Page 8 of A Sip of Sin

“Oh,” said Adair. “My grandma took me there once for high tea. I honestly don’t remember much about it at all.” He furrowed his forehead in thought while licking a drop of chocolate from his lower lip. “I was only a few years old, but I remember her dragging me there. I think it was good, but I never really thought about going back.” He shrugged.

That was what Hollen pictured when he thought about high tea—a group of older ladies or rich folks with fascinators in their hair, sipping overpriced tea and eating little treats at two o’clock in the afternoon. “It’s the opposite of what I expected—and the hours are weird. It won’t be my first stint working nights, though.”

The last one…no, he didn’t want to think about that. Even Adair had realized how miserable he was after two half-asleep shifts with only power naps sustaining him.

Adair screwed up his face. “We’re getting pretty desperate, aren’t we.” It wasn’t a question. Their tiny apartment was a testament to exactly how much they had in their shared bank account. They’d set it up as soon as they’d moved in together, pooling their money until they both got their feet under them.

It went quiet as Adair looked to his lap, clutching his hands together. “I could ask my grandma. We can keep looking for a cheaper place or maybe downsize to a one bedroom. We sleep in the same room or on the couch half the time, anyway.” Hebrushed his hair from his face. “I know you don’t want to hear it, Hollen, but I could quit—”

“Don’t.” Hollen held out his hand, cutting off his friend. He tried to keep his anger at bay. “If you give up dancing, I’ll never forgive you or myself. All these shitty shifts will be for nothing, and it won’t be so bad—you’ll see. It was pretty fancy in this tea place, so maybe I’ll find us a sugar Daddy. We could share, or take turns, making him fall for us and hand over all his money.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

Adair spluttered. “Ifyou’rethat sugar Daddy, then I’m game. I’m done with men for a while.” He leaned in, placing a brief kiss on Hollen’s lips. “You’re already sweet, so now you just need scads of cash.”

Hollen chuckled, snuggling close to Adair carefully so he didn’t disturb the small piles of candy he’d created. He slipped all the purple ones into his mouth, chomping down. “I’m a man. Are you done with me?”

Money was one thing he rarely had to worry about, because he never had any to begin with. At least Adair’s grandma had helped him out with school, but Hollen didn’t want to take advantage of such a nice lady and ask for any more handouts. When they’d moved to the city together, it was so far away from her that he rarely saw her anymore.

“Never.” Adair rested his chin on top of Hollen’s head, reaching over him and grasping a few Smarties from each pile. “Do you think you’ll like this new place?”

My boss is a huge asshole, the hours suck, and the uniform looks absolutely atrocious.Hollen held back a sigh. “It’s going to be awesome.”

Chapter Five

Hollen

This is terrible.

It had started with a uniform that was at least a size too big. The cuffs of the pure white jacket hung past his knuckles, catching on everything from plates to silverware. They had already caused a massive spill, sending an entire pot of tea to the floor to splash across the polished wood in a steaming river.

The rose-tinted brown smudge that he’d caught against the chest was never coming out, and Munro hadn’t allowed him back out on the floor after the first debacle. It had only been a trial run before any patrons had arrived, but Hollen had struck out with two left feet and a bundle of nerves.

Thank goodness I caught the teacups.He had a feeling that they were worth a lot more than he was. Another blessing was that other than himself, Munro, and the chef, the place was deserted so far.

It didn’t help his embarrassment when George started cackling, the deep sound bouncing off the inside of his skull. He’d only heard George laugh a handful of times, but this one was the worst by far. A few comedies on television had had a similar reaction, but at least Hollen had been laughing along with him that time.

“Shut up,” Hollen hissed under his breath, pulling his shirt away from his body and trying to get the stained spots off underthe running tap of warm water. He was almost soaked, with water dripping from the edges of his jacket and into his similarly stained pants, some landing on the kitchen floor and streaming along the grout lines of the soft, white tile.

“Are you going to insist on making even more of a mess back here than you did at the front of the house?” asked Munro. He was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed and his jaw set. There was a dirty and soaked towel in his hand, presumably from cleaning the mess Hollen had left.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off Hollen—not even for a moment. The glare that followed him from one space to the next was unreadable and unwavering, making his hands shake and his mouth dry.

“No, sir,” said Hollen, shutting the water off and squeezing what he could from the fabric. Diluted brown water dripped into the sink, leaving splotches of color against the stainless steel. When he let go, the shirt hung as a wrinkled mess, still stained but now soaked and probably ruined beyond repair. “I hope this isn’t dry clean only.”

“It was,” said Munro, letting out a sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose before mumbling something under his breath that Hollen didn’t catch.

Hollen smoothed his shirt the best he could, wincing at the final result. “What was that?”

The chef was busy at work a few feet away with one earbud in his ear. Munro hadn’t introduced them, and the man hadn’t said a word. Hollen had caught a few curious gazes, though, and one snort when Hollen had first rushed into the kitchen sans teapot.

“Can you sous-chef?” Munro gave him another look. “Never mind. If you can’t handle boiled water then I dread to see what you would do with a knife. You’re on dish duty until further notice.”

What am I doing with my life?Hollen’s knuckles gave a pang of protest, the skin flaring from the short dunking in warm water. There was no amount of lotion in the world that would repair what a few weeks had done. “I can work a dishwasher. No problem.”

He hadn’t spotted the usual dish set up with the solid metal box lowered by the bar that would wash a hundred dishes in minutes. But there had to be more to the kitchen. The parts he’d seen were almost tiny, with just enough space for the chef and one more person. Every available counter was filled, and each oven poured out more heat each time it was opened.

Munro smirked, lifting the corner of his lips. “We only hand wash here.” He grasped a plate from the nearby counter, holding it up. The gold rim still shimmered, the intricate details etched like nothing Hollen had ever seen except for the pot he had shattered. “These are worth more than you could fathom.”

Hollen wilted, trying not to slouch his shoulders. Running a dishwasher was terrible enough, but hand washing was beyond imagination. The night before had been packed with people all drinking from similar fancy dishes. His hands would be fried by the end of one shift.

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