“I… I forgot my wallet,” I say, the heat rushing to my face.
The cashier sighs, long and suffering. “Do you have Apple Pay? A card on your phone?”
I check my pockets. My phone is dead. I forgot to charge it last night.
“Is there a problem, sir?” The manager, a man I’ve bought supplies from before, walks over.
“Robert,” I say, feeling like an amateur. “I left my wallet at the restaurant. I’m the chef from Blade & Butter down in Fox Hollow. Can I put this on a tab? I can send someone with the cash in an hour.”
Robert looks me up and down. He knows me. He’s eaten at the restaurant. “You’re good, Eli. Just get us the money by closing time.”
“Thank you. Seriously. I appreciate it.”
I bag the groceries myself, hurrying out to the car. The drive back feels twice as long. The silence in the car is no longer peaceful; it’s mocking me.
I’m scattered. I’m off my game. And it’s all because of the weird energy in the kitchen today.
When I pull up to the back of Blade & Butter, Fallon is out back having a cigarette. He waves me down as I get out of the car.
“You missed the excitement,” he says, exhaling a plume of smoke.
I grab two bags of groceries. “What excitement? Please tell me the kitchen didn’t burn down.”
“Close enough.” He follows me inside. “I think Knox is trying to kill your girl.”
What the hell does that even mean? “What?” I choke out.
“Amber had a run-in with the habaneros. Got the oil in her eye. Then she burned her arm on a roasting tray.”
My heart stumbles. “What? Is she okay? Where is she?”
“She’s fine. Knox patched her up. She’s in his office.” Fallon grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “She was a bit of a disaster, but she’s okay.”
I set the bags down on the steel counter with a heavy thud. “I should go see her.”
“I’d give it a minute,” Fallon advises, grabbing a bag of raspberries. “She was pretty embarrassed. I think she’s crying.”
“Crying?”
“Yeah. Knox was… intense about it.”
I frown. Knox is always intense, but usually, he’s distant. If he wasintensewith Amber, I need to know why. I wipe my hands on my apron and head for the office.
The door is closed. I knock softly.
“Amber? It’s Eli.”
“Come in,” she calls out. Her voice sounds thick, like she’s been crying.
I open the door. She’s sitting in the leather chair, her legs tucked up underneath her. One eye is red and puffy, watering uncontrollably. Her forearm is bandaged with a neat strip of gauze.
She looks small and defeated, a far cry from the capable woman who helped us crush the lunch rush yesterday.
I walk over, crouching down in front of her so I don’t loom over her. “Fallon told me what happened.”
She sniffles, looking away. “I was such an idiot. I touched my face. Then I burned myself. I’m just… I’m so tired, Eli. I feel like I can’t do anything right today.”
“Hey,” I say softly, reaching out to take her hand. Her fingers are cold. “You’re not an idiot. You’re exhausted. We all are. This happens.”
