Chapter 20
TWENTY
Alivia
Unknown
Good morning, my beautiful …
Iwas in the middle of changing the menus at the assisted living facility, switching out the breakfast ones for lunch, when the text came through. I couldn’t stop staring at it. I couldn’t stop smiling.
The only break my grin had taken was during the few hours I’d spent at home. I had been too tired to stop for beer, and Dean’s threats had lasted until an hour before I left for work.
I tucked myself into a corner of the kitchen, away from the other staff, and thumbed out a reply.
Me
This is either a very charming spam bot, or YOU somehow got my number …
Unknown
I have access to every employee file. It wasn’t a hard number to find.
Me
So, we’re texting now, huh? Is this a text thread I’m going to have to delete so there’s no history?
Walker
Oh, that fucking mouth.
Me
Hey, it’s true. No record of us exists. Until now.
Walker
You can keep every word I send you from here on out. Forever.
Me
Forever? That’s a long time, Walker.
Walker
Did you get any sleep?
Me
Ugh. I’m running on E. But I have tomorrow off from my first job. Hopefully, that means some sleep.
Walker
Why don’t you stay at my place?
Me
Tonight?
Walker
Yes, tonight.
Me
I don’t have anything with me, and I don’t have time to run home.
Walker
Everything you need will be at my house.
Me
You make it impossible to say no.
Walker
Then don’t.
Me
Are you going to let me sleep?
Walker
Fuck no.
Me
Ha!
Walker
You don’t want me to let you sleep …
Me
Walker
Counter = sanitized, lol.
Me
OMG. I’m so tired today. I didn’t even remember to say anything about it or ask you when we were talking earlier.
Uh, you were the one to do it, yeah?
Walker
I couldn’t assign that task to anyone else.
Me
You’re a good chef.
Walker
A good chef never would have done that with his girl in the middle of his commercial kitchen. But a responsible chef took care of it before any patrons or staff came in.
Me
Agreed, but still, damn, that was so hot.
Walker
And an honest chef will tell you that won’t be the last time we do that in a kitchen.
Me
Best answer ever.
I slipped my phone into my apron, and I rushed into the dining room, knowing the first few tables had probably already been seated.
As I approached one that had been filled in my section, I took out a small pad of paper so I could write down everyone’s order.
Even though the group of ladies didn’t eat much, the last thing I wanted was to forget something.
Especially since these women were tough—a quad who ate most of their meals together and weren’t afraid to say what was on their mind.
Charred was full of drama among the employees.
Here, there were hardcore cliques among the residents. Cattiness didn’t have age restrictions—I’d learned that on my first day of employment.
Before I reached the table, I caught sight of one of my favorite residents, and I took a sharp right, away from my section, and I knelt beside Leslie’s chair.
She was a bit of a loner, often reserving her own table.
Only sometimes did she buddy up with one of the solo men, but more often than not, she spent her meals by the window, usually with a book in her hands.
She didn’t care for the noise, and I appreciated that.
At least once a shift, I made an effort to spend a little time with her.
But today, I had an agenda, and while she set her book down and turned her focus to me, I noticed the navy paint that hadn’t come off her fingernails and the splatters of bright orange that were embedded in the gray strands that framed the front of her face.
“Hello, lovely.” She touched my cheek, the coldness of her skin almost jarring.
“I didn’t see you at breakfast.”
“Too busy doing lots of nothing, I guess. I had coffee in my apartment.”
I nodded. “I was wondering if I could ask for a favor. It’s a big one.”
“A favor, you say?”
I could almost feel the wrinkles in her fingers as she stroked my cheek. The lines where the pads were dented and folded.
“Ask away.”
The management allowing me to help out in the kitchen wasn’t the only reason I enjoyed working here. Many of the residents acted more like family than my own mother. I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted that until I had it.
“Would it be okay if I came by your apartment after my shift? I’ll only have about fifteen minutes before I have to go to my other job, so I won’t take up too much of your time.”
“Only fifteen minutes?” Her brown eyes hadn’t moved from mine. “It’s going to take you a lot longer than that to explain why you’re smiling so hard.” And they were brown eyes that missed absolutely nothing.
“Did you forget that you work in a goddamn kitchen? That your sole responsibility is to make food that’s fucking edible? Potatoes can’t survive in an oven for three fucking hours. You should know that! What the hell is wrong with you?”
I’d just arrived at my employee locker at Charred, and my hand froze on the keypad as Walker’s screaming echoed throughout the entire kitchen.
“Not a single fucking potato is salvageable! What the hell are we supposed to tell our diners tonight? That we don’t have any baked potatoes to give them? What fucking steak house doesn’t have baked potatoes? Goddamn it!”
It didn’t matter that he wasn’t talking to me or that I couldn’t even see him from where I was standing. As his words blasted through me, my hands went over my ears.
My feet rocked, sending my body forward and back.
My eyes closed.
My chest became so tight that I couldn’t draw in any air.
“Are you fucking listening to me?”
I couldn’t take this.
His tone.
His anger.
“Chefs with a hundredth of your experience know more than you!”
I pushed even harder against my ears, the panic replacing the breath in my throat.
My stomach … churning.
My chest turning into ice that the yelling was threatening to shatter.
It felt like Dean was standing here and a thin door was separating us. It felt like his fist was banging on it. It felt like I was pressing my weight against the thin wood, fearing that the lock was going to give out and he was going to get into my room.
“Alivia!”
Why did he have to scream?
“Baby, are you okay?”
Why did he have to talk to people that way?
“Look at me, Alivia.”
Why did it feel like someone was shaking my arm?
“Alivia, open your eyes. Please.”
That same voice.
But now it was quiet.
Just a little above a whisper, something I could barely hear since my ears were blocked with my palms.
“Alivia …”
There it was again.
My eyes opened to Walker’s face.
Walker was here? In front of me?
I blinked a few times. Once the darkness left, he was still there. There was concern in his expression, and I watched him sigh in relief.
But then his face was gone, and I was suddenly lifted off the ground and in the air.
I felt movement.
Wind across my cheeks.
Something hard beneath me.
“What just happened?”
His question registered. I heard the words, I understood what they meant, but instead of answering, I glanced around.
There was an empty chair next to me, a desk in front of me, pictures and framed things on the walls.
Had he carried me into his office?
Walker was kneeling between the desk and me, his hands on the armrests of the chair I was in, a splattering of red sauce on the top right corner of his chef’s whites—whites so bright that I had to squint.
“Alivia?”
“I … don’t know.” My head shook.
I felt his warmth on my thighs. He was rubbing them.
“I left the kitchen to come in here, and I found you huddled on the floor by your locker with your hands over your ears. When I said your name, you wouldn’t respond. Did you not hear me, or … were you feeling sick?”
I put my hands over my face and leaned forward. “Walker …”
He pulled me toward him, sliding me on the seat of the chair, and once he got me close enough, I felt his arms around me.
“Talk to me. Tell me what just happened.” He waited. “I know talking isn’t your strong suit, but I need to understand what I just saw, Alivia.”
The warmth of his chest was a place I didn’t want to leave. The hardness of his muscles a spot I constantly wanted to feel against my face. The strength of his arms, a bond that I needed locked around me.
But he was the reason I’d had a panic attack.
Wasn’t he?
Fuck, I didn’t know.
But this was the first one I’d had in a while.
What I did know was that I couldn’t … do this.
I put my hand on the center of his pecs and pushed until he unlocked his arms and there was some space between us. “I can’t handle your screaming. I can’t physically take it, Walker.” The tightness in my chest hadn’t let up at all. If anything, it was getting worse. “That’s what you just saw.”
He searched my eyes. “But I wasn’t yelling at you. I was yelling at—”
“It doesn’t matter.” I flattened my hand against the base of my throat. “It’s so triggering to me, I break down.”
“That’s a problem.”
I felt my eyebrows rise. “Why would you say that?”
“Because it’s who I am.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m the guy who fucking screams all the time because his employees drive him wild.”
“No. It’s not who you are.” The ends of my ponytail hit my cheeks as I shook my head. “It’s who you are in here. At this restaurant. It’s not who you are as a person.”
“You’re wrong—”
“I’m not wrong!” I hadn’t realized that tears had come into my eyes or that any of them had fallen, but I felt wetness. “I told you before that I can’t handle the screaming. I’m telling you again, I can’t be around it. If that’s what I’m facing here, then …”
“Then what, Alivia?”
I didn’t see the green of his eyes. I saw the red sauce instead, and I slowly lifted my gaze to meet his, the color a deep emerald tonight. “Then I can’t be here.” When I swallowed, it felt like straight acid going down my throat.
“Are you threatening to leave?” There was no grittiness in his voice. What I heard was all emotion. “Or are you telling me you can’t be with me?” He paused. “Where is all this coming from? What haven’t you told me?”