Page 41 of The Promise Of You

On my way out of the kitchen I introduce myself to Eric, the kitchen prep guy, if our pay stubs are anything to go by. Eric is a young guy with skin problems and a clear fear of Samuel. He walked into our conversation and has kept his head down the whole time, shoulders hunched.

Then I almost literally bump into a young woman in chef garb, and that would be Corine, our sous-chef. Corine is red and out of breath. She barely glances at me and beelines for Samuel. “Fudge, Chef, I’m sorry, won’t happen again. Daycare wouldn’t take Theo with a fever and Mom—”

“Strike three and you’re out,” Samuel cuts her, jaw clenching.

“Yes, Chef.”

“The boss here,” he says with a smirk my way, “is pissed about last weekend. So I guess that means no more leaving early for you guys.”

Eric and Corine both startle at his comment, widening their eyes at him like you would when someone is blatantly lying but you can’t call them out on it.

I’m pissed and uneasy and not sure how to handle all this. I can’t stand Samuel, but I need a chef. I need him to run his kitchen professionally, but I can’t undermine his authority in front of the staff.

I introduce myself to Corine, we exchange a brief handshake and a small smile, and I leave it at that.

For now, I need to ride this out. Make some cash. I hope I made my point with Samuel.

I still put out a job offer for a chef on a couple of specialized websites. Then I pay some of the bills to keep the providers happy, and call Aunt Dawn to lie about what a wonderful time I’m having.

My next call is for my cousin. “I don’t know how to put it other than, the restaurant is in the red. Pretty bad. Defaulting on payments.”

“Shit,” Brendan mutters.

“There’s no reason an establishment like that can’t do well in a place like Emerald Creek. There might be some tweaks needed,” I add, thinking about the sad décor. “And I need to investigate our costs.”

“What should I tell Mom?”

“Nothing until I know more. There’s no point alarming her until I can offer solutions.” For some reason I hold off on bringing up Chef Samuel’s attitude. I’m still hesitating between looking for a new chef right away and figuring out what’s wrong here. And there’s the fact that Aunt Dawn pointed out that Uncle Kevin relied entirely on him. I can’t just barge in guns blazing and fire the first person who crosses me.

Brendan grumbles something unintelligible, then says, “Makes sense.”

After we hang up, there’s still two hours to go before opening. I head to the cottage and take a shower and slip on my favorite little black dress. I tie my hair in a loose bun, strap on my three-inch heels and add a discreet gold bracelet and thin gold hoops to the clover pendant I always wear. Then I do my eyes a little smoky and my lips a little glossy.

I need the staff and the customers to believe the place is in good hands.

I pull into the back parking lot, close to the restaurant’s employee entrance. A door to the right opens, and Moose steps out of what must be the pub’s loading dock. I avoid looking that way, expecting to see Justin right behind him.

I slide out of my car, keep my head down, and hurry my steps. A warm and moist bump lifts my elbow. “Hey, buddy,” I whisper.

Moose whines.

“Yeah, I know.” I can’t help but pause a second to plop a kiss on his muzzle and give him a behind-the-ears scratch.

Then I half-run inside and slide into the office to calm my heartbeat.

“I can’t run tickets. The POS is glitching,” Abby, our server, says as she passes me, carrying four plates at once. She stops for just a beat to make sure I understand what she’s saying, then delivers her food to the back of the room.

Crap. The… what? Right. Point Of Sale. “Ok—what… what would you normally do?” I look around for help. Abby is already back in the kitchen. David, the bartender, is mixing two drinks at once.

Shoshana, our tall, thin, blonde and by all other accounts perfect hostess, lifts her shoulders. “Last time, we just cancelled people.”

David seems to listen in, but he says nothing.

Cancel people? “Why?”

“Because… we can’t track orders, and run food—”

“What’s wrong with paper pads?” They had restaurants before the internet.

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