21. Nick
21
NICK
“ I think it’s a piss-poor thing to do to yourself,” Phoebe said, patting me on the back.
I didn’t bother to look over to her. “What?” I asked. My gaze stuck to the bar across the street. They reopened their doors on New Year's Eve and the people hadn’t stopped flocking to it for the last two weeks.
My jaws tightened, trying to remind myself that our rebranding and reopening were going to come in almost one month. We’d close down soon, and the big changes were going to be made.
I tried.
It didn’t work very well.
My fingers bunched into a fist as I watched Kendra and another guy walk into the bar as well. If I didn’t know her so damn well, I’d have said she was living her best life and had completely forgotten about tormenting me, the people she used to employ, and the restaurant. But the special way she tossed her hair to the side and snuck a peek over her shoulder at the restaurant told me she was fucking with me and that she hoped I was watching.
I hated that I knew her so well.
“Hey—” Phoebe clapped her hands in front of my face. I rolled my eyes and looked at her. “Try to focus. They’re going to be new and shiny until we are new and shiny, and then we’ll make everyone look like a fool who tried to screw around with us, alright?” she said.
She was right. I didn’t need to keep staring out the window, but we were so slow right now. I hated to look around the restaurant. No one was here.
It gave me a sinking feeling in my gut and my thoughts then bounced to Julia. We didn’t have our weekly meeting this week, and as much as I hated to admit it, I missed seeing her. Even if she wasn’t interested in me, she still brought a freshness and light to the place that wasn’t there before her.
I grunted and turned from the window.
“Good, Chef,” Phoebe said and placed her arm around my shoulder. She walked me away from the window like she was walking me away from a ledge. I shook her off.
“I’m not a child, nor am I someone who is close to offing themselves. Leave me alone,” I grunted and went to walk into the kitchen when the door opened. We both turned to see a smaller, older man with a derby cap on.
He reminded me of my grandfather when my grandfather was alive.
“Go do your job,” I snipped with less annoyance than I'd had only a moment ago. A new customer meant I got to cook, and I was always happiest in the kitchen.
I walked through the door and looked at John and the other line cooks moving around. The air was lighter than it was in the dining room, which wasn’t anything unusual, which was one of the reasons I liked it so much better back there.
“Ticket in!” Phoebe called, pointing to the screen.
“Did you really think we wouldn’t see it?” I walked over to the smart pad and ripped the ticket from the tape and turned. “Get out of here,” I said. I placed my hand on her shoulder and started pushing her toward the door.
“God, when did you get so bossy?” she grunted, fighting against me and holding back laughter because there was no way she would win against me even if we were fighting for real. She was short and had no muscle mass. Plus, she always said she wanted to take self-defense but never had.
Maybe if she ever did, I’d worry, but now, I pushed her out the door into the dining area easily. “Go work. Do your duty and get that customer any shit he wants.”
Phoebe turned and placed her hands on her hips. “It’s nice to see you’re cheering up because I told you to,” she said.
I shook my head and closed my eyes. “I’m not even responding to the comment,” I said.
I pushed the kitchen door separating the two rooms closed and heard her call, “That was a response!”
I didn’t turn back, but I did flip her off.
I could hear her laughter echo through the kitchen, and although it was quiet, it also gave me a lighter feeling than I had when I walked in to start cooking. I appreciated that, and I’d have to tell Phoebe thank you once service was completed for the night. Or I might not, depending on how annoying she was when we closed for the night.
I walked over to the table and called out the order for the chefs on the line, and the kitchen flared to life.
After we sent out a few dishes, I stuck my head out the kitchen door watching Phoebe walk to the customer with another drink. “Psst,” I called. She stopped and turned, raising her brow at me.
“What’s up, Chef?”
“When do you think I should go chat with the customer?”
“Why?” She took a step forward. “There’s no one else in here. Don’t you think that will look odd?”
“You’re helping Michael serve him,” I whispered.
“Yes, I’m giving him plenty of attention.” She looked at me sternly. “If we bombard him with all of our people, we’ll look suspicious and weird, and then we really will blow the new opening because the head chef is a creepy dude,” she said.
“It’s just one night, Phoebe. We’re busy other nights,” I said, wishing I sounded more confident now. Her words freaked me the fuck out.
“Fine, if—and that’s if—he asks to speak with the chef, I’ll come and get you.” She turned to walk away but stopped. “And I won’t prompt him to speak with the chef. Again, that would be weird. We’re trying to convey we’re normal, everyday people-types who aren’t socially awkward because they think their restaurant is failing when it isn’t, got it?”
“Yes,” I said, not admitting defeat about talking with the customer but wanting her to get on with it so the guy didn’t see us standing in a dark corner constantly checking over our shoulders at him.
That really would be weird.
I walked back through the kitchen door and didn’t look through the window like I really wanted, so that was something, I thought.
Phoebe came into the kitchen about twenty minutes later with disbelief splashed over her face. “He wants to talk to you,” she said, shaking her head. “I did not talk him into this, nor did he hear us talking. But he did ask for you specifically,” she said.
“Like by name and everything?” I asked, not bothering to hide my shock. Most customers didn't know the names of the owners of restaurants, let alone the chef.
“Yes,” she said and held the door open for me.
I grabbed a hand towel and wiped my hands, walking into the dining room. I threw the towel over my shoulder as Phoebe whispered, “Don’t be weird!”
I didn’t look back at her to give her the dirty look I wanted to, but I already knew she knew what my face looked like.
“Hello,” I said, walking up to the table, offering the man my hand.
“Hello, Nick. It’s very nice to meet you. I am Jack Ricky,” he started.
The food critic.
“Oh,” I balked. “I was told you were coming here on the twelfth of February.”
Jack pointed to the chair across from him. He pulled out his phone and looked at it while scrolling. “No, sir. I received an email earlier this week asking me to come today. I made a special trip out for it.” He looked at the phone again and gave a nod. “Yes, from Ms. Julia Day,” he said.
He didn’t show me his phone for me to see the email, but really, it didn’t matter. I don’t know why Julia would've done that. “Maybe she meant for you to come on both days to taste the difference?” I suggested, but he shook his head.
“The difference of what?” Jack asked, tucking his phone back into his coat pocket.
“This concept, as it stands right now, is changing within the next two months. We’re rebranding. We’re getting a new menu, a new everything, pretty much,” I said as I attempted to dig myself out of the confusion. “Ms. Day explained that you were going to be coming on February twelfth for the soft opening. There must have been some kind of mistake.” I said the thought out loud, but I wasn’t talking to Jack, not really.
Jack looked at his notes. “That would be interesting. What is your new concept?” he asked. He perched his pen over his notepad and seemed genuinely interested.
“It’s going to be an elevated casual restaurant. Think family-style Italian.”
“That does sound promising. As it stands right now…” he said. Jack’s eyes ran over his notes, and I could kill Phoebe for not noticing he was writing things down. “The food is delicious and the ambiance is nice, but the prices are a bit steep.” I couldn’t roll my eyes because he was looking at me, but I wanted to.
That was the same thing Julia said to me, and it only reinforced everything I already knew.
I didn't know what the fuck was wrong with me. Letting Kendra run shit seemed to ruin everything in my life. I shook my head to continue listening to Jack.
“I must be honest. The restaurant review, as it stands with the cost, the ambience, and the location atmosphere, none of it fits together,” he said. He placed his glasses on the rim of his nose. “I’m sorry. I won’t be able to come back on February twelfth. I'm a busy man. I can't entertain every invitation. Most restaurants only see me once." He pushed his chair back.
“The paper I’m sending it to will pay for the meal, so you don’t have to worry about eating the cost,” he said, chuckling at his joke. He handed me his card. “Your staff was lovely. And I did want to think higher of the restaurant,” he said.
I nodded absentmindedly as he continued to say other things I couldn’t pay attention to. I tapped his card on my palm and gave him a wan smile. “I’ll run this for you and get back to you soon.”
My brain didn’t know what direction to go in. There were too many things swimming in it, from the mistaken date to what the critic said.
Had I just let myself get too wrapped up in Julia personally that I didn’t see her shortcomings? Was she not as good at her job as I thought she was? Or was I just reading too much into this?
I couldn’t imagine that she would purposefully try to sabotage the restaurant.
But a flash of anger sliced through my thoughts when my mind rested on it. What if she was more like Kendra than I thought?