deserve a pay raise.”
She rolled her eyes at me while the two bussers on shift cheered loudly.
“You’re a bad influence,” Vera scolded. “You’re going to start a riot in my kitchen.”
I looked around at the staff unable to suppress a smile. They had warmed up to me a little. Not a ton. I mean, they weren’t ready to throw down arms for me like Vera suggested, but they didn’t totally hate me now. I was making progress.
I needed more time though. Ezra was coming back soon. I had hoped to inspire fierce loyalty to the point where maybe they would strike if I didn’t get the job. At this point they only barely tolerated me. Steps in the right direction, but not good enough.
And Vera hadn’t even moved me to the kitchen yet.
I wiped my forehead with the back of my hand and reached for the dish caddy again. “I better head back out there. Stay calm, everyone! We’ll save the uprising for next week.”
Vera threw her fist in the air and laughed. “Keep up the good work, grasshopper.”
In the dining room, I waved at Christian and got back to work clearing off tables and wiping them down, so they were ready for the next group of people.
I knew from last week that Sunday was one of the busiest days thanks to the all-day happy hour policy at Sarita. It was a genius business plan and something Lilou didn’t offer.
Although to be fair, Lilou didn’t need added incentives for diners. The drinks at Lilou were good, but people came to have their minds blown by the cuisine.
Sarita had a more laid-back menu and the atmosphere was vivacious, primed for drinking and having a good time. Plus, the cocktails were the best in the city—that’s how she was able to survive so long with her former chef.
Tonight seemed even crazier than last week though. The constant stream of people through the front door hadn’t let up in the several hours I’d been here. My feet were already sore, and I smelled like salsa gone bad. The spilled drink coating my legs and shoes didn’t help.
I don’t remember ever working this hard. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. There were nights in the kitchen that totally and completely kicked my ass. But usually I could end the night at only completely exhausted, instead of the way I was going to end it tonight—utterly exhausted.
Another table paid their bill and I patiently waited for them to gather themselves and leave. I took the opportunity to glance at my phone. My focus narrowed on the only notifications I cared about. Three missed texts from Wyatt.
You’re not here again. And it’s the worst. Benny bumped into Gail and made her drop three plates. I’m never going to get this risotto out of my shoes. I blame you.
Seriously, where are you? Are you bored? You should bring me dinner. Something greasy and terrible for me.
I grinned at my phone and wondered when I’d become so totally infatuated with this man. He was too bold and too pushy and too totally ridiculous. And yet my head felt dizzy and the invasive butterflies were back, swooping and twirling and reminding me that his adorable texts were stronger than my will to stay away from him.
Ten minutes ago, he’d texted to say, Fine, I’ll let you bring me tacos. Hector’s please. I realized that I might have done just that had I not been preoccupied. Especially since he’d picked the best taco truck in all the land. There was a serious problem if I was willing to drop everything to take Wyatt supper on my night off.
Sorry, chef. I’m unavailable for tacos tonight. Maybe I’ll let you buy them for me some other time though. If you’re good.
His response was much faster than I expected. Too busy for tacos? It must be serious.
He was fishing. My smile stretched until my cheeks hurt. God, this man. I’m in the middle of dishes, I confessed. Obviously, it’s very serious.
Liar.
Never.
He sent back the halo emoji to which I countered with the kissy face one. I pretended that small interaction didn’t make my entire night.
Tucking my phone back into my apron, I hurried over to the now abandoned two-top and started stacking messy plates and ice-filled cocktail glasses into my tub, so I could wipe down the table and set it for the next couple.
I did appreciate how small the tables were here. At first, I had expected them to be an annoyance to diners because there was barely enough room for the towers of tapas and multitude of drinks. But after a couple of nights observing the dining room, I’d changed my mind. The intimate atmosphere pushed couples together. And for bigger parties, the servers simply combined tables.
Unlike Lilou, where everything felt staged and carefully planned, Sarita had a warm, inviting atmosphere that drew people together. Lilou was a dining experience. Sarita was a relationship experience. And it helped that the dishes were shared family style. Customers ordered a number of small plates, so everyone could try a little of everything.
The more I worked at Sarita, the more I loved her. The more I wanted her.
I had come to believe Vera was a genius for giving me this view of the restaurant. On the off chance that I had been hired based on my skill level alone, I wouldn’t have seen this side of the business, I wouldn’t have had the privilege of knowing her this intimately.
This was a gift. And I planned to use it to my full advantage.
“Kaya?”
Shit.
I took it back. All of it. This wasn’t a gift, this was exposure I wasn’t ready to face yet. And mildly embarrassing since I was sous chef at one of the best restaurants in the city and I was currently bussing tables pro bono at a competing restaurant.
“What are you doing?” Killian’s voice was obviously confused.
I tucked a strand of my curly short hair behind my ear and turned around to face him. “Oh, h-hey, chef.”
Our smiles wobbled, mine because I was humiliated and his because he had no idea what to make of the tub of dishes in my hand and the dishrag hanging out of my apron pocket.
“Since when do you work here?” he pressed, his eyebrows furrowing into a concerned expression.
“I, uh, don’t.”
His eyes dropped to the bucket of dirty dishes in my hand. “That’s not what it looks like.”
Clearing my throat, I decided honesty was probably the best policy here. Okay, real talk, I couldn’t think of a lie fast enough, so honesty spilled out in an open confession. “I want Sarita,” I confessed, hating the words once they were in the air between us. They left me too exposed, too vulnerable. I wanted to go hide in the kitchen and not come out until Ezra gave me the job. “I mean, I want the executive chef position. Vera has been, er, coaching me to get it.”
“Vera?” he asked, sounding more befuddled than ever. “My Vera?”
“Yeah. She’s the only Vera I know.”
He gave me a sardonic look. “She hasn’t said anything about it.”
Oh, shit. I knew she wanted to keep it a secret, but it wasn’t like I could get out of it now. Or even make something up that was kind of believable—trust me, I was trying.
There was no way to explain what I was doing here on my one night off, posing as a busser. that could possibly make sense. Except the truth. The truth of it made perfect sense. At least to me.
Although, I could have gotten away with some weird dirty dish fetish. Killian might have believed that. Or at least not asked very many questions about it.
Oh, hey, Killian. I have a depraved obsession with dirty dishes. There’s just something about greasy plates… I’m working on it, but I’m, uh, weak.
Then I would have had the super fun experience of watching him run from the restaurant to never speak to me again. Or look me in the eyes.
Yeah, the truth was better.
“Oh, I asked her not to say anything to anyone.” Pretty much the truth.
His gaze dropped to the dishes again. “I can see why.”
Setting the tub on the table, I took a step closer to him and glanced around at the dining room. Suddenly, I felt overwhelming panic. If Killian had already found me, it was only a matter of time before our little community knew what I was up to.
Maybe that was giving myself too much credit and people weren’t as obsessed with me as I feared them to be. But, they were all a bunch of gossips. Every last one of them. That meant none of them could be trusted.
Not even my former boss.
“She has you bussing?”
I gave him a half smile. “Last week she made me wait tables.”
An affectionate smile stretched across his face. “She’s evil.”
“An evil genius maybe. I think her plan is working.”
“Yeah? You feel ready to take on Sarita now?”
I didn’t like his tone. It suggested that I was nowhere near being ready. Struggling not to glare at him, I confessed more of the truth—truth he didn’t necessarily deserve, but apparently, I sucked at lying. “No, not yet. But she wanted me to appreciate the restaurant as a whole, experience it from outside the kitchen. I’ve seen what’s working and what could be improved. I’ve gotten to know the staff and the layout of the restaurant. If I want a chance in hell of getting this job, the more I know about it, the better off I’ll be.”
His smile became genuine again. “Knowledge is power.”
“Yes! It is. I want to know more about this place than Ezra.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t know if that’s possible. Ezra is a control freak times one billion. But, you might end up impressing him and that doesn’t happen very often.”
I chewed on my lip ring, debating over my next question until it kind of flew out of my mouth without my permission. “Do you think I have a chance at it? Be honest with me.”
His body flexed and twitched as he took a minute to seriously consider my question. I had been expecting an immediate answer and his hesitation made me wish I’d never opened my stupid mouth. I wanted to snatch the words from the air and swallow them.
Finally, he leaned forward and said, “You’re a hell of a chef, Kaya. That’s indisputable. You’re hotheaded though and Ezra is going to do whatever he can to avoid hiring another angry egomaniac. This job is going to piss you off. A lot. You need to know how to handle it without causing a scene and without drawing Ezra’s attention.”
His words hit like a punch in the gut. I would have snarled something bitchy at him if it wouldn’t have proved his point.
The thing was, all chefs were arrogant and hot tempered. At least, most of us. Hell, he was the king of cocky and angry.
“Also,” he continued, making me cringe in anticipation for what he was about to say. “You have a tendency to overcook your fish.”
I covered my face with my hands to hide my groan. “I shouldn’t have asked you.”
He knocked me on the bicep with his fist. “Hey, don’t feel bad. Fix those two things and Ezra would be stupid not to hire you. I’d be happy to tell him that too.”
His comment gave me the courage to drop my hands and brave him again. “You would?”
He smiled. “You’re good, Kaya. In this place, you could be fucking great. But you’ve got to get your temper under control.” He pointed a finger at me. “And your fish.”
After what he said about me in Sarita, his criticism was easier to swallow. “I can handle those things.”
“Hell yes, you can.”
“Thanks, chef.”
“No prob—” He cut himself off, realizing something. “Does Wyatt know?”
He already knew the answer. “Please don’t tell him.”
“Kaya…”
“Please, Killian. I want to tell him myself. And so far, I’m only playing at this job. Ezra isn’t even back yet. I have no idea if he’ll hire me or if he wants to open it up or recruit someone or what. I’ll break it to Wyatt… slowly… I need more time.”
He frowned, and it made my stomach flutter, remembering what he was like as my boss. “If he asks…”
“Specifically,” I quickly cut in. “If he asks you specifically about me and Sarita, I know you can’t lie to him. I’m only asking that you don’t bring it up?”
His head bobbed back and forth. “All right, yeah. I won’t bring it up.”
“To Ezra either.” His eyes narrowed and I added a fast, “Please?”
His sigh was long suffering and pained. “Fine. Yeah, okay, I can respect that. I will have words with my bride to be, however. She should have said something.”
“She was doing me a favor,” I insisted.
He made a sound in the back of his throat and I thought for a moment he was going to argue with me, but a man stepped up beside him and clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, man. Sorry, I was waiting out front for you.”
My gaze turned to the new guy and I had to put a hand on my chin to keep my jaw from dragging the ground. Holy hotness, he was gorgeous. All tan skin and wavy auburn hair, rich and full and the kind of red that made you wish you were a ginger too. He had tattoos, but only on his forearms, not like Wyatt’s that reached all the way to his ears.
To be honest, now that I’d brought up the comparison, I preferred Wyatt. I liked the full body of artwork on Wyatt. I liked that his tattoos covered almost every inch of him. And this guy had a boyish face complete with dimples full of mischief and a tousled-just-out-of-bed look.
Wyatt’s appearance was less mischievous and more straight sin. His face wasn’t cute or boyish or adorable. Wyatt looked pissed all the time, his smiles were rare and made themselves present only after a hard fight. This guy was attractive. Wyatt was sexy as hell.
My inner comparison finished, I now wanted to slap my hand over my eyes because I couldn’t seem to stop comparing everything to Wyatt. Get a grip, Kaya.
“Oh, no worries,” Killian assured, turning his body so the two of them could shake hands. “I was catching up with an old friend.” He took a step back to include me in the conversation. “Will, this is Kaya Swift. She’s Wyatt’s sous chef at Lilou.” Will glanced down at the dishes still in my hand and the white dress shirt I wore instead of my chef coat. Before he could comment, Killian continued, “Kaya this is Will English. He’s the owner of Craft.”
I’d never heard of Craft before. That meant it was either new or on the verge of bankruptcy. It was good business to know what else was in Durham. And until this moment, I had not heard one person, blog, or critic reference Craft. I didn’t say any of that though. I reached out to shake his hand and said, “Nice to meet you.”
He smiled, his dimples striking in full force. If I was a lesser woman I would have swooned. Good lord, he was pretty. “Nice to meet you too.” He continued to shake my hand until it got slightly awkward. His eyebrows drew down in confusion and finally he spit out the question I could see tumbling through his head. “Is this like a side job? Or…?”
“Yep.” I cleared my throat and avoided Killian’s hard glare. “For now. I, uh, like it here.”
That was better than claiming a weird dirty dish fetish.
“Cool,” Will said.
“Is Craft new? What kind of cuisine do you serve?”
His deep, raspy laugh filled the air around us. He laughed often. He had to. He was good at it. Again, I thought of Wyatt and how serious he was all the time.
Except with me.
More smiles.
More laughs.
More… more of him.
I blinked Will back into focus as he answered, “No cuisine. We’re a bar. Craft cocktails and craft beer.”
That explained why I had never heard of them before. My social life had died months ago. “That’s cool,” I told him genuinely.
“You should come check us out,” he added, finally releasing his grip on me.
I ignored the way Killian frowned at our hands. “Us?”
“I own it with my brother and sister,” he explained.
“Ah.”
He smiled again.
Flirting. He was flirting with me! My short hair was frizzy as crap thanks to sweating my ass off tonight and I was covered in soda. Either this guy had a thing for girls that looked like they’d been dumpster diving all night or… or… I didn’t have an alternative for him. He was clearly a weirdo.
I shook off the insecurity and decided I was prettier than I gave myself credit for. Besides, it wasn’t low self-esteem that had tripped me up. It was Wyatt. I felt surprisingly uncomfortable under another man’s attention, like I was betraying Wyatt.
Not that we’d made anything official. Still… At any other time in my life, I would have been happy to have Will’s attention. I would have flirted back. Now? Now I was shrinking back and avoiding eye contact so he didn’t think I was interested in him.
I blamed Wyatt.
Killian clapped his hands together, pulling our attention back to him. “We’re here to poach Ezra’s bartender.” He winked conspiratorially. “We’ll let you get back to it.”
My mouth unhinged. “Are you serious?”
Smirking now, he said, “Try to keep that between us, will you? You know, unless he asks you specifically about it.”
Was that a threat? I shook my head at him and laughed. Maybe it was insurance. I won’t tell if you won’t tell kind of thing. “Got it, chef.”
“Keep at it, Kaya. You got a chance. Don’t fuck it up.”
I waved him off. “Yeah, yeah.” I turned back to Will. “Nice to meet you. Good luck with the bartender.”
He grinned at me and even on that handsome face it felt lackluster. I could tell Will gave his smiles away freely, generously. I had developed a taste for the reluctant kind. “Yeah, thanks. Maybe I’ll see you at Craft?”
And those dimples again. They would have once inspired a fluttery response and a soft smile from me. Today I was happy to give him a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe.”
They walked off toward the bar and I got back to work, keeping my head down the rest of the night. I didn’t want anyone else to recognize me, but I was also serious about doing a good job tonight.
I was desperate to get back to the kitchen with Vera. That meant I needed to kill my job performance in the front of house. I needed to bus the shit out of these tables.
And that’s what I did. By the time I put the last few dishes in the industrial dishwasher sometime near two in the morning, I was practically sleeping on my feet. Tomorrow was going to be hell. But today was so worth it.
I was even in a good enough mood to text Wyatt when I got home. Today was a good day. Thanks for letting me have it off.
His reply came two minutes later. It would have been better had you brought me tacos.
Better for me or for you? I asked, curling up under my heavy blankets as a shiver spiraled through my sleepy body.
For both of us. When we’re together it’s always better for both of us.
There’s always tomorrow, I told him.
Good. I missed you today, Kaya.
My response was quick and familiar. Good.
I found the heart flutter and soft smile that had been missing with Will English. They had been waiting for Wyatt.