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17
NOLAN
Istop by the restaurant after practicing with the guys. Even though this place was supposed to be an outlet for my desire to cook, I’ve been spending most of my time in the dining room lately.
There’s no point pretending I’m not avoiding the kitchen because of Mia.
If she’d just yell at me again or something, maybe I could take it. It’s worse than that, though.
She acts like nothing is wrong. It’s like I simply stopped existing to her as more than a background character. I’m just a fucking extra to her now and she can’t be bothered to spare me more than a word or two in passing.
It pisses me off, but I try not to let it show.
Outside of things with Mia, the restaurant is doing as well as I could’ve hoped. We’re booked out completely, most nights. Word is spreading pretty fast about the food, and we’ve been getting featured in some smaller publications about restaurants online and even a few in print. Zander has been over the moon about it. The stubborn part of me has been more reserved about it, partly just because I don’t like being on the same page as that asshole. Being pissed that Mia is giving me the cold shoulder doesn’t help, either.
I check in with the head server, Hailey, when I arrive for the evening. She’s a no-nonsense woman in her forties and she has waited tables in fine dining since her teens. She has her short brown hair pulled back as she quickly explains there is a bit of problem tonight.
“What is it?” I ask.
She discreetly tips her head in the direction of a table where a guy in his early thirties is sitting. He has blonde hair with a kind of Scandinavian look to him between the pale skin and sharp features. He also keeps turning in his chair to look toward the kitchen.
“I guess he’s an ex boyfriend of Mia’s,” she says. “He keeps asking for her to come out because he wants to complain about his meal. Zander went out instead and told him he’d be happy to make it fresh, but the guy is insisting on talking to Mia herself.”
My blood goes hot. “Is that right?” I ask through my teeth. “And we haven’t thrown his ass out, yet?”
“Mia asked us to just ignore him,” Hailey says. “She said he’ll get bored and leave on his own, eventually.”
“Fuck that.” I’m already walking toward the table.
“Is there a problem?” I ask.
The guy looks up at me. A touch of the shit-eating confidence on his face slips, and it’s satisfying as hell. “Yeah,” he says. “My food tasted like shit. I want to talk to the chef who made it.”
“This is my restaurant. You can talk to me.”
“I want to talk to Mia.”
“Not happening.”
The guy laughs in disbelief. “I thought the customer was always right?”
“Want to know an industry secret?” I say, lowering my voice and bringing my face closer to him. “The customer usually doesn’t know what they’re talking about. They order their steak well-done and complain it’s dry. They try to use coupons that are five years expired. Sometimes,” I add, locking eyes with him. “The customer even thinks he has a right to demand that a member of my staff stop what she’s doing to come talk to him.”
“I’m not leaving until she comes,” he says flatly.
“You sure about that?” I ask.
He stares back at me for a few seconds, then his face goes a shade more pale. Maybe he’s taking in the size difference between us and realizing I might actually be seriously threatening to drag him out of here.
“You should be careful,” he says. He sounds a touch less confident than before, but there’s still a kind of snide confidence in his words, like he’s used to getting his way. “My father works in the industry. I’m pretty sure he could make you regret pissing me off.”
“Somehow, I doubt that,” I say, gesturing brisky for him to get up. “You can walk out, or I can drag you. It’s your choice.”
The guy scoffs and stands abruptly, making a scene as his chair scrapes loudly in the small dining room. “You’ll regret this.”
“Sure,” I say, giving him a little shove on his back to get him moving.
I let out a long breath, then I notice Mia watching me from the entrance to the kitchen. I can’t read her expression.
