21. Vivian
Vivian
the same day
W alking into The Pork Belly this morning is like walking into the seventh circle of hell.
My happy cloud of contentment evaporates the second I open the doors.
We’re down a cook, the new guy washing our dishes looks—and acts—like he’s high out of his mind, and the only servers I have on the floor are the newbies.
So it’s not like I can pull one off of there to go handle the dish pit which is abysmally backed up.
And I have to get us set up for inventory.
It’s something that can’t wait, and I’m internally groaning at what a late night it’s going to be.
I don’t know if I’ll even be able to drag myself to Michael’s tonight, and he’s all I want to see after the magic of last night.
Thankfully Sheila has been bartending-slash-managing for us this morning.
We’d be lost without her. As a mom of teenage boys, not much fazes her, so she gives me the rundown with a matter-of-fact tone as I walk in.
That is, until a note of worry enters her voice, her accent coming out thicker than usual.
“One last thing, Vivian,” she says, and I can’t help the exasperated sigh that leaves me. The lack of sleep was worth it and Michael’s coffee hit the spot, but I can still feel a headache coming on. Stupid tequila .
“ Please tell me this is the last thing.”
She grimaces, smoothing back the wisps of blonde hair that have escaped her headband, then asks, “‘Member that guy you used to ride around with? Trent?”
“Yeah?” I ask warily.
“Well, he done called up here. Been ringin’ that phone half off the hook from before we even opened.
Wantin’ to know where you were, when you were gonna come ’round.
” Her Southernisms are coming out strong which tells me just how much she’s rattled.
She holds up one pink-nailed hand to stop me before I can protest. “Chrissy picked up the line, told him you’d be here later on tonight.
Bless her heart, that girl don’ have half the sense that God gave ’er. ”
My head falls back against the chair with a thump.
I’d told the staff not to give out anyone’s schedules or whereabouts after I’d broken up with Trent.
Not just for my protection; it’s a good policy to have all around.
But this is a family business, and it’s not like we even have a human resources department.
Things slip through the cracks. Chrissy is new, very young, very nice, and very inexperienced.
I’m not entirely surprised at the screw up; it’s just something else to add to the long list of things we need to address with staff who feel more like family than employees.
Gah, it’s not even my restaurant, but I feel responsible for it all the same.
It’s Claire’s family’s legacy, and I’m in charge of protecting it when she’s not here.
I’m not going to bother Claire and allow these details to interrupt the day off she has planned with Raelynn.
They’re hitting the neighborhood pool; both those girls need a break.
“Okay,” I breathe out. “I’ll keep an eye out for him. Thanks for letting me know.”
“I ’bout had a hissy fit when I found out what she done,” Sheila says. “But don’ you worry none. I already chewed her out.”
“Thanks, but I’ll handle that next time.” Sheila means well, but that’s not her job.
“Yes’m,” she says, ducking her head and looking chagrined.
“I’m not mad at you for it, Sheila. Just let Claire and me deal with the employee issues.” And Trent, I think, as I guide her out the door. First things first… who can I possibly call in for dish?
Lunch hits us pretty hard. It’s always busy when major blockbusters come out, given our proximity to Gwinnett Place Mall. Rush Hour 2 and the latest rom-com flick released yesterday. Great for business, but by the time it starts to slow down around four, my feet are killing me.
“I’m gonna be in the office for awhile,” I tell Sheila, nodding toward the hall behind the bar. She gives me a thumbs up and continues pouring ice around the beer well. I collapse in the office chair and groan. Only six more hours to go.
I don’t know if it was the lunch rush, the impatient customers, or the thought of Trent hanging around that makes me feel so exhausted.
But I am bushed. Last night’s exhilaration has long since faded, but thinking of Michael’s face and loving words gives me a mental refresher that I desperately need.
Pulling my cell phone from my purse, I see that Michael called a few times.
Smiling to myself, I dial his number. I’ve learned that when he’s excited about something, he wants to tell me right away instead of waiting til we meet.
It’s kind of endearing the way he gets caught up in an idea and can’t wait to share it with me.
Kind of like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Hola, mi amor,” his voice purrs as he picks up on the first ring.
“Hey, baby.” His answering groan sends heat straight to my core.
I love that I can affect him the same way he does me.
It’s more than raw sexual need though. The way we’ve settled into these terms of endearments, the ease with which we talk about anything and everything is like a balm to my soul.
Exactly what I need with how this day’s going so far. “What’s up?”
“Can’t I just call my woman to tell her I miss her?” he teases, and warmth rises up inside my chest.
“Yes, yes you can.” I sigh contentedly.
“And that I love her?”
My heart flip flops. I still can’t believe this is real.
“And all the ways I’m going to make her feel good tonight?” His voice drops even lower and I start looking for the desktop fan. My nipples tighten as I think of exactly all that would entail.
“Michael,” I breathe out.
“ Te quiero, mi amor ,” he says as his voice drops an octave.
“What does that mean?” I ask in a whisper.
“It means I want you, my love.” Goosebumps cover my arms. Holy shit, what this man does to me. “What time will you be home?” He hears my frustrated huff. “What is it?”
“I’m closing tonight, and we have to get things ready for inventory next week,” I remind him.
“Let me help. I’ll come before you close and can help you get everything straight.”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s really sweet of you to offer, but I’m not sure if Claire would be okay with it…
” I pause. Michael does some sort of weird IT thing downtown, but I know he’s in charge of keeping projects running.
Maybe he actually could help us do inventory prep, which is always such a pain in the ass, but necessary, and Claire does trust him for me.
“You know what, I’m sure Claire won’t mind. ”
Until I remember what Sheila said about Trent possibly showing up.
“Ugh!” I slap my hand over my face. “Never mind, I don’t want you coming here tonight.” I’m gonna handle that fucker myself.
“You… don’t? ” he asks, confusion mixed with suspicion in his tone.
“I’ll be home as quickly as I can. You should chill out and watch Star Trek or something.” My honey is a secret Sci-fi nerd, and I love it. “Just… don’t worry about it.”
“Vivian.” His voice is lower now, tight and almost dangerous. “Why don’t you want me at the restaurant?”
I blow out a breath. I’m not one to play games, and I don’t have anything to hide. Not anymore and definitely not from Michael.
“My… my last ex called earlier today looking for me. He freaked out one of our employees and said he was coming back tonight. For me. I haven’t talked to him in months,” I clarify, not wanting to give Michael even a moment’s concern.
“I don’t know what wild hair’s gotten under his ass, but I’ll deal with him,” I finish in a rushed breath.
There, now he knows. I don’t want to give him any reason not to trust me, especially after what happened with Trent.
At the same time, I don’t want Michael getting into it with Trent if the douche decides to show his ass.
Based on the stories Michael told me about the fights he’d get into growing up, especially the one that landed him here, I can see this getting out of hand pretty quickly with my possessive man.
I can handle Trent myself; he’s more bark than bite anyway, But I don’t want my new boyfriend—or fiancé? My cheeks flush—to land in jail if Trent starts mouthing off.
“You’re not doing this alone, and you’re not going unprotected, Vivan,” Michael says firmly before he hangs up.
He sounded… almost frustrated with me. What the actual hell?
I don’t have much time to ruminate on it, however, because one of the servers comes in to tell me that table twelve is upset that our mustard-style barbeque sauce is definitely not the same recipe she has been getting here for the past ten years, and I’m pulled into a tug of war about historical taste buds.
It’s now just one hour left til close, and we’re finally getting a chance to catch our breaths, when the unmistakable scent of Tommy Boy cologne invades my nostrils.
Oh my word, is he actually wearing that?
That was my Christmas gift to him two years ago.
Last time I’d seen it, the bottle was still sitting in the box on his dresser. Trent said it stunk—just like me.
Looking up, I watch as he saunters in. His wannabe-bad-boy swagger that used to make me melt does absolutely nothing for me now.
Taking in his arrogant strides toward the bar, I’m affirmed that there’s nothing left in my heart tethering me to him.
Some good memories, but a lot more bad ones, especially the way he made me feel about myself.