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“You think I was talking about him?” Dash says with a smirk.
Seb grins. “So, is she single? Straight? Looking to mingle?”
“Hands off,” I snap automatically.
His eyebrows shoot up.
I clear my throat. “I mean… Jenn works for me. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable. In her workplace.”
“Uh huh,” Dash says, with another infuriating smirk. “Sure. That’s why you don’t want Seb asking her out.”
“Don’t,” I say, with a sigh. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t.”
But do they listen? Nope.
“Banksy’s got acrush.” Dash says it like a seventh grader at a sleepover, amped up on soda.
“She’s a colleague,” I insist. Because I think about all my colleague’s curves like this.
“We get it,” Seb agrees. “And since you want to… Get collegial with her, I’ll back off.”
I shake my head. “It’s not like that.”
“Sure it isn’t, buddy.” He slaps me on the back. “Keep telling yourself that.”
And I do.
So why, once I’ve given them the tour, and head back upstairs alone, do I find myself stopping by Jenn’s office?
Professional courtesy, I tell myself. I value her opinion, that’s all. As a colleague.
Jenn’s hard at work, focused and tapping away on her laptop. I admire her for a moment—her thoughtful expression… and her shiny, dark hair.
“Hey,” she says, catching me in the doorway. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” I cough. I’m busted, aren’t I? Just staring. “I didn’t want to interrupt, but… Do you want to grab something to eat? Something more substantial than cookies?”
“Oh,” she says, looking confused. “I thought you had lunch.”
No, I lost my appetite while failing to vibe with a perfectly nice girl. “Right.” I clear my throat again. “But I’m doing a trial run for a possible chef. I thought you might want to join. Maybe the menu options will spark some marketing ideas.”
It’s weak. I know it is. But Jenn smiles like this is a normal suggestion and rises from her chair. “I’d love to.”
We head up back downstairs, to where the restaurant space sits, with windows out onto the street. Like most things, it’s still unfinished, but the tables and bar area are in, and the kitchen is fully functional. I take a moment to chat to the kitchen assistant, to let the chef know we’ve arrived. Right on schedule.
“I love this,” Jenn says, looking around.
“You love sawdust with your meal?”
She laughs. “No, feeling like I’m getting a special preview. By the time I get to all the hot new restaurants, they’re six months out of date.”
“Well, consider yourself the very first guest,” I say, settling into a booth across from her. “Even I don’t know what this chef is like just yet. I’m trying out a few of them, to see what they can do.”
“Like an audition?”
“Exactly.” I look hopefully to the kitchen doors. “I’m starving.”
Jenn gives me a puzzled smile. “Didn’t you just have a lunch date?”
