Chapter 10 #2
At once, my feet complain. I knew it would be a lot of time on my feet working in a restaurant, but I don’t think I realized just how sore that would make me.
I need a bath overflowing with bubbles, and an even longer session with Randy to unwind and reset before tomorrow.
“Sorry!” Rory calls out to Wilder, whose head is sticking out of the kitchen door. “We had to borrow her to tell her how fabulous she’s doing. You can have her back now.”
Rory grins as she slides out of the booth and wraps me in a hug that feels almost like Mom’s did.
And like she knows where my mind went, she whispers, “Mom would be so proud of you, y’know.”
Gracie squeals and hugs me so tight I hope no one notices the tear that slips from my eye as she dances me around in a circle.
When I head into the back, the entire staff is huddled around the line. Well, around a cake on the line.
Is that…
“Congratulations Heights Bites crew!” Wilder’s voice floods the kitchen, filling every corner of the space, just like his enormous frame seems to. “Today wasn’t easy, but your training kicked in, and every single one of you should be so proud of how our opening day went.”
Murmurs and varying cheers sound through the group, and he claps his giant hands together for their attention once more.
“Raise your hand if you got to eat today.”
My eyes bounce from employee to employee, both front of house and back of house, but nobody raises their hand except Dishy’s part-time replacement.
Tracy brings her fingers to about her ribcage and barely whispers, “I didn’t even get to pee today. But I snuck a granola bar in so my blood sugar didn’t crash.”
Wanda nods, like she can relate.
All of the wind in my sails from the successful launch of the next generation of local diner, it leaves me in one big whoosh.
My staff.
I didn’t take care of my staff.
They didn’t get to eat, they didn’t even get to pee.
Tracy is diabetic! What if she’d gone hypoglycemic because of me?
“I figured.” Wilder’s voice breaks through my panicked spiral. “I made a cake for us to share.”
A cake?
I didn’t know he was a baker.
A bunch of sugar doesn’t seem like it’s going to help all these people who have gone all day without nutrients.
“Why don’t we find something a little more substantial,” I suggest.
“Well, it’s sort of a cake,” he amends.
Charlie gasps, pointing, and Dishy joins in, eyes wide.
“Is that frosting?” Violet asks, licking her lips.
“Made of mashed potato,” Wilder says with a wide grin. “This is a meatloaf cake. Sauteed mushroom, gruyere cheese, and a balsamic glaze make this not your mama’s meatloaf.”
“Hey!” Samuel interjects, though he has a smile on his face. “Around here those could be fightin’ words.”
“Tell your mama I’m sorry and I’ll make her one, too, if she wants.” Wilder winks, but it’s at me.
Pulling out the large knife that I’ve come to realize is always within reach when he’s behind his station, he slices the cake into twelve pieces and serves it up to the team, one by one.
Wilder takes the time to clean his knife off before digging into his piece, and I begrudgingly realize the meticulous habits he’s been so hard on Charlie and Samuel about are actually probably part of what contributed to how smoothly the kitchen ran today.
Cleaning up as you go, having your station prepped before the shift starts, and all of that homemade love he never shuts up about.
The resounding moans and enthusiastic responses around me tell me what I already knew. This dish is delicious.
After the long day I’ve had, I don’t even have the strength to resist. I pick up my fork and plate and dive right in.
Damn, that’s good.
“And yes,” Wilder speaks up again, once my mouth is too full to fight back. “This is a dish I’d love to get on the menu. Not Your Mama’s Meatloaf.”
The grin he gives me is somewhere between knowing and threatening, and I roll my eyes at him and devour my plate, relishing in the warmth in my stomach that’s spreading out to the rest of me the more I eat.
Excited—if exhausted—chatter continues around us as we eat, but I only have eyes for my plate. Sooner than I’d like to admit, it’s empty.
“All right, gang. Go home, get some rest. Today was a big day, but it was just the first. Tomorrow we’re gonna do just as good with our normal shifts going in place.”
Charlie pumps his fist and a few others jeer excitedly, even though they all looked half-dead when I walked through the kitchen door not ten minutes ago.
“Even me?” Dishy asks.
Chef nods. “I’ll take care of what’s left. You should get some sleep.”
“You need sleep too, don’t ya?” he asks, punching Wilder in one massive shoulder.
Wilder’s mouth pulls up at one side and he gives a half-shake of his head. “I’m from the city that never sleeps, I’ll be fine. You’ve earned the night off.”
Wilder pulls the towel off of his side and whips it in the air at the servers as they race for the back door, and I hear honest-to-god giggles coming from them.
It takes only seconds for the place to empty out.
Today’s only meal long gone, my plate empty (I even managed to lick it clean when I had my back to Wilder so he couldn’t get the satisfaction), I watch, feet glued to the floor for some reason as Wilder wipes down the line, till it’s good as new.
“Now,” he says, turning to face me, dark eyes glittering dangerously. “It’s time for my meal.”