4. Breathe
Chapter 4
Breathe
CALLIE
“ A re you planning to get to work so early every day?”
I lifted my head to meet Tess’s eyes as I carefully shoved my bag and laptop in my locker. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
Instead of risking running late for my shifts, it’d been easier to get to Moonlight early. I’d ridden the bus with Tess the first few days of training, but she liked to wait until the very last second to leave, and that stressed me out.
Knowing that I had to be there by three made it hard to do anything else beforehand anyway, so I didn’t mind coming in early. There was a bench outside with a view of the courtyard. On the few days it’d been too rainy, I’d found some seats in a less busy wing near the event arena.
Tess shot me a somber look. “You have to promise me that once I leave, you’ll start dating. You can’t spend your life hiding away in your room.”
The room was preferable to running into Brie or Jesse. I was used to communities where people overshared, but they had no interest in small talk. It made every interaction awkward.
We weren’t exactly besties.
“I don’t,” I said. “I talk to people while I’m here.”
I just didn’t share that it was the old ladies as they waited for the Bingo Hall to open.
Tess proudly grinned, and there was nothing fake about it—though she’d been weepy all week. “At least we know you’re ready for your first solo shift.”
“All thanks to my secret weapon.”
Aubrey, one of the other servers, had trained me during my actual shifts. But like when we were back at ES, Tess had patiently worked with me at night. Only instead of reviewing enlightenment beliefs, we’d gone through the menu and restaurant processes.
And there’d been a lot .
Parisian Crescent wasn’t anything like what sitcoms showed restaurants to be. There were no shenanigans, comradery, or uproarious laughter. Instead, it was like the reality show where the head chef judged contestants through the entire dinner service. Not so much the screaming insults part, but the high-pressure, high-volume, and high…. Well, everything. The servers weren’t mean, but they saved their smiles and friendliness for the tipping customers and were focused on watching out for themselves. The chefs busted their asses from start to finish, each having a specialty section that they manned. There might not have been shouts of idiot sandwiches or curses every third word, but it was a seriously intense environment.
The expectations were more rigorous than Tess had warned—and she’d been pretty damn blunt about it—so I’d taken copious notes on color-coded index cards and studied them every free second until I had it all memorized.
“Gather,” Chef Frédéric called as he came out from the back office with Manny.
Tess had told me that the tattooed man was pretty much in charge of the culinary components in every restaurant owned by Black Resorts—but not the ones that just rented space in the buildings. There might’ve been multiple restaurant managers and supervisors, but for some reason, Chef Frédéric had more authority than any of them. He bounced around between the properties on a schedule that she hadn’t figured out. Based on her insight, I’d assumed I wouldn’t see him often.
I’d assumed wrong.
He’d been in Parisian Crescent almost every day I had. Sometimes, he took the role of head chef for dinner service. Other times, he jumped in to help wherever he was needed. Mostly, though, he was at a separate station in the massive kitchen, creating random dishes that he handed off to the staff to test.
We’d barely spoken since our awkward encounter during my interview. The official head chef or his sous handled the pre-shift meeting with one of the supervisors.
Not then, apparently.
“We have some specials today,” he said once everyone was huddled around, their forks already in hand.
Like always, there were sample plates lined up on the counter for the waitstaff to taste so we could adequately describe them to the customers. Chef Frédéric had an animated and rapid way of talking, but as he listed off the details of each dish, he kept it slow.
“Last,” he said, gesturing to the remaining plate, “we have a seabass. It’s served with roasted asparagus and herbed whipped potatoes.” His gaze landed on me. “And topped with a cream sauce that has a hint of tarragon.”
I’ll never live that down.
I took a small bite so I didn’t make things even weirder and returned to my spot as Manny took over the meeting, delegating whatever parties were booked and going through anything else we needed to know. He even took a moment to remind everyone that it was Tess’s last shift—something that made her tear up.
Once we were dismissed, I moved to the servers’ station to prepare myself.
Awareness of someone approaching spread through me half a second before an accented voice asked, “Better, chéri?”
I jolted and spun to see Chef Frédéric wasn’t just behind me. He was right there . I had to crane my neck to meet his eyes.
God, he’s hot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so attractive.
It wasn’t even just his physical appearance. Everything about his arrogance, the way he carried himself, and even his cooking skills added to his appeal.
Finding my voice in the goo that used to be my brain, I told him the truth. “It was delicious.”
“Glad to have your approval.” There was no snark in his tone like I would’ve expected. It sounded like he actually meant it. His voice lowered so only I could hear it. “Where are your cards?”
This is why he’s standing so close.
And why he spoke slowly earlier.
He’s trying not to embarrass me.
My cheeks flushed knowing that my struggles had been noticed despite all the effort I put into hiding them. “I’m set.”
He studied me for a moment. “The specials are listed on your handheld. But if you need to write them down, do it.”
“I’m set,” I repeated.
“I have no doubts. Good luck.” With that, he hurried back to his territory, calling out prep orders as he walked.
And I could breathe.
For a minute.
But then the restaurant opened, and chaos ensued.
The good kind.
The busy kind.
Thanks to Tess’s added help with the processes, I was able to find a pattern so I didn’t get overwhelmed and forget every last thing I was supposed to do. My section only being three tables helped, too.
When I was about to greet my newly sat customer, Tess snagged my wrist. “Is your first shift going okay?”
“Yes. Is your last shift going okay?”
Her smile wobbled, but she nodded. “I won’t miss Vegas or my memories here, but I will miss this place. But are you sure you’re okay?”
Her concern sent a flare of panic through me. “Yes… Why? Am I doing something wrong?”
“No, no. You’re doing great. But you should know, the big boss’ wife was just sat at your table.”
And you stopped me to chat?
I wanted to scream the question, but I didn’t waste time with that or peppering her for more info. My brain was stuck on the fact Chef Frédéric had a wife , but my fledgling muscle memory kicked in to make me move. Even though I was supposed to be scanning my other tables to check if they needed anything, my focus was locked on the woman in the corner booth.
Unsurprisingly, she was as gorgeous as her husband. Young, too, probably around my age, though she was far more put together than I ever was. Her strawberry-blonde hair was gathered to one side, exposing her freckled shoulder where her sweater dress hung perfectly. She was laughing, her face tilted up and to the side, and a pang of guilt mixed with inferiority hit me.
When her green eyes landed on me, her smile stayed in place. “Hi. You must be new here.”
I tried to stay nonchalant and professional, but my shaking voice was barely above a whisper. “My name is Callie.” I forced my voice to be louder. “Can I start you off with something to drink or?—”
She waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t have to do the whole spiel. I’m good.” Her gaze darted to the side, and her brows lowered for a second before her smile grew. “Do you like it here so far? Is everyone being nice?”
Yes, including your husband who I have been checking out constantly—as recently as a few hours ago when he was standing far closer than a married man should.
I didn’t share any of that. “It’s wonderful.”
“Is Freddy being nice? I miss him in the kitchen at home, but I’m usually here, so…” She shrugged.
Freddy must be Chef Frédéric.
The guilt made my head spin. “He’s fine. I mean, nice. Would you like a drink?”
“A big-ass pina colada.”
“Juliet,” a deep but quiet voice growled out in warning, making me jump out of my skin.
I looked over to see a black-haired man standing like a sentry. I wasn’t sure how the hell I’d missed him other than he was positioned out of the way, and my focus had been on Chef Frédéric’s wife. But even that was barely an excuse since he wasn’t a small man.
It was the opposite. He was basically a mountain in a suit—and it must’ve been special ordered to accommodate his muscles.
His dark eyes briefly landed on me before he resumed his position to scan the room with an angry—yet somehow still insanely attractive—expression.
Ooookay .
“Ignore Marco,” the woman—Juliet, he’d called her—insisted. It was easier said than done.
What’s gotten into me?
First, I lust over her husband.
And now I’m checking out her… whatever he is.
I was fairly certain the man was a bodyguard. His alertness was more than a casual observation. It seemed unlikely that Chef was so renowned that even his wife needed security. But maybe he was. Or maybe he was just extra protective in the dangerous city.
For all I knew, maybe she was the famous one. She was gorgeous enough to be a model or actress.
“Do you want—” A ringing cut me off just as I was back on track.
“Sorry, talking on the phone in public is so rude, but it’s my husband. I have to take this or… Let’s just say it won’t be good. I mean, it will be, but yeah. Take care of your other tables. I don’t mind waiting.” A small smile curved her lips as she answered the phone. “I was just thinking about you.”
I wanted to get away from the table. I needed to. Listening to her private conversation was even more of a violation than what I was already guilty of. I had no business wondering what he was saying on the phone that he couldn’t come out to say in person, or why it made her cheeks go red. Despite everything in me screaming at my legs to move, they stayed rooted to the spot. The most I could manage was to tap on my handheld like I was checking the status of an order.
“Yeah, I’m here,” she said. “With Marco, of course.” Her green eyes lifted from where they’d been aimed at the table to glance at the mountain. Her voice lowered until I had to strain to hear it. “I think he’s got something on his mind.” She paused before letting out a laugh. “I’ll explain later. How’s it going?”
“Funfetti.”
I jolted again at the gruff voice. He wasn’t yelling. In fact, his volume was low. But the timbre of it cut through the steady clatter of the busy room.
“What?” I asked.
“Freddy sets aside a slice of funfetti cake for her. She’ll have that and a Diet Coke.” He jerked his head. “Your other tables.”
“Right. Thank you.” I rushed over to clear plates, get refill orders, and see what else was needed. For the first time all shift, my brain decided to scramble until I was having trouble following the routine I’d worked so hard to memorize. And it was all because my imagination would rather obsess over the pretty redhead and Chef Frédéric.
Gripping the counter, I took a deep breath. I pictured my notes.
And then I got back to work.
“You survived.”
Barely.
The promising start to the shift had veered sharply off course part way through dinner, but I was able to get it back to end the night strong.
Still, pride bloomed in my chest as I grinned at Tess. “And you made it through your last shift without it turning into the cliché where everything goes bad the day before retirement.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I wanted to rewind time to get them back—and not just because my newfound love of TV binging made me sound like a loser.
Just as I worried, her smile dropped, and she stepped toward me. “I don’t think I’m making the right choice. Do you think they’d keep us both on?” A stricken expression tightened her features. “Do you think my regulars would want their farewell tips back?”
I hesitated, unsure what to say. I didn’t want to come across as selfish, like the only reason I wanted her gone was so I could take over her apartment and job. But I also knew what it was like to hold on to something when it was beyond time to let it go.
And she really, really needed to let Dick go.
I went with evasive instead. “I don’t know. But I do know that we should celebrate tonight. What do you want to do?”
“We’re going out?” Alex—one of the chefs—threw his arms around our shoulders. “I know a cool bar nearby.”
Tess blinked up at the younger man. “Callie can’t do a bar. She’s only nineteen. I can go, though.”
Good for you.
Have some fun before you leave.
Alex turned his head my way. “Nineteen, huh? That’s fine.” He scanned down my body. “They won’t turn you away.”
Tess gave me wide, pleading eyes.
I was about to agree to come—and then I would take any opening to leave early so they could be alone—when a familiar voice called out.
“Is there a reason you’re out here, Hill?” Chef Frédéric asked, using Alex’s last name.
“Just—”
“Just saying a quick goodbye to Tess? Good. Because we all want to get the hell out of here, but your station is a mess. Half your prep is missing. And tonight is a deep clean.”
Alex opened his mouth like he was about to argue before muttering, “Yes, Chef.” He dropped his arm from Tess. “Good luck in Michigan.”
“Ohio,” she corrected.
“Right. Good luck there.” His hold was slower to release me.
He sped up when Chef Frédéric barked, “Sometime tonight, Hill. Some of us have better places to be.”
Yeah.
Like in bed with a pretty wife.
Alex rushed to his station, but Chef Frédéric didn’t follow. I ignored his existence when he said, “You apologized when you fucked up an order and didn’t pass the blame to the kitchen. We’ll miss you, Tess.”
She beamed despite the tears shimmering in her eyes. “I’ll miss you all, too.”
Once he left, I asked, “Do you want to invite the other servers out to a bar? That way, if I can’t get in, you won’t be alone.”
She shook her head as she clocked out for the last time. “I say we pick up a ton of junk food, go back to the apartment, and binge something. It’s the shitty sendoff this shitty town deserves.”
“You got it.”