CHAPTER TEN
K RU
The next two days are intense. Early mornings, grueling days, and by the time I get home, I’m looking forward to only one thing.
The marshmallow maven…who was a no-show both nights.
I’m not proud to admit that I hung around my backyard like a hungry dog waiting for a scrap of food.
I’m trying not to let her absence bother me.
And I’m sure as hell not sniffing around her marshmallow shop like I want to.
I’ve already confronted her once in the daylight about the chemistry she clearly knows we have.
I know she’s resistant, and I’ve got a good idea of the why.
But that chemistry should overrule everything else. Right?
Maybe I’m just thinking with my cock. No, scratch that. I’m absolutely thinking with my cock. Because my cock knows how juicy Piper is, inside and out.
Thankfully I have plenty to keep me busy, like this entirely new staff I’ve hired, and this brand-new restaurant vibrating on the cusp of opening.
When Friday rolls around, I’m ready for the health department.
This is the final inspection to clear us before open—and once we get the green light, I’m doing a soft launch for lunch.
I’ve got the braised short ribs tender and waiting in the kitchen, with my new sous-chef Brady overseeing the progress.
I’ve been teasing this soft launch on social media all week. Word has been spreading around Bayshore about an up-and-coming restaurant with a reality TV crew, and I see the rubberneckers daily to prove it. Everything is coming together nicely.
Perfectly, almost.
I wonder if I should be suspicious.
“Mr. Krueger?” A very tall and lanky man enters the dining room at nine on the dot. I can tell by the clipboard and his scrutinizing gaze that he’s from the health department.
“Hey, Jerome! Great to finally meet you.” I hurry his way, wiping my hands on my black apron before I offer to shake.
My heart starts racing as I run over the map of the restaurant in my mind’s eye.
I’m accustomed to health department inspections after operating Fork & Claw with Mav for so long, even though I know firsthand how crossing all your t’s and dotting every last i doesn’t exempt you from a surprise health code violation.
But I’ve got this one in the bag. I’ve been working my ass off, and I’m minutes away from the finish line.
“You too,” Jerome says, shaking my hand firmly. But his voice is devoid of emotion, and I can tell he’s not here for chit-chat. “I’ll let you know if I have any questions about what I see.”
“Sure, yeah.” I gesture around. “Have at it.”
I glance back at Pat and the camera crew, who aren’t filming during the inspection.
My two lunchtime servers, Jackie and Tina, linger near the front wall of windows.
Tension crackles in the air as I try to busy myself straightening up the dining room, while keeping an eye on Jerome’s movements.
He’s immediately making notes on his clipboard, and I don’t like that one bit.
Then he disappears into the kitchen, and I wonder if I should follow him.
“It’ll be great,” Pat assures me, as though he can sense my mounting worry.
“Yeah. We’re more than prepared.” But my words feel hollow for some reason. “He’s gonna go check out my sexy walk-in and say, ‘You know what? I’ve seen all I need to see. Ready to open.’”
Jackie and Tina snicker.
I migrate to the kitchen doors, peering through the plastic windows at the top. I can see Jerome temping the freezer in the back while Brady looks sufficiently occupied. “He’ll probably just want to live in the kitchen, it’s so nice.”
“It’s one of the cleanest ones I’ve ever seen,” Tina says brightly.
“And it’ll stay that way. Didn’t I tell you, Tina? We have mandatory four-hour deep cleans every night.” She sends me a scared look, and I crack up laughing. “Sorry. Not a good boss joke on opening day.”
The three of us shoot the shit while Jerome remains in the kitchen.
I’m doing my best to distract myself by cracking food jokes and quizzing Jackie and Tina about the soft launch menu.
They’re holding their own as I pepper them with questions about the types of cheese we use and where our buns come from.
They even manage to laugh at my best food joke of the day: Why did the diner on the moon get bad reviews? No atmosphere.
It’s an agonizing, eternal wait for Jerome to emerge—but when he finally does, three thousand minutes after he first entered my kitchen, he looks grim.
“Okay, I’ve seen all I need to see.” He comes to a stop in front of me, scribbling something on his clipboard. “I’ve made a note of all the violations I spotted—”
“Violations?” I can’t believe my ears.
He looks up at me, annoyance flashing across his face. “Yes. Here in Bayshore we take our food service code very seriously.”
“And so do I,” I hurry to add. “What issues did you find?”
“Your sani-rag was outside of the bucket. It must be immersed in the sanitization liquid at all times. Your prep table fridge registered a temp of forty-two degrees, which is in the danger zone. It must be below forty-one degrees.”
“The rag is easy, we can pop it right in that bucket. And I think I know why the prep fridge is clocking high. Brady was probably rustling around in there right as you came in. Can you re-temp?”
He sends me a long look. “Additionally, your dining room is over capacity. This building is cleared for max fifty occupants but you have seating here for sixty.”
“Easy fix, I’ll throw three of my tables in the trash right now. Was there anything else?”
His eyes narrow. My jokes aren’t landing with this one.
“I’ll be sending you a copy of your report. Please sign here.” He pushes the clipboard my way. “Then we can set a time for a re-inspection.”
Once again, the words aren’t computing. “Uh, Jerome, we’re set to open in an hour…”
“Not without clearance you aren’t.”
I swallow hard, realizing I need to tread lightly. “You’re right. And I want to point out the issues you found are relatively, well, minor.”
“The health and safety of Bayshore is no minor issue,” he snaps.
“You’re right.” I do my best to form a well-meaning smile and not let out a grunt of annoyance like I want to. “The rag situation is an easy fix. I can avoid using that prep table, and I’ll block off three whole tables in the dining room so we don’t go over capacity…”
He sniffs, looking around. “I think those remedies would be adequate to approve you for a provisional license for take-out only.”
Take-out only.
Fuuuuuuck.
I’m grinding my teeth as I sign on the dotted line. Jerome nods my way and quietly leaves the restaurant. Once the door swings shut behind him, I release the groan that’s been building in my chest.
“Fucking take-out! On our soft launch day! What the fuck!”
Pat motions for the cameras to start filming.
“He might not come back to check,” Jackie suggests. “Maybe we can just…seat them anyway.”
I rake a hand through my hair. This is the worst news I could have gotten today. I shake my head. “No. We can’t risk that. If word gets out that we violated his decision on day one, that doesn’t bode well for the future. We’ve gotta pivot. Fuck. ”
My mind is working on overdrive trying to formulate a new plan on the fly. I stride to the kitchen, pushing past the doors.
“Brady,” I say. “Change of plans. We’re not doing sit-down service today.”
Brady blinks from over top a fresh batch of braised short ribs, our soft launch feature. “Uh, we’re not?”
“Nope.” I check my watch. “Jerome approved us for takeout only. Got about two hours to prep for orders. At least we won’t have to worry about dishes today.”
He stares at me for a beat, then nods. “Right. I’ll go count to-go boxes.”
I knew I liked this kid.
“Let me know how many we have, then I’ll send Jackie or Tina to the store to buy more. And bags. We’re gonna need bags.” I head back to the front to begin doling out orders.
“Who here is great at handwriting?”
Jackie and Tina share a confused look.
“Whoever is better at handwriting needs to work on the chalkboard sign. The other one is going shopping with a list from Brady of what we need.” I reach into my apron pocket and pull out my scratch pad, which I always keep on me in the kitchen for noting flavors, ratios, and ingredients.
I scribble out a quick message, tear it off, and slam it onto the table.
“This is what the sign should say. It just needs to look…a lot better than this.”
Tina nods, picking it up. “That’s me. I’ve got you, boss.”
“Thank you. Jackie, you’ll head out as soon as Brady has that list. You’ll both be handling the takeout orders once we open. I know this isn’t ideal and cuts into our ability to upsell alcohol and get those tips, but I promise I’ll make up for it.”
What I didn’t mention was my ability to begin wowing customers for the Best of Bayshore competition, which officially began yesterday.
Votes have been pouring in for the dishes each business submitted to the contest. My entry: the buttered lobster tail with morel and asparagus risotto.
It was a tough call between that and the braised short rib taco, but I based my decision strictly on how loudly Piper moaned when she tried the lobster.
But that means that if I can’t get people to try my lobster tail, they won’t vote for me.
Few people trust a lobster tail to take out.
I’m not one of them. Buttered lobster tail is a dine-in experience, and I’ve crafted the entire meal around that setup.
I’m more annoyed with Jerome than I can express right now.
But I know that now is not the time to lick my wounds inflicted by the health department.