AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Forget The Delacroix,” she says. “Work for another restaurant. Make Henrique jealous.”
“Without a recommendation? More than likely I’m going to have to live with my parents now and give up the internship, which pays next to nothing.”
Mom and Dad, while totally supportive of me completing my undergrad degree, wanted me to get a full-time job with benefits and a 401K plan. Like a responsible adult. But I ignored their advice and now I’m stuck.
“We’ll figure this out,” Jadyn says. “What do people always say? The world is your clam!”
“Oyster,” I correct.
“Whatever. You get the point.”
“Except when the oyster is an empty shell. Like my future.”
“Gianna, someone’s bound to see your talent and hire you. Until then, you should enjoy life. Take a vacation.”
“You mean avoid reality? Sounds like a great coping strategy.”
She shakes her head. “Or you can wallow in your misery. Your choice.”
She bounces away to the shower while I mutter, “I like wallowing.”
A message pops up on my phone.
Hello. Is this Gianna?
The number is not in my contacts. I type: Who is this?
Open the door and you’ll see.
Either a creepy stranger who’s planning on kidnapping me is standing outside, or a sleazy salesman has my number. I grab a paring knife just in case. I crack the door. A man in a hoodie has his back turned to me.
“I’m not buying anything,” I announce in what I hope is a threatening voice.
The man swivels toward me. It’s Lucas, dressed in joggers, looking like he stepped out of a J. Crew ad. Goodness, no one should look that good in a pair of joggers.
“Great, because I’m not selling anything,” he says, grinning.
“This is a surprise.”
“Are you in the middle of cooking?” He nods toward the knife in my hand.
“Oh, no,” I say, casually waving the knife around. “I just grabbed it for self-defense. You know, in case you were a serial killer.”
His lips quirk. “I’d hate for you to ruin your paring knife on me.”
“You’re worried about the knife?” I laugh. I’d hate to ruin you.
“I once saw a chef openly weep when his favorite knife got ruined,” he says. “I didn’t understand it, until I broke my favorite knife. It’s a chef thing. We like our weapons.” He looks around at my apartment. “Could I come in?”
“Be my guest.” Our micro-sized apartment is about the size of an attic—tiny even by apartment standards. It was the best we could afford on two waitresses’ salaries.
“Hopefully this isn’t about the mess I made at work,” I say.
“Not exactly,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “But I would feel better if you put the knife down.”
“Oh, right.” I place the knife on the counter as he eyes the bag of fluffy, white-powdered doughnuts next to it.
Embarrassment prickles up my back. Any chance of looking sophisticated just got obliterated by my weakness for doughnuts.
