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Looking remorseful, he nodded.
“You like the sandwich?” I asked.
He stared at me. “Uh, yeah. It was real good.”
“You want another?”
“I could eat another.”
“Then you’ll get it,” I said, wanting one more myself.
I headed back inside, made two more sandwiches, and returned with both. After the sandwiches were eaten and the wood was cut and stacked, I got cleaned up, telling Dom we were done for the day.
And when I reminded him of my offer, he confirmed what I already knew.
“Like I said,” I began. “You wanna give me a hand with things over here, you’re welcome to that. I gotta lot of work that needs to be done.”
Dominic stopped at the back of my bike and took the helmet I held out, doing this while smiling. “Yeah, okay, cool,” he said. “This was fun. Well, not fun fun, but yeah, you know, it was good. Thanks.”
It was good.
Meaning, it had worked.
Demolition kicked serious fucking ass.
Toeing the kickstand down, I cut the engine and swung off the bike after Dominic climbed off.
“Are you gonna be helping Shay out until my parents get back?” he asked, handing over the helmet.
I hung it on the handlebars. “If she needs it, yeah.”
“How come?”
“What do you mean how come? I just said—if she needs it.” I stuffed my keys into my pocket and stalked toward the back door.
Dom caught up and filed in beside me. He snorted.
I looked over at him. “What?”
He shook his head.
“What?” I repeated.
“Nothing. Just…well, she didn’t ask for your help yesterday,” he pointed out. “I’m not sure she really needed it.”
My eyes narrowed into a glare. He was right. I didn’t need that shit pointed out to me either. I was aware of it. Still, hearing it out loud was a fucking kick to the balls.
“Shut up,” I growled, reaching the back door to Whitecaps and throwing it open.
Dominic snorted again before rushing in ahead of me.
I clocked in and washed up at the sink, then stepped into the kitchen where J.R. was leaning over the worktop, wiping off the edge of a plate.
“I amaze myself sometimes,” he muttered, straightening and throwing the rag over his shoulder. “Boom. Look at that.” He gestured at the plate.
“It’s a burger,” I commented, grabbing a ticket off the holder.
“It’s a bomb-ass burger,” J.R. replied. “This thing is fancy as shit. Avocado relish. A little cilantro. I got some alfalfa sprouts on there…”
I quit listening to J.R. list ingredients off a burger we made every fucking day here and looked out into the restaurant.
Dominic and Shayla were talking, and whatever Dominic said to her had Shayla sticking her tongue out at him and ruffling his hair. She looked happy. They both did—they were smiling and laughing. Then Dominic slid into the booth his brother was seated at and picked up a menu. Shayla looked between the two of them, then lifted her head and met my gaze.
I cut my eyes away and looked over at J.R. He was still going.
“…toasted whole wheat bun. Peppered greens. Come on. This is a high-class masterpiece right here. This shit will be all over Instagram. You watch.” He slid the plate onto the ledge and stuck a ticket beside it, sighing.
“Quit looking at that thing like you wanna fuck it,” I said.
J.R.’s eyes lit up. “Hey, that was a joke. You made a joke!” He slapped my shoulder.
“I hear he makes tons of jokes.”
I looked through the window again and watched Kali smile at me as she slid the plate off the ledge.
I make tons of jokes? Who the fuck would…
Standing at a table now, Shayla was talking to an older couple. She stuck her pen behind her ear, smiled, and pointed at the menu the man was holding as she continued speaking.
Right. She thought I was funny. But I wasn’t, so what the fuck?
“This burger looks amazing, J.R. Nice job,” Kali said before stepping away with it.
“See? Bomb-ass burger made by a bomb-ass cook. Told you,” he said. Then he spun around and stepped up to the grill.
“Hey.”
Shayla’s voice turned my head.
“You got my note, I see,” she said, hopping up onto the counter and tacking up the ticket she’d just written out.
“What?”
“The ticket you’re holding. I didn’t have any stationery with me, so it was either that or a napkin.” She gestured at my hand.
That was when I looked at the ticket I’d pulled down, not even having so much as glanced at it before.
In heavily outlined handwriting, my name was written at the top of the ticket in bold black. And below that, a thank-you—scripted in purple ink—with Shayla’s name at the bottom. That was in written purple too.
“You had this waitin’ for me?” I asked, looking up at her.
Another note. She was giving me another note, when all she needed to do was fucking say the words to me. Or don’t say them. Whatever. I didn’t need Shayla thanking me for shit. I hadn’t done what I did expecting anything in return. I never expected a damn thing from anybody.
