2. Reg
2
REG
Owning the hottest restaurant in town was great. I never had to worry about my boss being a dick, my bills were always paid, and I got to do what I loved every single day. Sure, it also had its share of stress, but the payoff was worth it. Besides, what job was perfect?
This time of year was beyond chaotic. Valentine’s Day was nearly upon us, and it was by far my busiest single day of the year. This year it was slated to be even more so. Someone had done a social media review of our restaurant, and we ended up having to add additional seatings to fit all the people wanting to come and woo their Valentine with a romantic dinner that “tasted like it had been infused with love,” whatever that meant. It was slated to be our busiest night since we’d opened, and I was ready for it… almost.
The phone rang, and I jogged over to the hostess station to grab it. We’d thought about switching to an online reservation system, but there was something so impersonal about that— not to mention the horror stories I’d read online about accidental double bookings and disappearing tables. But even with that, after today, I was starting to think that maybe giving it a try might be for the best.
As I reached the phone, I saw a sticky note saying that all but one of our seatings were already full. Hopefully, whoever was calling on the other line was flexible. We really couldn’t add more seatings at this point. People would be eating their romantic dinners at lunchtime or into the early morning if we kept on inserting more, and the staff? We were hardworking, but everyone had their limits.
“Sizzle and Grill, how may I help you?”
“Hi, we were hoping for a reservation for two for Valentine’s Day.” The man sounded like a ball of nervous and excited. My guess was this was a first date or a special occasion, and even if we didn’t have spots, I was going to try and figure something out. It drove the staff bonkers when I did this, but I was a softy at heart and was all about true love finding its way.
True love never seemed to find itself to me, but that was mostly my fault. I lived at the restaurant and have since it opened. Sure, I had a place of my own, but I spent nearly all of my hours here. At first it was to make sure it got off the ground, and now? Now it was habit, and where else was I going to go? I’d all but shut down my social life when I decided to follow my dreams. I had zero regrets, even with some really lonely nights.
And besides, I was a romantic kinda wolf. I believed in the whole your fated mate will find you when it's the right time fairytale. Had that happened to anyone in my birth pack? Not that I knew of, but neither I nor my wolf was interested in much more than friendship with anyone that wasn’t meant for us. It would be pretty fantastic if fate hurried up and introduced us already.
“Sure, let me see what I can do. Options are limited, but I bet I can squeeze you in.”
“Thank you so much.”
I found two tables left for the entire night. One of them was not ideal and I tried not to fill it if I didn’t have to. It was closer to the bathroom than anyone wanted to sit. It was great to have in a pinch, but far from the most romantic seat in the house.
“I have one for you.” I gave them the details, and they were thrilled. “I just need your name and number.”
I filled in the reservation, noting beside their name that dessert was on us. If this was as special as my gut said it was, I wanted it to be perfect for them.
The second I hung up the phone, it rang again. I assumed they had forgotten to give me some information and were calling back. I was wrong. It was Hank, by all accounts my best server, and one of my original hires.
“Hey, Hank, what’s up?”
“I got bad news for you.” I did not like the sound of that at all.
“Please tell me you’re going to be in today.”
“I’m not, but that’s not the really bad part. Junior has the flu and pneumonia. I won’t be in for the rest of the week.”
I couldn’t even be upset with him for calling out. His son came first, always. That was how family worked. I did feel horrible for poor Hank. The flu was never good on its own and adding pneumonia to the mix had to be miserable.
“Oh no, is there anything I can do?”
“No. Not now. Thanks. We are in General, and they’re going to keep him for observation overnight, and then if his oxygen levels stay the way they are, he’ll go home in the morning. But as you can guess, I’m not leaving his side.”
“Nor should you. Promise me you’ll call if you need anything at all and don’t worry about this place. We’ve got this.”
Even as I assured him, I wasn’t so sure. I could pick up extra tables, do less back of the house than I normally did on the fancy days. It would be hectic, but we’d get it done. But even if there was no way we’d be able to handle any of it, I’d never let him know. He had more than enough on his plate.
“Thanks.”
A crash came from the kitchen, and I bolted. It didn’t sound like somebody dropped a tray or a prep dish. It sounded far too loud for that. When I went in, I was right. Foster was lying on the ground, not moving.
“You okay?” Obviously he wasn’t, but it was the first thing that came out of my mouth.
“Yeah, yeah. I just… I just need a minute.”
Foster was my dishwasher and chef-in-training. He had aspirations to go to cooking school, but the cost kept him away. I might not be a cooking school, but I did my best to teach him on slower days and sometimes before work. He was a good kid and had started working for me when he was still in high school.
From the way his foot was twisted, I doubted a minute would be enough.
“I was the one who spilled it. Sorry,” he said. “I was going to get some rags to clean it up. it wasn’t like I didn’t know it was there.”
It took my brain a few seconds to catch up. He had slipped on some oil or maybe dish soap. It was hard to tell from my angle.
“Let me help you up.”
“Okay.” He didn’t sound so sure, and he was right to be nervous.
Holding my hand, he stood and cried out in pain. I quickly told the chef we were going and took Foster straight to the hospital. It didn’t take long to discover that he had broken his foot. He was going to be off of dish duty for a while. I could find some things for him to do so he could still work when he was up for it, but dishes were going to be a no go for weeks.
I wasn’t sure what we would do next as far as the restaurant, but I knew we’d figure it out. There had to be someone who could wash dishes for us. If not, I could do it. It wouldn’t be easy, but that wasn’t something I wanted Foster to even think about.
After dropping him off at home, I headed back to the restaurant, where chaos had fully ensued. I immediately jumped in, washing dishes for tonight. Valentine’s Day would be the real test, but at least if we could get through tonight, we might be okay. Or maybe we wouldn’t—but there was only one way to find out.
As I was scrubbing a particularly stubborn pot, my phone buzzed. Foster had left me a message. He said his friend was willing to help us out and asked me to call him with the details.
Normally I had an entire interview process, but not today. If Foster trusted them, so did I. I immediately dialed and was sent to voicemail. I quickly explained the details, thanked him for helping, and gave him the restaurant’s address. Problem solved. I'd follow up with a text if I didn’t hear anything by morning.
Of course, I couldn’t get off that easily. As I turned to see what the chef was asking me, my phone slipped out of my hand and landed directly in the sink—submerged in soapy water. No follow up text would be happening. Please let him just come in.
I groaned, pulling it out and shaking it dry. Not that getting the water off would help. The thing was already probably fried. I’d toss it in rice, but the water was extremely hot and gross. The odds were not in my favor. Well, I supposed it was better to have a ruined phone and someone coming to help than a fixed phone and no help at all.
Please let Valentine’s Day be better than today.