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But of course, that meant working in here without help during the lunch rush.
I’ve just run myself ragged. I’m both physically and emotionally exhausted. I should’ve double-checked on Brooklyn to make certain she’d put that ticket in, but I didn’t. I’ve had too many pans on the fire, figurativelyandliterally.
Still, I know how to cry without making noise, so my plan is to let this out and rebound in time for dinner. I’ve already informed Jeremy of the limits we’ll have to enforce when it comes to some of the menu items due to the lost food. More money down the drain.
Oh, well.
Add to that the necessity of finding someone to fill Brooklyn’s position. I know from experience that head hunting in a small town is anything but easy and dealing with the prospect of that is daunting. So, I need a few more minutes to just bawl. Quietly. Maybe that’s why when I detect Landon standing there in my kitchen doorway, it’s about as welcome as a root canal with no anesthesia.
“W-what are you doing in here?” I sob out. Smooth. If anything, I need to display my bitchy side, not my worn-down and vulnerable one.
“Are you all right, Vi?”
“Do Ilookall right?” I throw the hand towel I’ve been using as a Kleenex onto the floor in frustration. He tosses his hands up like a perp on a cop show.
“You look upset.”
“Well, give the man a prize for figuring out something so damn obvious a first grader could see it,” I bark at him, my voice echoing off all the stainless steel in here. Hopefully nobody overheard, but even if they did, he deserves to receive both barrels from me.
“Look, I’m sorry, okay? If I’m the reason, I’m sorry.”
He sounds so genuine that another sob rises up out of me without permission. It takes me a handful of heartbeats to regain control of myself. But as angry as I’ve been at Landon for ditching me without a peep, him acting all sweet like this is making me crumble like a dry oatmeal raisin cookie.
“Y-you’re part of the reason…” I try to sound accusing, but it must not work because he ambles over and wraps his arms around me. Worse, the son of a bitch feels good holding me. Far too good.
“What are the other parts?”
“I…” But I can’t explain it. Not in my current state.
He pecks me on the forehead. “Listen, I loved reconnecting with you romantically Saturday night, and I hate that you’re having a bad day. Can I see you again this weekend? Or some other time that’s convenient?”
“I don’t know…”
“Please?” he presses, kissing me lightly on the lips. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Then, the bastard winks and peers down at where my breasts are hidden by my button-up uniform shirt. Is he serious?
I push him away and cross my arms over my chest. At least my feeling of being overwhelmed has passed. It’s been eclipsed by sheer irritation. In an odd way, it energizes me, and under different circumstances I might feel thankful. I don’t, though. Instead, I narrow my gaze and do my best to offer him a cold, plastered-on smile.
“Landon, do me a favor?”
“For you, anything,” he replies with what I’m sure he believes is genial charm.
“Get your ass out of my kitchen.”
“So, this weekend?” he dares to ask, and I gesture to the dining area behind him.
“Out.”
“Guess you’ll get back to me on that one, then.”
Finally, he vanishes.
Over the next hour I prepare for dinner and though the evening zooms by in a nonstop blur, I somehow make it through. I’m dog tired by the time I drag myself home, and despite wanting and needing to go to bed, I take a minute with my laptop to list my job opening. If I’d chosen to buy property in Atlanta, I wouldn’t be looking at such an uphill climb to track down another manager, but the capital of the state proved too spendy to relocate to.
I like it here in Oak Valley, I truly do. The people are kind and don’t hesitate to provide plenty of southern hospitality. But the locals aren’t my staple customers. I have to market to the city in order to afford to run this restaurant properly, and now that I’ve painted myself into a corner, I’m not sure what to do.
After posting the position, I sit there on my bed like a bump on a log, feeling half numb. I’m facing such an obstacle course, and the truth is, I might fail to complete it. Operating at a loss isn’t a smart business decision, but I’d hoped after marketing to the Atlantans that they’d simply start to show up without me having to shove The Blue Heron in their face all the time. This hasn’t turned out to be the case, though. The second I stop advertising, my patronage dovetails downward like an exploded rocket.
I can’t afford the fallout, but I also can’t keep doing what I’m doing. Being a successful chef has been my lifelong ambition, and when I bought this place, I thought my dreams were coming to fruition. Too bad it hasn’t been that way in practice.
