AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Nobody asked you, Mr. Tommy, and you’ll have to question my mother about my name.”
I smile, enjoy the comebacks from my crew that’s more like family, and shove my hands in the pockets of my charcoal-gray slacks. “That’s the good part about this being my restaurant; nobody has to ask me to speak my mind here. I just can.”
“Lord, not tonight. I’m dog-tired and not in need of your jokes.”
“I believe that, because you look dog-tired too.”
But we both know that’s a lie, and that’s why I put up a wall between us to restrict my attraction to her from growing. She’s too young, only twenty-eight. Mostly sheltered by her family for the first twenty
-six years of her life, Foreign is a ball of energy on any given any day, and she’s getting an enthusiastic late start in life with her culinary schooling. I’ve got to stop hiring twenty-something-year-olds and find older people with nothing better to do than work. They’ve already been through most of the things that life loves to throw at young people for the hell of it.
Seniors can be called in at a moment’s notice to fill in for the youngsters, too. I’ll have Mahogany get right on putting an ad in the local newspaper… if she ever gets here.
Foreign smirks as we round the same corner that Nevaeh just took at lightning speed. “You are too attractive to be this damn mean to everybody all the time, Mr. Tommy.”
We descend the wide, real oak stairs side by side.
“You shouldn’t take me seriously, Foreign. Oh, my bad, you don’t take me seriously. None of you ingrates do. That’s why I’ll have to flip the paperwork and file the burgers… again!”
Her tiny nose scrunches up like she smells something bad. “Flip the… you’re getting old at thirty-nine. That’s just sad.”
“I know exactly what I said.” This time. “And I know I’m not getting any younger. I don’t need your confirmation of that. This is my restaurant where you’re not allowed to speak your mind. Get your own damn business and you can. So, why are you up here, Domestic? I know what time you get off.”
She stops halfway down the stairs before laughing out loud. “I need a day off next week too.”
What the hell? It’s an epidemic!
I halt, with one foot hovering over the next stair down, eyeballing the swinging door at the bottom. “Denied, Foreign.”
“My father’s dead, Mr. Tommy,” she says softly behind me.
I look back. Can see the shit storm gathering in her life that’s rippling in the air over her somber face, about to hit the fan. Her family won’t be glad to see her, but Foreign wants to pay her respects so she’ll have no regrets, even though none of the Torres will want her there. Nevertheless, I’m betting she has more than a few regrets already, since she won’t be able to make amends with her father.
“His funeral is Friday. I’ll fly in and fly out the same day, so I can be on time for work the next day. His service will be in—”
“California,” I finish for her because, like I said, I know my employees’ damn business. “Approved day off. I’m sorry to hear that about your father.” I lift a finger in the air. “But he better really be dead, or you’re fired. Faking a death in the family is too low of a level to stoop just to dodge work, so you can skinny dip at a beach in Cali.”
Her usual smile makes a break for her lips. “I wouldn’t do that.”
“Woman, I know that, but seriously, give my condolences to the family. Send me the address of the funeral home after you touch down. I’ll send a flower arrangement there from Tommy’s Cuisine on your behalf.”
“I will, and thank you.” She tilts her head to the side, and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t make her more gorgeous. And approachable.
Time to go.
“You’re welcome, Domestic.”
I finish walking down the stairs, never staying in the same vicinity with her for too long when we’re not working to fill backed-up orders in the kitchen. I hate to leave her on the steps alone in not-so-obvious pain. She needs comforting after taking a hit of this magnitude. I’ve lost my father too, and I would hug her through the loss, but who knows how far that’ll go? I don’t, and don’t want to find out the hard way. Foreign is a risk I’m not willing to take. I’ve been around her long enough to know she doesn’t view me as a father-figure, and that she’s only attracted to and dates older men. That would be her father-issues manifesting.
I’m not a sounding board to work out her hang-ups on, nor am I a psychologist.
Besides, we have an unspoken understanding that we’re just intern and boss and nothing more. Even if she doesn’t understand it, I sure as hell do and will understand enough for the both of us. Before Katara, I could’ve envisioned a life with soft-spoken but fiercely loyal Foreign. She’s just not the one I want that with, and she probably doesn’t want it either. I said she dates older men; I didn’t say she stays with them for long. Until she comes to terms with her father being who he was when he was alive, she’ll always be unconsciously looking for what she won’t ever find in other men: the acceptance her father denied her every time she refused to go along with what he wanted.
I’ve already met the woman of my dreams and taught her what I like in bed while learning what made her body sing. Forget starting over in that arena again, which is unfortunately a must if I’m going to settle down with someone else besides Katara. Starting over isn’t something I want to do ever, and though I haven’t left a string of unsatisfied lovers in my wake, I can only imagine growing old with one very satisfied and satisfying woman.
As I push the door open to the busy main floor of the restaurant, I wonder where my old flame and should’ve-been-wife is now. I still have the ring that I planned to propose to her with in my home only a few miles from Tommy’s. I cannot bring myself to get rid of it or grab ahold to a life that doesn’t have Katara Johnson in it.
Goddamnit, Kat, what did you do to me?
