Chapter Six
The next few days passed in a blur.
Alliyah asked for three days off and told herself it was because she needed rest.
That was not completely a lie. Her knee ached. Her body was tired. Her mind had been moving too fast for too long. Between the restaurant, her daughters, the new operations training, and the weight of rebuilding herself after the divorce, she had earned a few quiet days.
But rest was not the real reason.
Lewis Hamilton was.
The gas station man had a name now.
That made him worse.
Before, he had only been a memory. A tall, beautiful interruption at a cooler. A question she revisited when her mind wandered too far from safety.
Guava or peach?
She could handle a memory.
A memory stayed where she put it.
But Lewis was not a memory anymore. He was walking through the restaurant with a marketing folder under his arm, smiling at staff, learning systems, asking thoughtful questions, and passing by the kitchen far more often than any new marketing hire needed to.
That was a problem.
A serious one.
By the second day after he started, she had built an entire strategy around avoiding him: do not linger in the office, do not go to dry storage alone, do not make eye contact longer than necessary, do not laugh at anything he says, definitely do not look at his shoulders in those fitted shirts, and under no circumstances think about the way he typed guava into the ordering system like he had been waiting years to finish a sentence they never started.
She was proud of herself at first.
Truly proud.
Every time he passed the kitchen and she pretended to be busy, she counted it as a victory.
Every time she felt his eyes on her and did not turn around, she gave herself credit.
Every time he said, “Morning, Alliyah,” and she answered with a polite, professional “Morning” instead of letting her voice betray her, she felt like a woman with discipline.
A healed woman.
A safe woman.
A woman in control.
Except control had always been one of her favorite lies.
On her first day back, Mr. Jay called her into the office to review another part of the ordering system. Vendor reports, invoice approvals, slow-season projections — the kind of behind-the-scenes work she had once been intimidated by and now found herself enjoying.
Mr. Jay had chosen her for this.
Out of everyone.
That still meant something.
She had noticed the looks from some of the guys on the line. The little comments. The raised brows. The playful jabs that did not always feel playful.
“Oh, Chef Alliyah doing office work now?”
“Must be nice getting off the line.”
“Don’t forget us little people when you get promoted.”
There was a time she would have shrunk herself to make them comfortable. She would have laughed and said, “It’s nothing. Just boring computer work.” She would have downplayed the opportunity the way women sometimes did when they were afraid their growth would offend someone.
Not anymore.
Not fully, at least.
She still felt the urge. She still heard the old voice telling her to be humble, be small, do not make people jealous, do not let them think you are too proud.
But another voice had started growing inside her.
A quieter one.
Stronger.
Mr. Jay picked you.
Learn the system.
Take the room.
So when Austin made a joke about her becoming “corporate,” she looked at him over the pass and said, “Maybe. So make sure those plates are right before I start sending emails.”
The line burst out laughing.
Even Austin.
And Alliyah felt something inside her stand taller.
She was learning that confidence did not have to be loud.
Sometimes it was simply refusing to hand people the scissors to cut you down.
For three days, she managed to keep Lewis at a distance.
Mostly.
She saw him with Chef Simone near the host stand, reviewing promotional ideas for the slow season.
He was good — better than she wanted him to be.
He listened before he spoke. Asked questions that made people think.
Laughed easily, but not carelessly. He did not try to take over a room.
He just entered it with the kind of quiet certainty that made people turn toward him.
That irritated her.
It would have been easier if he were arrogant. Easier if he flirted with everyone. Easier if he proved her fear right.
But Lewis was steady.
Warm.
Focused.
And far too aware of her.
He passed by the kitchen ten times one afternoon.
Ten.
She counted.
The first time, he had a notebook. The second time, a coffee. The third time, nothing at all. By the fourth, she knew. By the fifth, she wanted to laugh. By the sixth, she wanted to throw something soft at him. By the seventh, her heart had betrayed her completely.
Still, she played her part.
Professional.
Reserved.
Untouchable.
Safe.
He never pushed. That was the worst part. He did not corner her or embarrass her or say something slick in front of the staff.
He simply looked at her like he remembered.
Like he knew the woman behind the chef coat had once answered guava with enough life in her voice to haunt him.
And she hated how much she wanted him to keep looking.
Near the end of service, she was in the office alone, updating vendor notes and pretending the cursor on the screen required every ounce of her attention.
A knock sounded against the open door.
She knew before she looked up.
“Busy?” Lewis asked.
Yes, she thought.
No, she thought.
Dangerously.
She kept her expression calm. “Depends on what you need.”
He stepped into the doorway, holding a folder against his side. Today he wore a white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms, like he had personally decided to make her healing journey more difficult.
“I need two minutes.”
“That sounds like marketing math.”
His mouth curved. “It might turn into three.”
She looked back at the screen because his smile was not helping. “What’s this about?”
“The wellness brunch campaign.”
“Talk to Chef Simone.”
“I did.”
“Mr. Jay?”
“Him too.”
“Then it sounds like you’re covered.”
“I’m missing one piece.”
She finally looked at him.
His eyes were already on her.
“What piece?”
“You.”
The room went too still.
She gave a small laugh, the kind women use when they need a second to recover without admitting they need one. “Me?”
“Yes.”
“For the campaign?”
“For the campaign,” he said.
But something in his voice made the words feel like they had another meaning underneath them.
She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “And what exactly do you need from me?”
He took one step closer.
Not enough to crowd her.
Just enough to change the air.
“We’re planning a tasting for the wellness brunch. Small group. Soft launch. Food, fitness, conversation. I think your dishes should be at the center of it.”
“My dishes are Chef Simone’s call.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you asking me?”
“Because I wanted to hear you say yes.”
Her breath moved wrong.
She looked down at the folder in his hand, then back at him. “You’re bold.”
“No,” he said, voice easy. “I’m intentional.”
That was worse.
Bold she could dismiss.
Intentional required attention.
She turned back to the computer. “I’ll look at the proposal.”
“I didn’t only come for the proposal.”
Of course he did not.
Her fingers paused on the keyboard.
Lewis leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. “Have dinner with me.”
She looked up so fast she almost hated herself for it.
“What?”
“Dinner,” he repeated. “With me.”
Her pulse jumped.
Absolutely not.
Absolutely yes.
No.
“Lewis.”
He smiled slightly. “I like when you say my name.”
“That was not an answer.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
She stared at him, trying to find the safest version of herself. The one who knew better. The one who remembered divorce papers, age differences, children, heartbreak, and the danger of wanting something she could not control.
“I don’t date coworkers,” she said.
“We don’t work in the same department.”
“That is not the point.”
“What is the point?”
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
The point was that he was too young.
Too handsome.
Too present.
Too capable of making her feel like the woman she had buried under responsibility was still breathing.
The point was that every time he looked at her, she remembered she had a body, not just a schedule.
The point was that hope had started tapping on the door, and she did not trust herself not to open it.
So she said the safest thing.
“I’m not interested.”
Lewis studied her, and for one terrible second she thought he might believe her.
Then his smile softened.
Not cocky.
Not offended.
Knowing.
“Okay,” he said.
She blinked. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
That should have relieved her.
It did not.
He stepped back from the doorway, but his eyes stayed on hers.
“I won’t ask again today.”
Today.
The word landed between them like a promise and a warning.
Then he glanced toward the desk, where the wellness brunch folder sat beside her keyboard.
“Oh,” he said, as if he had almost forgotten. “The tasting is Friday evening. Chef Simone wants you there.”
Her stomach tightened.
“Friday?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“I thought you said dinner.”
His smile finally showed teeth.
“I did.”
And before she could gather enough breath to answer, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone with the folder, her racing heart, and the horrifying realization that she had just said no to a man who had already found a way to make her show up anyway.