12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter 12
Risto
T he bracing chill of the walk-in fridge did nothing to dull my nerves. I topped off a stainless steel tray of produce, pretending the tropical salad I was testing for tonight’s menu would distract me from the inevitable.
Leslie would be here any minute.
The good news was that Dot was safe. I heard a few hours ago that the surgery went well, and she was resting comfortably in a private room. But that meant the woman I was trying desperately to avoid would arrive at the last place on Earth she wanted to be: Boricua. When it was open. My dream was about to happen. Leslie would be in front, not watching but participating in the action. I couldn’t lie. The idea kind of thrilled me.
Back before we broke up, I’d hoped that if she could just engage with diners and learn why my food was so special to them, she’d fall in love with it. And me by extension. A barrier easily climbed, but she never tried. It felt like she wanted me to choose between my career and our love. Food and air. But life required both, and I’d only be half living without Leslie.
As much as I loved Leslie, no one had the right to dictate my passions. Never in a million years would I do that to her. It’d be unthinkable for me to demand she abandon her life’s work to be with me. That was akin to telling someone not to dream. Not to strive for better or want more for themselves. It shocked me to my core that she seemed to be demanding that of me.
She never said that.
She didn’t have to.
Where’s your proof?
I supported her work, but she refused to support mine.
Guess you have a point.
Ya think?
Ironic, now, that the very thing that drove us apart was about to force us back together. At least, in the closest proximity for the longest time we’d experienced for years. Her volunteer shift would last hours. Leslie would be the face of Boricua, greeting diners as Dot did. She’d play a special role in making sure every dining experience was stellar. While she hated the restaurant herself, this was business. I damn well expected her to do her part to make customers happy.
My lead server, Kayla, stuck her head into the fridge. “Boss? There’s a lady here to see you. Says her name is Leslie?”
“Very funny.”
Kayla knew exactly who Leslie was and wasn’t anymore. The first server I hired after opening the restaurant, Kayla had witnessed my love struggles firsthand.
“You okay?” she asked, stepping into the fridge with me.
“Guess I have to be.”
“I’ll keep her up front. You won’t even know she’s here.”
I seriously doubt that.
“Thanks, but she’s going to be with us for a while and needs to feel welcome. She’ll be a part of the team, and we owe it to our customers to help her be successful.”
I strolled out of the fridge and dropped my tray of ingredients on the kitchen’s butcher block. Kayla followed, but I stopped her.
“I’ll train her myself.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Can you even teach front of house?”
Freddie overheard and busted a gut holding back his snickers.
“I can do every job in this restaurant myself. Including onboarding—and firing.” I said the last part loud enough for everyone to hear. Freddie’s head snapped around to refocus on his work.
“Oooh, she’s under your skin already. This is going to be good.” Kayla winked, then headed toward the dining room. “I’ll tell her you’ll be right out.”
I steeled myself, took a breath, and pushed through the swinging door moments later.
Leslie stood surrounded by empty tables. Soft daylight from the windows caressed her features. She glowed like the angel she was. When her dark eyes met mine, a snap of electricity pierced me through.
Fuck me.
I am so dead.
“Hey, I’m here,” Leslie said, her voice uncertain.
“So you are.” I was so distracted by her lips that I stopped way too close, forcing me to take a corrective step back.
“I can see the space better without all the people. It’s great. So much bigger than before the construction.”
The restaurant.
Follow the conversation.
“Yes, it’s been packed to the gills. The investment will pay for itself in no time. Let me show you around.”
I paced over to the hostess stand to demonstrate the point-of-sale system Boricua used. “You’ll be stationed here to greet customers. After checking their reservations, you’ll get them settled. There may be a few takeout orders, so you can cash those out here.”
Breathe, Risto. You’ve got this.
“On this monitor, you can see the layout of the restaurant. You toggle between screens by swiping or using these little arrows. If a guest has been here before and has preferences for seating or meals, that’ll appear in this field here.” I looked up from the screen to find her examining my face.
We stared at each other, neither of us blinking or talking for an eternity. We stood close enough for her intoxicating scent to make me dizzy. I braced myself on the podium, pretending it was a suave move of indifference instead of a wilting man barely able to hold his shit together.
“Do you have any questions?”
“Too many. But not about this POS system. I’ve worked in bars before, undercover, so I’ve used something similar before.”
Bubble burst.
Her career.
She always found a way to elevate her job over mine. Like what I did was so unimportant she could master it with zero effort.
“Every system is different. Every system has nuances that you need to understand, so the network doesn’t crash. If you’re confused, ask.” My sharp tone a surprise.
“Sorry, yes. I won’t guess at anything.”
I nodded and finished my computer tour, then showed her the bar and how our table numbers were situated around the restaurant. Being in a former private home, Boricua had multiple rooms and outdoor spaces. After we rounded the last dining area, we toured the kitchen, stockroom, and the laundry area where she’d assist with sorting and pretreating, if needed. The lunch linens had already been readied for pickup, and empty bins awaited dinner service.
“Risto, I mean, wow.” Leslie looked amazed. “This is so impressive. I had no idea there were so many moving parts in running a restaurant. Your parents would be so proud.”
Leslie stepped forward, spreading her arms as if to hug me, but stopped before making contact, hugging herself instead. “Um. Sorry. I’m not sure how to act around you.”
I sighed, pocketing my hands. “Me neither.”
“What do we do? We’re not together, but I still care about you. Can we go back to being friends? At least while I’m here?”
I didn’t want to be friends.
I wanted to hate her for rejecting me. For forcing me to end us and leave me pining after her every damn night. For making other women look like overcooked rice by comparison. She ruined me. Asking to be friends was only slightly less offensive than my ridiculous longing to take her back.
Not that she was asking.
Looking at her now, all sexy and hopeful, I’d be a major jerk to turn her down.
My gaze rose from the floor, scanning her body, up her long legs to the white T-shirt hugging her breasts under a black blazer. Her earnest face awaited my reply. My last decision about our relationship left her in tears. I could already tell I’d be the one needing Kleenex before this was all over.
I extended my hand to shake. “Friends.”
“Great.” Leslie curled her fingers around mine to seal our pact, her skin surprisingly cool to the touch. Maybe the restaurant’s climate control settings were too low. Dot liked it chilly, and sometimes guests complained. I’d have to go check.
We exited the laundry area, and I shut the accordion doors behind us. “So, you landed the Saturday host spot on The Kaelen Reed Show . Congratulations. That’s a big deal.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool. I’m excited to see how it goes.”
Leslie gathered her curls in her fist, shifting them over one shoulder. As she did, her diamond stud earrings sparkled in the overhead lights. The ones I bought for her. I wonder if she remembered?
“We shot some promos the other day. I stood around looking all serious.” She waved the idea away. “So silly, but I guess they’ll help get the word out. Hopefully, someone watches besides Dot.”
“Stop worrying, you’ll be great. You always are,” I said, immediately kicking myself for the admission.
Her eyebrows shot up. “You watch?”
“Some,” I lied. I watched every damn episode she was on. My DVR made sure of it. Reed was an insufferable blowhard, though, so I fast-forwarded over his parts. I never much liked the guy to begin with, and my dislike only worsened once I determined he’d likely been in her pants. A place I was dying to revisit. But that wasn’t what “friends” did.
Shit. I’d been in the friend zone for all of three minutes and already hated it. I wondered which zone Mr. Slick Newscaster parked in?
“How is Reed in person? You two friends?” I asked.
She smirked at my prying question. But if we were supposed to be friends, this was a totally legit conversation. Plus, I had to know if there was competition. You know, in case the platonic thing didn’t stick.
“Not really. He’s a bit much to take and refuses to stop flirting with me.”
“He probably can’t help himself.”
“When I want his attention, I’ll ask for it. Till then, he can keep his hands to himself.”
That’s my girl.
I filed that tidbit away as the familiar snap of sexual tension zinged between us. My breath grew ragged as I struggled to fight the longing. Her body tensed, nostrils flared, in an apparent struggle of her own.
Weren’t we a pair?
Leslie spoke first. “Risto, I—”
“Why don’t you go find Kayla up front and help get the tables set? I’m needed in the kitchen.”
She nodded and walked off toward the dining room. I stormed past dinner prep to my office and slammed the door.
Having Leslie this close was fast becoming my personal nightmare.