Besides, she’s good. She’ll learn. She can fill the gap in the line, right now, and that’s what matters.
“If you don’t want it, there are many who’d give anything to trial as my sous chef.” I yawn, pretending a casualness I don’t feel.
“It’s a trial?” Suspicion sharpens her tone.
“Every employee has a three-month tryout. Consider your probation period as interviewing on the job." I nod toward the empty station that belonged to Miller.
She looks at the counter longingly. Then back at me. Her chin lifts a fraction.
There’s a challenge in her demeanor. She’s daring me to…say something that’ll convince her to stay.
But if I seem overeager, she’s bound to walk away. So, I go with my natural response.
“Yes or no, Richie?” I glance at the clock above the pass.
It’s next to a sign that declares:
EVERY SECOND COUNTS
Which is next to my personal favorite sign that reads:
DO BETTER. FASTER.
I glower at her.
“We’re ten minutes late for lunch service. I need to keep the line moving.”
I challenge every new hire to give better than their best under pressure.
“Well?” I cross my arms over my chest.
She scans the kitchen. The gleaming stations. The line cooks, pretending not to strain their ears to listen to our exchange. The counters, warm under the heat lamps.
She’s calculating. Making up her mind.
I don’t believe in luck. Or destiny. We show up. We survive, if we can. Then we’re gone.
That’s it.
But for the first time, I want to believe there’s more. I press my thumb against my forefinger once, twice, thrice.
My thoughts grow calmer.
Having her at The Edge means I can keep her close. Of course, we’ll be side by side all day, but I can control how I react, how I let the tension between us affect my work. How much influence she has over my thoughts and emotions.
Managing the variables. Controlling the environment. It's the only thing that keeps the chaos at bay.
That’s why I need her to say yes.
Her jaw tightens.
“Yes.” She nods once, decisive. “Yes. I’ll do it.”
Thank fuck. I release the breath I wasn’t aware of holding.
Excitement flickers in her eyes. It turns her green irises molten, gold sparking through them like something lit from within.
For a second, it's as if embers have been coaxed back to life, glowing hot and bright before settling into a steady burn.
