Page 98 of On the Line

“No.”

Turning around, I march out of Mignon, shaking with adrenaline, not once looking back.

A few hours later,I’m still on a high from standing up to my mother as I stroll into the Orso kitchen.

“Is Ozzy around?” I ask one of the bussers.

“Smoking.”

I give him a thanks from over my shoulder and open the back door.

As expected, Ozzy is near the dumpsters, wearing his unbuttoned chef’s jacket, a cigarette tucked between two fingers.

His face lights up when he sees me but quickly a dark shadow passes over his expression and his smile drops.

“Hey, Jimbo.” His voice is a little too neutral. “Forgot you were working tonight.”

Feels like you forgot about me altogether this week.

I don’t give voice to my anxiety but feel rattled nonetheless.

Something is definitely up.

Stepping closer, I smile. I have the reflex to go for a kiss but something stops me.

“Happy to see me?” I say hesitantly.

Blowing the smoke into the air, his eyes soften, but his overall demeanor stays distant. A foreboding chill skitters down my spine.

“Of course, I’m happy to see you,” he says. Taking my hand, his thumb strokes the top but he keeps distance between us. “I’ve just been … busy.” After only a few seconds he drops it. Flicking his half-smoked cigarette onto the ground, he says, “Anyway, I got to get back to it.”

He goes back inside with barely a glance my way.

What the hell?

Feeling unnerved and dismissed, I stay outside while I try to regulate my unwanted emotions.

When has Ozzy ever acted this way?

And why now? When we finally admitted that we’re dating.

A malignant thought slips in unannounced.

What if he’s been playing me all along?

Maybe the chase was more exciting than the real commitment.

I huff a long sigh, rolling my eyes at the sky. No way. I’m not about to entertain such a paranoid train of thought—not after weeks of nothing but kindness.

Somethingmustbe going on.

Deciding to table this until after the shift, I head back in to start on my side duties.

“What the hellis going on with Ozzy?” Michelle asks as she sits beside me so she can give me a hand rolling cutlery.

“Why?”

I don’t know why I’m asking.

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