Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
WELLS
“So you spread the butter like this,” Wells said, grabbing a knife and dipping it with a healthy glob onto the bun. “Then, sizzle it on the griddle with both sides for approximately twelve seconds. No more, no less.”
“What happens at thirteen?” a deep, rumbling voice beside Wells asked.
“Then, it burns.” Wells glared.
Archibald Thénardier, or, as his friends apparently called him, Tiny, was Wells’s height and wore worn denim overalls with a worn flannel shirt over it.
He took notes in a tiny notebook with a golf pencil that said “The Thirsty Beaver” on it.
His long, scraggly hair had been pulled up into a hair net under a camo ball cap.
“Your turn.” Wells folded his arms, staring at the large man in front of him. “Dazzle me.” He was trying audition-based trial runs after fucking up two entire staffs based only on resumes and interviews.
Tiny shrugged with a blank look. “What do you want for breakfast, boss?”
“Breakfast sandwich, eggs over easy, gravy on the side.”
The man in front of him moved as if he had all the time in the world, tying his apron behind his back.
Wells sighed in irritation. I’ll have to live at this goddamn diner for the rest of my days.
“This is a diner, and it can get fast here,” Wells said, with a worried brow as Tiny thoughtfully adjusted his workstation.
“You got a lot of customers out there?” Tiny deadpanned.
“I mean, I will.” Wells shrugged defensively.
“Alright.” Tiny shrugged, as if it didn’t matter to him one way or the other. “I didn’t realize we were doing time trials here.”
Tiny picked up the pace into a shocking speed.
Wells saw the man enter a flow state as every motion was measured and precise: grabbing for a spatula, getting ingredients from the fridge, tempering the pan as he reheated the gravy mixture.
Wells checked his phone to see if the other candidate would swing by today and saw a horrifying series of messages from his sister.
OLIVIA
Mayday!!!! Mom and Pop are on their way to the diner. I’m meeting them for breakfast. Couldn’t persuade them to go to Fox & Forrest.
“Fuck,” Wells muttered. He’d have to be careful, but he could stay out of sight.
The screen of his phone lit up with the word Mom.
Wells gulped and answered the call. “Hey, Mom.” The sizzle of eggs on the griddle hissed beside him, and he darted to the back of the kitchen.
“Hey, hon. Come join us for breakfast at the diner. Apparently, it’s under new ownership again.” She cackled. “But the pancakes were passable when Jessica brought samples by a week or so ago. Pop said he’s finally ready to give it a try.”
A burst of fire flared up in the kitchen, and Wells darted back. “Oh, shit.”
“Are you busy?”
“Hold on.” He muted his phone. “Why is it on fire?” he hissed, pointing at Tiny.
“I’m making a bourbon maple glaze for your breakfast sandwich.” He shrugged as if Wells was an idiot.
Wells felt his blood pressure rise. “We don’t have bourbon.”
“I did.” Tiny patted his front overalls pocket and went back to the stove.
Fuck my diner-loving life. This should be a lesson to me: no more crazy ideas.
“Order up!” Jessica yelled, bounding through the swinging kitchen door, and Wells darted out of the way so he wouldn’t be seen.
“Oh, hey.” She spun around to face Wells. “Your mom–”
He put a hand to his lips and pointed at his phone, and she grimaced.
Wells unmuted the call and put a smile on his face. “Yeah, what’s up, Mom?”
“We just haven’t seen you in ages, even though we live in the same house. You’re up at dawn, come back late at night. Come have a late breakfast with us.” His mom’s voice was chipper, and he tried to parse whether this was a trap.
Martha Maroo-Canon is a crafty old lady.
Tiny flipped the spatula in the air as another fireball blew up on the stove. “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m busy.” Trying to keep this place from rousing the Fairwick Falls volunteer firefighters from their recliners and soap operas.
“Doing what?” she said.
His mind went blank.
Fuuuuck. Anything, anything at all.
Underwater basketweaving lessons? Rolling bandages for the Humane Society?
Making a baby with a woman I can only take in small doses unless my tongue is in her mouth?
He couldn’t think of a good excuse. She knew he’d given up his clients, and she’d checked his story with Nash.
“Actually, you know what? The line at the bank cleared up, and I can join you in five minutes.” He gulped, looking at Jessica who was cackling, and hung up the phone.
Wells darted out of the line of view from the swinging door back to Tiny.
“I’m going to need you to do a slightly longer trial run.”
Tiny slid a plate toward him. A gooey over-easy egg spilled out beautifully from the sides of the golden bun of the breakfast sandwich. Wells took a bite, and holy fucking hell.
When he opened his eyes, Tiny’s normally blank face held a little bit of a smile underneath his beard.
“Scratch that, you’re hired,” Wells said through a mouthful of sandwich. “And you start immediately, as in one second from now.” He took another bite, not realizing he’d been ravenous this whole time. “And no more bourbon from your own stash. I’ll order some for next time.”
“Okay, but I only got about ten more minutes before I need to take a meditation break.”
“…Meditation break?” Wells asked.
“Replaced smoking,” Tiny said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Tiny took the ticket from the counter that Jessica had slapped down.
Wells darted out the back door of the building and calmly walked around the corner as if he had parked. A second before he came into view of the diner’s window, he realized he still had a fucking apron on.
He spun around, yanking it off, and threw it in the bushes.
Two ladies power-walked past him, and he grimaced, then forced his lips into a smile. “Hi, June. Maria.” They waved and gave the bushes a curious look but kept power-walking.
He walked quickly to the front entrance. Only nine more minutes before he had to be back to take over Tiny’s shift at the fryer.
He flung the door open to see his mom and Pop’s beaming faces and Olivia’s uncomfortable smile. She looked like she was about to burst at the seams from having to keep his secret.
“Hey, guys,” he said, scooting into a chair quickly. “Sure I can’t treat you to Fox and Forrest? You know how terrible the food is here.” He gulped.
“Already tried that,” Olivia said with a tight smile.
“What’s with you two?” their mother said, looking suspicious.
They had rarely ever pulled anything over on her when they were kids. The downside of having a genius lawyer for a mom.
“Oh, Wells hates this place,” Olivia said, trying to be helpful. “He said the person who bought it is an idiot, and they’re thinking about selling again.”
He kicked Olivia’s foot, hard. She blinked.
“Maybe I should buy it back,” Pop said.
“Absolutely not,” the three of them said at the same time.
“You were in the hospital a few weeks ago,” Olivia said, reaching across the table and squeezing his hand.
Pop chuckled. “I don’t think they make you dive after pickleballs here. I’ve been a little bored.”
His mother gasped. “You are calling your new, young, beautiful bride boring? The honeymoon period is over. They said it would happen, but I didn’t believe them.”
Pop chuckled, kissing her cheek. “The honeymoon period will be over when I’m six feet under. I just want to fix this mess. I could move some things around, get a loan.”
Christ, his adorable stepfather was talking about getting a loan for the business because he had fucked up so badly.
“What are you guys going to eat?” Wells said loudly, pulling out the menu that hadn’t changed since Pop ran the place.
“Mmm,” Olivia said with a devilish smile. “I was thinking about the sampler: one of everything, including all the different pancake flavors,” she said, aiming an evil smirk at Wells.
Evil, evil sister.
“That sounds complicated and time-consuming.” He glared at her. “How about eggs and potatoes?”
“The kitchen staff is up to it, from what I’ve heard.” She raised an eyebrow.
He leaned toward her, hiding behind a menu. “Is this payback?”
Olivia darted behind her menu. “For all the crap you said to Luca when we first started dating. I’ve been plotting, biding my time.”
“What’s this?” their mom asked, looking up from her menu.
Wells slammed their menus down on the table. “I heard they have great scrambled eggs.”
His mom nodded. “Mm, I was thinking about the Fiesta Skillet.”
Wells thought through the ingredients in the fridge. They had everything for it. “Yes!” He slapped the table excitedly. “You could do that one.”
Jessica walked up. “Hey, Pop. It’s nice to see you,” she said, squeezing his shoulders warmly.
“There’s my girl,” he said, patting her hand on his shoulder. “They treating you okay?”
“I mean, I have asked my boss for a raise. Twice,” Jessica said, looking at Wells.
False. She’d never asked him for anything.
Jessica sighed, sounding forlorn. “And he denied it.”
Pop looked concerned. “Do you need money?”
She waved him away with a smile. “Oh, no.”
“I’m sure if you put it in writing within a reasonable time frame,” Wells said, glaring at her, “they could figure something out.”
Jessica smirked. “I was hoping to get more like triple anyway.”
“Double,” Wells said.
“Two and a half I think would be fair,” Jessica said with a bright smile. “Since I’ve been keeping this place running through all the different kitchen staffs.”
“Sold at two and a half,” Olivia said, shaking Jessica’s hand.
Wells held up his menu, trying to keep from exploding.
They went around the table, Wells ordering eggs. Olivia behaved and ordered a simple smoothie. His mom ordered the Fiesta Skillet.
Then Pop looked up from the menu. “I’ll do the apple-pie pancakes.”
“No,” Wells said on reflex.
They all stared at him.
Pop’s eyes widened. “I can’t order apple-pie pancakes? A recipe I perfected?”