Page 1 of That Kind of Guy

1

Avery

“Avery,Table Four doesn’t like their entrées, and they want to speak to the manager.”

I looked up from the desk of my tiny office. The restaurant’s bartender, Max, leaned against the doorframe in the black jeans and black t-shirt that the serving staff always wore.

“Is something wrong with the food?” I asked. We didn’t often get complaints. Our chef was incredible. The kitchen staff was a great team. The entire staff was top tier, from servers to hosts to dishwashers. I had hired most of them.

Max shook his head.

I leaned back in my chair. “Tourists?”

He nodded.

I stood. “It’s okay, I’ve got it.”

“Are you going to comp their meals?” He stepped back and followed me from my office to the restaurant.

I smiled at him over my shoulder. “Sure am.”

“Why?”

Just before we turned the corner into the restaurant, I stopped. I had hired Max last summer as a server and noticed our bartender teaching him how to make different drinks after the restaurant closed. He was in his early twenties, had lots of energy, and was eager to learn, so I asked the bartender to spend a few minutes training him every shift until Max was able to work full shifts behind the bar. I’d never admit this to the rest of the staff but Max was my favorite. He was great with customers, everyone liked working with him, and he had a genuine interest in learning the restaurant business. Tonight, he was stepping in to help with a few tables.

“Max, our purpose is to deliver a delightful experience to every customer who walks through that door. This is where people come for a break, to celebrate, to catch up with old friends or to try a new dish.” In the hallway before the dining room, I could already hear the warm ambient hum of the full restaurant, filled with people eating and talking and laughing.

That sound? It made my heart happy. It made me feel like I was doing something good for the world.

“We want every single person who walks through that door to have the best damn meal while they visit Queen’s Cove, and if I lose a hundred bucks to comp their meals,” I shrugged, “that’s okay with me. It’s not worth it to piss off the customers.”

It wasn’tmyhundred bucks to lose, since it wasn’t my restaurant. I was just the manager. One day, though.

He raised an eyebrow, and I grinned at his skepticism.

“Maybe they’re entitled,” I told him. “Or maybe they’re just having a bad day. Maybe they got a flat tire on the way into town, they got to their hotel late, and they’re starving.” I gave him my most convincing smile. “Maybe we can turn their day around. We’re going to kill them with kindness.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “We’re going to absolutelyburythem with our sparkling personalities.”

“This is morbid. You always take this analogy too far.”

“Once they see how passionate we are?” I put my fist to my chest in mock-agony. “They’re going to be rolled out the door in bodybags.”

He pointed at me. “Yep, there it is. Alright, you’re the boss. Thanks for handling it.”

“Anytime. I’ve got your back.” I walked out into the restaurant, taking in the packed house.

It was just after eight at night, and every table was full. The restaurant overlooked the harbor of Queen’s Cove. On a clear night, the sunset would wash brilliant pinks and oranges and yellows splashed across the sky, but tonight, clouds rolled in and rain began to trickle down. It had been sunny all day, but once in a while, these summer storms rolled in. I chewed my lip, glancing around at the busy restaurant. Hopefully it was just a little rain tonight, and no wind.

“Hi, I’m Avery Adams, the manager of The Arbutus,” I introduced myself to the unhappy-looking family of four. The two boys were sulking and fidgeting, one was trying to pull the others’ hair, and they wore the expressions of kids who had just been told off. “Let me grab these plates out of your way.” I passed the plates to a passing server before placing the coloring pages and crayons on the table in front of the boys. They immediately stopped fighting with each other and turned to the pages.

The parents were in their late thirties, and just as I had suspected, they looked exhausted and irritated. Both of their jaws were set like they expected a fight.

“I am so sorry that your meals were not as you expected. Wow,” I said, my gaze catching on the woman’s bright red shoulder. “That sunburn looks like it hurts. Can I bring you some aloe for that?”

She blinked, and her irritation lifted a fraction. “Um, sure.” She hesitated. “We stopped by the general store, but they were closed.” She gestured outside where the rain was coming down harder, and a grumpy look came over her face. “And now it’s raining on our holiday.”

“They closed early tonight because it’s the owners’ wedding anniversary. I’ll go get you some aloe, but in the meantime, are there any other entrées that look interesting to you? They’ll be comped this evening, for the inconvenience,” I said with a sweet smile.

The husband looked confused and then looked at his menu. “We were wishing we ordered the pizzas. The Margherita and the meatball pizzas.”

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