Chapter 14
Cece
Iset Will’s flowers in the corner of the kitchen, far enough from the fryer to avoid oil splatter, close enough that I can see them whenever I want. The lush bundle of pink roses and lilies, delivered in their own glass vase, is the only thing keeping my mood afloat right now.
Of all the bar jobs that often fall to me, working in the kitchen is my least favourite. But this is only the second time Aggie’s asked for a Saturday night off since I took over Afterglow.
“Hot date,” she announced last Tuesday, waggling her pencilled eyebrows at me. “He’s a looker, too. Like an older John Stamos.”
I didn’t point out that John Stamos is an older John Stamos now. Just laughed and said “Have mercy!”
With only Mondays off, Aggie works as hard as I do.
She deserves a little fun. And honestly?
If you’re going to cut loose with anyone, a John Stamos lookalike is a solid choice.
But even as I think it, I correct myself.
Will Sharpe is the perfect man to cut loose with, something I’m hoping will happen very soon.
Every time I look at the flowers, I imagine it.
Me, in my gold dress. Will, in a suit. Our eyes meet across the dancefloor at the reunion.
Maybe we talk. Maybe we share a drink. Maybe we just kiss, then and there.
I sneak another glance at the expensive blooms. They’re so romantic.
No one’s ever bought me flowers before. Okay, technically, I got a bouquet from Mum and Dad when I graduated, and Ada’s sent me sunflowers over the years.
But parents and best friends don’t count.
Not like this. I’ve never had a man send me flowers.
Not on my birthday, or on Valentine’s Day. Never.
And now Will Sharpe, the hottest guy in our year and maybe the whole damn town of Pukekohe, sent me flowers. Just because.
I’ve had two what you could call ‘serious’ relationships.
There was the guy in uni who spent four months talking me into anal, then ditched me for a girl in his Commerce class.
And then there was a nurse in my mid-twenties.
He accepted a job in Australia without even asking if I’d want to come with him.
Neither ever bought me a bus ticket, let alone flowers.
Neither was all that nice to me, either.
But these flowers from Will? They’re nice. So nice, my heart skips a beat whenever I look at them.
I’m not delusional. I don’t think he’s in love with me.
At least not yet. I have eyes and functioning social media accounts, and it’s clear he’s been enjoying his freedom since he escaped Jenny’s clutches.
Still, we’ve been messaging multiple times a day, and he seems curious about the bar and why I left nursing, and he comments on all my Afterglow promo pics, saying I look fantastic and other swoon-worthy things.
I guess I could be delusional, I’m sure Ada thinks I am, but it feels like I’m finally tiptoeing toward a real romance.
He sees me.
My chest flutters so hard I almost drop my tongs into the fryer. I shake my head, trying to get my mind back on the order dockets fluttering above me.
“Are those flowers from the All Black?” Krissy asks, entering the kitchen with another load of dirty plates.
“No, they’re for me,” I say, trying to keep my smile hidden as I dump another load of chips into the fryer.
“Ooooh. Who’s the lucky guy?”
I lean toward the bubbling oil, hoping the heat explains away my flush. “Just someone I went to high school with.”
“Ooooooooh. Is he gonna be at the reunion?”
By now, the whole staff is deeply invested in the High School Centenary saga. “Yeah. He is. He still lives in Pukekohe.”
Krissy makes a face. “Isn’t that a problem?”
I smile. Krissy’s from Kaikoura, a tiny coastal town in the South Island that she couldn’t wait to escape.
But school aside, I liked living in Pukekohe.
Most people write it off as one big kiwifruit farm with a racing fixation—you can choose horses or cars—but it’s still my home.
I’ve always loved the idea of raising my kids there, building a beautiful house and having family dinner with my parents every Sunday.
“I don’t think I have to worry about moving back just yet,” I tell Krissy.
But maybe after the reunion…
Krissy peeks through the kitchen window and swears. “Cee? Ada’s back.”
I drop the fries and rush to the pass. I’ve been keeping my thoughts of Ada locked down tight—her devastation, what Jake did—because I know if I let myself go there I’ll spiral and take the whole bar with me. My stomach flips as I scan the bar. She’s not in her playpen.
“Where?” I shout to Krissy over Doja Cat’s ‘Boss Bitch.’
“Near the door.”
Sure enough, Ada’s draped on one of the far couches, surrounded by a pack of uni guys.
Two of them are leaning in close, laughing like she’s the funniest thing alive.
They’re rugby types. Jake knockoffs. One of them runs a cocktail straw along the hem of Ada’s crop top.
I brace for her to smack him, and she doesn’t.
Panic engulfs my system. The only time Ada lets strangers manhandle her is when she’s completely shut down.
Fucking Jake Graves-Holland.
He’s spent all this time swaggering around my bar acting like the sun set between Ada’s legs, and now this? Lying to her about where he was so he could take cuddle pics with Ada’s nemesis? Pics she posted to social media for the world to see? He can get all the way fucked.
I picture his stupid, pretty-boy face coming down my stairs to drink my water before taking Ada back to his house, and I want to smash every plate in my goddamn sink. I don’t. We can’t afford new crockery. But I am going to give that prick a piece of my mind.
I pull out my phone. The last messages from Jake are his ‘aw-shucks-I’m-a-good-man-really’ declarations of love for Ada. Rage floods through me, and I type like my thumbs are on fire:
You are lowlife scum. I hope you snap your Achilles and your favourite band breaks up, and your nan never makes you banana bread again, you second-rate Richie McCaw fuckwit.
His reply comes fast:
Did Ada see the picture with Jenny???
I could kill him. Easily. No jury would convict me. He knows. Knows exactly what I’m talking about, which means he knows what he did. And instead of owning it, he’s panic-texting me like I’m his therapist. But before I can tell him to grab a pistol and meet me at dawn, I’m hit by a wall of texts:
It’s not what it looks like.
When did she find out???
Ada’s phone’s off. Is she with you?
Cece, please call me?
I’m coming to the bar.
I slam my finger on the screen and switch to all-caps, as I smell my chips burn black behind me:
IT’S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE???
IT LOOKS LIKE YOU'VE FUCKED UP ANY CHANCE YOU HAVE WITH ADA. IT LOOKS LIKE YOU’RE DATING THE CUNT QUEEN OF PUKEKOHE!!! IT LOOKS LIKE I’M PLANNING YOUR FUCKING FUNERAL!!!
DON’T COME ANYWHERE NEAR MY BAR EVER AGAIN BECAUSE YOU CAN’T FIX THIS.
Jake doesn’t seem to register anything except my last three words:
I can fix this. I have to. Just tell me where she is, or I’ll come to the bar and wait for her.
“Fuck!”
Davis sticks his head through the pass. “Need help?”
“Yes, please.”
It pains me to admit anything, but I push through. Davis wouldn’t ask if he didn’t mean it. He’s there in seconds, yanking on an apron and scooping the ruined chips directly into the bin. A drop of grease flies off the basket and hits my forearm. I hiss, wiping it off with a tea towel.
Davis looks horrified. “Shit. Are you okay?”
I wave a hand at him.
“I’m fine.” The stinging speckle is already lost in the constellation of grease burns I’ve accrued this past year. Although anyone without hospo experience might assume they’re freckles.
“Ada’s here,” he says, eyes still locked on my arm. “She’s—”
“I know.” I flip the top part of my apron down and storm out of the kitchen like I’m charging a battlefield. Ada doesn’t see me coming, but the rugby guys do. They smirk at me like they’ve just discovered fire.
“Are you the chef?” one of them asks.
I don’t respond. “Ada? I’m so glad you’re back. We’ve all been really worried about you.”
She turns to face me, eyes glassy, lips slick with gloss and tequila. Her smile is so empty it hurts my heart.
“Cece!” she claps her hands. “Look at you! So put-together! I love that for you.”
I am not put together. I am a panic attack in a tank top. The kitchen’s a furnace, my staff are one slow week from getting laid off, and my best friend is disintegrating in front of me. “Addy, listen to me, Jake’s on—”
“Hey,” one of the uni boys interrupts. “Did you know this is Ada Renaldo? The Christmas song chick?”
“Yes,” I snap, grabbing Ada’s arm and dragging her away from her new nursery school friends. “The fuck’s happening right now?” I whisper-shout.
“I’m fine,” she says, her eyes skimming past mine.
“You’re wasted.”
She flashes me a glittering grin. “But I’m also fine. I’ll say this for Thrasher Thompson—his coke’s real.”
My heart drops. Oh no. Oh no, no, no.
“Babe, what are you doing?”
Ada shrugs. “Taking back some power.”
“This isn’t going to help. You know that.”
She smiles her hollow smile. “Maybe. But that’s tomorrow's problem.”
I glance over my shoulder at the kitchen, aware I’ve left Davis holding the bag. I want to stay with Ada, but wherever she is right now, I can’t reach her.
“I’ve got to get back to work,” I say, gently. “We’ll talk later, okay? Just be careful, please. For me?”
She meets my eyes for a split second, then looks away. “Sure.”
Ice trickles down my spine. That’s a ‘no.’ But unless I have Davis crash-tackle her and lock her in the walk-in freezer, I’m out of options. I go back to the kitchen, buzzing with helpless energy. The kind that needs an outlet; fucking, fleeing, fighting.