Page 16 of How My Fake Alien Boyfriend Learned to Cook and Saved the Family Business

It was probably in my best interest to be wary of Kal, even though he seemed like a perfectly nice person. It also didn’t seem smart to turn away extra help, especially from someone who, from first impression, was pleasant to work with. I had worked with a few too many grade A, prime assholes to take a genuine positive attitude for granted.

That was another reason I wasn’t too upset when Julian had walked out on us earlier. Sure, he’d picked the worst possible time to bail, but he was also truly miserable to work with. I had only kept him around as long as I had because it was easy. With all the other stressors in my life, I’d taken the path of least resistance.

I untied my apron and slipped it over my head. “Okay, well. Sounds like a plan. We’re closed tomorrow, so I’ll see you the next morning. I’ll leave the front door unlocked.”

“I’ll be here.” Kal followed my lead, pulling his soiled apron over his head, his wet shirt clinging to his abdomen.

Don’t look, Lola. Do not look.

I looked. Shamefully and regretfully, my gaze traveled over his arms and the flat plane of his stomach, across his face, and landed on those emerald green eyes.

“Before I forget…what is a busser?” Kal asked, head tilting to the side.

Oh my god, I really was making a mistake. And the worst part: I knew exactly what I was doing wrong, yet I chose to walk into the trap anyway.

It was so typical of me, too. I was such a sucker. My grandma used to call it being tenderhearted, but life had taught me it was called being a fool. I pinched my fingers over the bridge of my nose and massaged the spot. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“I’ll…I’ll tell you on Monday.”

With that, he said his goodbyes, tossed an unusual-looking backpack over his shoulders, and pushed through the swinging door.

And because my life was an uncanny combination of sitcom and tragedy, my ex walked through that very same door a few minutes later.

“Get out.” I glared at him, hands bunched into fists on my hips.

Walter held his hands up, a stupid, cocky smile on his face. “Nice to see you, too, Lo.”

I flinched at the use of my nickname. That’s for friends and family only. Not exes, and certainly not him.

Walter and I had history—a lot of it. I think that’s why I’d lost my mind and rekindled things last year when I moved back home. He’d been my high school sweetheart and on-again, off-again boyfriend during college. We’d both gone to the same culinary school and run in the same professional circles for a few years.

For a brief time, we’d even worked in the kitchen at the same fine dining restaurant. It was a cruel twist of fate that he had moved back to Roswell Falls about a year before I returned. I quickly fell back into old patterns that I had dumped when I’d sent him packing from my life that last time.

The only plus side to making the mistake of dating Walter again when I moved home was that I slammed that door shut when we broke up for the final time last fall. We got into a fight over something small—the way the biggest arguments always start—and it ended with Walter laughing in my face and telling me that I would never succeed at running a restaurant without him.

Any lingering questions about what could have been were long gone. Too bad they couldn’t have taken my ex with them.

“Just dropped by to pick up Julian’s knives.”

Of course. I had conveniently put it out of my mind that Walter and Julian were buddies. Birds of a feather flock together, after all.

“I texted you about it this morning,” he added in a bored tone.

“I have you blocked.” Obviously. If he had a single iota of shame, he would have known that. But since he cheated on me with another woman in my own family’s restaurant, I guess he lacked any sort of common sense or decency.

He shrugged, nonchalant. “Not my fault you can’t be civil.” He set the knife bag down and unrolled it, dutifully checking each slot. “But you definitely can’t keep these. They’re German engineered.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.” I was wiping down the already spotless counters for lack of something better to do while Walter rerolled and fastened the bag. When I didn’t hear any movement toward the door, I paused. This was a horror movie.

“Yes?” I asked, arms crossed and face set.

“Just wondering if you heard about the Greatest Restaurants of the Great Smoky Mountains Contest yet,” Walter said. “I got my invitation email this morning.”

Walter got an invitation to participate in a restaurant contest? Last I’d heard, his restaurant had just opened. It was brand new. I also had no clue what he was talking about. A restaurant contest for what? But with my ex looking at me so smugly, I didn’t want to let on how clueless I was.

“Duh,” I said. My hair swished as I shook it from my face, trying my best to radiate confidence.

“Interesting,” Walter said in a way that let me know he didn’t think it was interesting at all. “I didn’t think Southern Charm would get an invitation. What with your restaurant being so…”