he’ll want me there.”
It was going to take more than a KitKat bar to fix things between her and Charlie.
• • •
“I can’t do this.” Charlie’s hostess-turned-waitress tossed her apron on the stainless steel prep counter and swatted at the tears running down her face.
“You can’t do what?”
“Work here anymore.”
“You’re quitting in the middle of dinner service? Are you kidding me?” Charlie abandoned the plate of sea bass he’d been garnishing.
“No,” Hannah yelled.
He threw up his hands. “You’re yelling at me. Why are you yelling at me? I didn’t yell at you once.” He’d been biting his tongue ever since the call from Will.
“You
didn’t yell at me, but tables five and nine did. I told them the chef didn’t allow substitutions or salt shakers. Five called me ridiculous, and then Nine walked out—just like I’m about to do.” She stomped to the far side of the room and disappeared behind a partition that separated a tiny bank of lockers from the main kitchen space.
“Chef, I need that sea bass.” Corbin, the skinny guy from Rileyville, who was supposed to be the sous chef, stood two steps inside the kitchen. Charlie couldn’t believe the kid was still hanging around. He’d have bolted by now if someone had told him he had to wait tables. But this kid took food service serious, and he was the best waitperson Charlie had.
“Sea bass? You need sea bass? Well, I need another waitress,” Charlie yelled, hoping Hannah would hear him. He tossed a garnish of chervil leaves on top of the fish and shoved the plate toward Corbin.
“I’m doing the best I can.” The kid picked up the food and left in a huff.
Crap.
That was all Charlie needed—for Corbin to quit, too.
“Hannah,” Charlie called out, hoping he could convince his latest dissenter to stay at least through her current shift.
The slamming of the heavy metal door that led to the alley was his answer.
“Fuck!” With his hand strangling the stem of a meat mallet, he pounded the hell out of a chicken breast.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open again. Maybe she’d reconsidered. He exhaled.
Be nice
.
Beg if you have to.
He glanced at the massive script tattoo running from his wrist to the inside of his elbow.
Think before you…
Talk.
He nodded. Tonight was definitely a
think before you talk
kind of night. He’d purposefully left the sentiment open-ended, so he could take from it whatever inspiration he needed.
Think before you talk. Think before you drink. Think before you act.
He probably should’ve shortened it to
think
. That seemed to be the key.
“Hey,” said an unexpected, shaky voice that lifted Charlie’s head as if his chin were caught on a fishing hook.
What the hell was Morgan doing in his kitchen?
Think before you talk.
“Is this a bad time? It is. I’m sorry. I should’ve called first.” She stood before him wringing her hands, wearing a white blouse and black slacks that hugged her surprisingly curvy body.
A heavy warmth formed in his gut. Charlie would’ve laughed if he weren’t trying so damn hard to think of words that wouldn’t get him into bigger trouble than he was already in. This was ridiculous.
She pointed behind her. “I came through the back door, because I didn’t want to cause a scene up front.”
“Chef, table five is asking for their waitress.”
“Their waitress quit.” Charlie managed the words without adding the deep, angry growl rumbling around in his chest.
“You mean I’m the only one handling the dining room?”
“Unless you have some imaginary friends, then yes.”
Corbin’s jaw dropped. “I can’t seat people, take orders, deliver meals, and bus tables all by myself.”
“I can help,” Morgan said.
He did not need her—and those curves—causing trouble around here. “No. This is not your job.”
“It sort of is. Margaret offered to hire me.”
He groaned. “Well, I’m un-offering. Go home to Charlotte.”
Her brows
It was going to take more than a KitKat bar to fix things between her and Charlie.
• • •
“I can’t do this.” Charlie’s hostess-turned-waitress tossed her apron on the stainless steel prep counter and swatted at the tears running down her face.
“You can’t do what?”
“Work here anymore.”
“You’re quitting in the middle of dinner service? Are you kidding me?” Charlie abandoned the plate of sea bass he’d been garnishing.
“No,” Hannah yelled.
He threw up his hands. “You’re yelling at me. Why are you yelling at me? I didn’t yell at you once.” He’d been biting his tongue ever since the call from Will.
“You
didn’t yell at me, but tables five and nine did. I told them the chef didn’t allow substitutions or salt shakers. Five called me ridiculous, and then Nine walked out—just like I’m about to do.” She stomped to the far side of the room and disappeared behind a partition that separated a tiny bank of lockers from the main kitchen space.
“Chef, I need that sea bass.” Corbin, the skinny guy from Rileyville, who was supposed to be the sous chef, stood two steps inside the kitchen. Charlie couldn’t believe the kid was still hanging around. He’d have bolted by now if someone had told him he had to wait tables. But this kid took food service serious, and he was the best waitperson Charlie had.
“Sea bass? You need sea bass? Well, I need another waitress,” Charlie yelled, hoping Hannah would hear him. He tossed a garnish of chervil leaves on top of the fish and shoved the plate toward Corbin.
“I’m doing the best I can.” The kid picked up the food and left in a huff.
Crap.
That was all Charlie needed—for Corbin to quit, too.
“Hannah,” Charlie called out, hoping he could convince his latest dissenter to stay at least through her current shift.
The slamming of the heavy metal door that led to the alley was his answer.
“Fuck!” With his hand strangling the stem of a meat mallet, he pounded the hell out of a chicken breast.
A few minutes later, the door creaked open again. Maybe she’d reconsidered. He exhaled.
Be nice
.
Beg if you have to.
He glanced at the massive script tattoo running from his wrist to the inside of his elbow.
Think before you…
Talk.
He nodded. Tonight was definitely a
think before you talk
kind of night. He’d purposefully left the sentiment open-ended, so he could take from it whatever inspiration he needed.
Think before you talk. Think before you drink. Think before you act.
He probably should’ve shortened it to
think
. That seemed to be the key.
“Hey,” said an unexpected, shaky voice that lifted Charlie’s head as if his chin were caught on a fishing hook.
What the hell was Morgan doing in his kitchen?
Think before you talk.
“Is this a bad time? It is. I’m sorry. I should’ve called first.” She stood before him wringing her hands, wearing a white blouse and black slacks that hugged her surprisingly curvy body.
A heavy warmth formed in his gut. Charlie would’ve laughed if he weren’t trying so damn hard to think of words that wouldn’t get him into bigger trouble than he was already in. This was ridiculous.
She pointed behind her. “I came through the back door, because I didn’t want to cause a scene up front.”
“Chef, table five is asking for their waitress.”
“Their waitress quit.” Charlie managed the words without adding the deep, angry growl rumbling around in his chest.
“You mean I’m the only one handling the dining room?”
“Unless you have some imaginary friends, then yes.”
Corbin’s jaw dropped. “I can’t seat people, take orders, deliver meals, and bus tables all by myself.”
“I can help,” Morgan said.
He did not need her—and those curves—causing trouble around here. “No. This is not your job.”
“It sort of is. Margaret offered to hire me.”
He groaned. “Well, I’m un-offering. Go home to Charlotte.”
Her brows
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