Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
S undays were different at the Waterfront Café. They still served an impressive selection of drinks, cakes, sandwiches, and panini. Still, they didn’t do the breakfasts or jacket potatoes they sold the rest of the week. It was a structure that Oscar had put in place long before Gemma worked there, and she saw no need to change it. It also made things far easier when managing rotas. That day, she was working with Dawn, a forty-something mum of four, who worked one day a week and one weekend a month. From what Gemma knew of Dawn, she didn’t do this for the money. After all, she was the only staff member Gemma had ever encountered who would spend all day traipsing around the café in a pair of Gucci trainers.
Instead, she did it for the company and the ‘extra pocket money’, as she called it. She had also told Gemma that throwing it back in her husband’s face was useful when he said she didn’t know how to work. After all, she reasoned, a full day in the middle of the summer in a café was a darn sight harder than sitting at a desk all day. Obviously, Gemma had agreed because she’d known that was what Dawn had expected, yet she knew if it was a toss-up between being run off her feet at the cafe, and endless weeks in a cramped office, there would be no contest.
Still, when she woke on Monday morning, for the first time ever, she was actually dreading going in.
Nerves held her captive. On the one hand, she kept thinking about what Sophie had said and how lovely Kent was to work with, but the truth was, she didn’t know how she was meant to work with him. Or anyone who called themselves the executive manager. She had been used to calling the shots. Taking control and doing things however she thought would work best. So how would it work now? Did it mean she would have to second-guess any decisions she made? Or would she have to run everything by him? In the end, she realised that the only way of finding out how the day would go was to start it, so forty minutes earlier than usual, Gemma left her home and headed to the Waterfront Café.
The space smelt divine. Freshly baked cakes, browning bread, and a whole myriad of other aromas flooded her senses as she stepped inside. Sophie had said Kent had levelled up the simple poached eggs to something spectacular, and despite how cynical she had been, Gemma no longer doubted it. She could smell it in the air. It smelt like the Waterfront Café, just a tiny bit better. Not that she would ever say that to Kent. And how the heck had she not noticed how chiselled his jaw and cheekbones were before?
“Is everything okay? I didn’t expect to see you for another half an hour.”
Gemma blinked rapidly as she swallowed a lump that had fixed itself in her throat.
“Yes, yes. Everything’s fine. I just sometimes come in a bit early on a Monday, that’s all.”
“Right.” Kent smirked. “Nothing to do with checking up on me, I suppose?”
Gemma went to roll her eyes, only to change her mind. After all, there seemed little point in denying it.
“Maybe, just a bit.”
With the smirk transforming into something closer to a smile, Kent carried on speaking.
“Well, George told me he does all you girls breakfast. I was just about to do some for myself. I don’t suppose you’d like to sit and join me?”
The knots in Gemma’s stomach reformed tighter than ever.
“Why do I feel like sitting and joining you for food would mean you telling me more things you want to change about my café?” Gemma said.
“It’s not your café, and it’s not mine. It’s Oscar’s,” Kent said pointedly. “But that wasn’t my intention. Still, if you don’t want to join me, I won’t take offence.”
Gemma didn’t want to join him, but she didn’t want to appear rude, either. Thankfully, there was a saving grace in sight.
“Actually, as it’s such a lovely day, I’d quite like to take mine outside, and given that I’m early and everything…”
Kent nodded. “Sure thing, I was going to do sausage sandwiches. That okay for you?”
“Sounds good.”
“Brown sauce, ketchup, or plain?” he asked.
“Brown sauce, it’s breakfast,” Gemma replied.
The tiniest of smiles flickered on the corner of his lips, causing an unnatural fluttering in her stomach. It was just hunger, Gemma told herself as she tried to quash the feelings. All this talk of breakfast and sausage sandwiches would do that. Thankfully, Kent was turning around and walking back into the kitchen, meaning she didn’t have to look at his perfectly symmetrical face any longer.
“Glad to hear it,” he said. “Okay, one sausage sandwich with brown sauce, coming straight up.”