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Ben
Ihad, once again, ended up by Mabel’s pulpit, standing awkwardly with my arms crossed, surveying the hotel entrance. It was early afternoon, the lunchtime crowd had died down, and we had just a trickle of people coming through the lobby, escaping from the oppressive heat outside.
London had thrown us all a curve ball again. It was October, and we should have been digging out our raincoats. Instead, the temperature in the kitchen was on its way to boiling point, and I couldn’t face the scorchingsun, even though my body was screaming for its usual nicotine kick. I had sensitive skin. Too many freckles for my own good.
Okay, I’d lied about being here to survey the hotel entrance. I was here for the drama and the drama only, which was conveniently playing out right in front of me.
“I don’t like this,” Mabel murmured. “He looks really uncomfortable.”
I had to agree. Even though Hugo was smiling, my two waiters were pretty much in his face, despite having a solid, dark-wood counter between them. They were gesturing wildly at him. I wasn’t impressed.
“Do I need to go have a word?” I asked as Mabel took a deep breath. I knew what they were going to say—I didn’t need to get involved, everyone was an adult here, and they were just three blokes talking—but once again, I got to appreciate the human who was Mabel, because they always noticed the important things. That was why we all adored them.
“No. I’ll have stern words in a second, and anyway, here’s the Hoffman party. Table for ten, late lunch with a birthday. Mrs Hoffman is turning a very respectable eighty-six, I believe.”
Trust Mabel to know, but then this was who we were. We handled our bookings with care and prided ourselves on knowing our regular customers inside and out. Sometimes we knew more than we wanted to admit. Sometimes we even admitted it.
“One extra-hot weak tea with half a slice of lemon on the side, and don’t mention the absent daughter-in-law,” I stage-whispered as Mabel U-turned around me and greeted the esteemed Mrs Hoffman with theatrical flair and high-pitched superlatives. I shook hands with everyone like an idiot, still preoccupied with the conversation at the concierge desk—onethat was definitely over now. I brusquely beckoned the two slackers who were supposed to be waiting on my very neglected tables.
“Guys,” I scolded them in a low, stern voice, “we’re all professionals here, and the concierge desk is not hook-up-central.”
Perhaps not the most professional choice of words, but it was enough that both Josh and Imran seemed to have momentarily swallowed their tongues.
“He’s not interested,” Imran muttered. “And I’m not an idiot. Anyway, we were talking about cheesecake.”
“Cheesecake?” I crossed my arms and did that intimidating look, the one I did when I didn’t take their shit for an answer.
“Yeah, there’s this new all-night dessert place just around the corner from the Blue Club. They do ten different flavours of cheesecake. The milk chocolate one is to die for.”
I wasn’t sure if Imran was telling the truth or trying to piss me off.
“The bubble-gum one was rank, though.”
“You should put different-flavoured cheesecakes back on our menu. I do like our vanilla one, but dude! Let’s go a bit mad.” That was Josh, wannabe chef. Always had opinions on the menu.
“Mrs Hoffman would have a fit,” I said.
Josh watched the Hoffmann party taking their seats. “Half a slice. No coulis… Is the daughter-in-law still someone we don’t mention?”
“Don’t even go there!”
There had been an incident involving a bottle of wine being tipped over someone’s head. A cheating husband was never fun, but the bastard had brought his mistress to dinner with his parents and forgotten to uninvite his wife. It hadn’t been funny at the time, but I couldn’t help glancing over at the table where said mistress was clinging to her boyfriend, who looked pained and distraught.
Yeah, mate.I grinned. I could feel another fight brewing, and we all knew Mrs Hoffman’s preferences in everything from her eating habits to her son’s many partners. We also knew how sharp her tongue would cut, as well as how quickly she could withdraw the hefty tips she dished out if she liked what was on her plate. It was in all our best interests to keep her happy.
“Anyway, Hugo said cheesecake isn’t his thing,” Josh finished, “but we invited him out on Monday just the same. He won’t come, but we were just being sociable. Inclusive.”
Josh was a nice guy…and I was slightly surprised at the surge running through my veins. Cheesecake? I’d bloody give him bloody bubble-gum cheesecake.
“Get to work. We have paying guests, and the people at table ten haven’t even had drinks. Move!”
I didn’t care if Josh and Imran sulked. I didn’t really care that I could definitely see Hugo take a deep breath behind his counter and drop two more scrunched-up balls of paper on the floor.
Finn would go mad. The cleaners already had to do extra rounds through the lobby, which they’d bitched loudly about at Friday’s staff meeting.
To be honest, I quite liked Hugo’s mess. I also liked that Hugo didn’t care and happily walked around trailing paper like confetti in his wake. Hewas kind of cool in his awkward self, even if cheesecake wasn’t his thing. I loved a good cheesecake, although a well-done chocolate-mud cake with homemade vanilla ice cream was hard to beat. I had a good patisserie chef here, but I didn’t mind baking myself on occasion.
Another party of suits slid up to Hugo, and he greeted them warmly, shaking hands with the gentlemen as he guided them towards the front doors. I didn’t know why I found him awkward because there was definitely nothing awkward about his mannerisms as he came back inside and, with a grin, told Reuben to do one. Yeah. I usually told that tosser to do one too, and now they were having some kind of football match with Hugo’s scrunched-up papers flying across the lobby floor. I nervously looked over to the reception desk, hoping that Finn wasn’t around to see his staff behaving like children.
