Page 7 of Roses in Summer

Asking her out today was one step toward figuring it out because she’s burrowed under my skin, and I can’t find it in me to be bothered.

Ava will probably kill me when she finds out I’m trying to pursue something with her younger sister, but I’m not sure I care.

Shaking my head, I refocus on my drive and weave through the city blocks. Of all the places I’ve ever been, I’ve never loved New York. The congestion, the competing smells, the desperation leaking from tourists’ pores to see sites made famous by movies and television, it’s repelling. But I know there’s no other food or culture like that in New York. In what other city can you get the best fucking halal—for five dollars—right outside a restaurant selling a gold-foil cheeseburger for forty-five bucks? I’m privileged to be here and lucky to have the opportunity to work in one of the most sought-after restaurants in the city. But I’d be blind if I didn’t recognize the deficiencies of the city that lure so many in.

Navigating my car down 39th Street, I cut across Sixth Avenue and pull into the underground garage where I rent a daily spot. I pay a small fortune to keep my car in a prime spot, one far enough away from other vehicles and traffic.

Nodding at the attendant after I pull into the spot, I take the elevator to the street level and pull out my phone, dialing my dad’s number as I walk to the back alley of Garganello’s. I could walk through the service door, but I prefer to be unbothered when I come into work, not waste time on pleasantries with the hostesses or inquisitive looks from customers passing by the coat check.

The phone rings once before my dad’s voice booms out on the other end of the line.

“Son.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“Don’t you have work today? Is everything okay?”

I snort at his worried tone. “Yeah, I’m walking in now. I don’t have much time, but I wanted to see if you could help me get a reservation at your clients’ sports complex?” The new sports and activity center just opened and has been nearly impossible to get into.

“The one with the golf simulator and indoor roller coaster?”

I nod even though he can’t see me. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

My dad is silent, forcing me to stop walking and look at my phone to make sure the call didn’t drop. “Dad?”

“How many people are you planning on bringing?”

“Just one.”

“Who’s the lucky lady, Linc?”

I laugh, knowing that my dad is trying to be as diplomatic as possible while still sniffing out the information. “Her name is Seraphina.”

“How’d you meet?”

“Dad,” I groan. “Can we do this later? I just wanted to see if you would be able to help. Any weekend is fine, if they’re able to squeeze us in.”

“We’ll talk about this later, Lincoln. And don’t think I won’t tell your mother that you’re taking a young lady on a date.” His southern drawl fills my ear and I grimace at the interrogation I’m going to get from my mom after she finds out about this.

“Fine. I’ll talk to you later.” I wait for my dad to hang up before I pocket my phone and open the back door of the restaurant.

Sliding into the locker room, I open my cubby and change into the black chef’s pants, black T-shirt, and white apron that comprise my uniform. Slamming the door closed, I shut off thoughts of Seraphina, her asshole ex, and what the fuck is going on between them.

—

“Jesus, I’m beat.” Gemma, one of the hostesses, groans as she throws her body in the chair beside mine. The kitchen just closed, and tables in the front of the room are being moved out to make space for the dance floor. During the day and evening, Garganello’s is a high-end Italian restaurant, but at ten o’clock, the restaurant transforms into an upscale nightclub. The kitchen staff fucking love it since it means our last seating for dinner is eight-thirty, though the bartenders serve until the early morning hours.

I look over at the perky, raven-haired beauty and offer my best semblance of a smile. My mind has been on Sera the entire goddamn night, even though I tried to compartmentalize our interaction earlier. Based on Gemma’s reaction, my face must look pained.

“Is that supposed to be a smile?”

“Fuck off, Gem.”

She laughs, a lighthearted sound that bounces around the room. There’s no mystery surrounding her—she’s beautiful, bubbly, and has the energy of a toddler with a sugar high.

“I’d rather fuck you,” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows. This line of conversation isn’t new; Gemma isn’t shy when it comes to sex. She’s had hookups and relationships with half the staff here, though they always end amicably and on good terms. She doesn’t seem to take much seriously, though if you don’t leave food for her at family meal, she turns fucking feral.

I heard from Owen, her last boyfriend, that Gemma landed a modeling contract, so I don’t doubt that she’ll be leaving this place soon to pursue other shit. But still, as beautiful and spirited as she is, I’m not interested.

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