I spend the next few hours showing Natalie the ins and outs of taking inventory. I don’t get the chance to respond to Lena’s text since I spend my time ensuring I’m giving Natalie all the important information Max expects me to give. But teaching Natalie the ropes of inventory and what items go where, I still can’t get my mind off my wife. Lena’s text felt off, leaving an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. I promised her I would tear the shed down a long time ago but had yet to follow through. I sometimes wondered whether that made me a bad husband or not.
There are moments when our marriage is just where I imagined it would be. We’ve come a long way since Providence, however, there are still those moments where I wonder if we made the best decision by leaving. I first met Lena when she was in a relationship so ours started out more as friends. But the more time I spent with her; I soon learned her relationship with Julian wasn’t all that it seemed. Lena and Julian were a smoldering bed of hot coals and Lena took careful consideration with where she stepped, careful to take the coal with the least burn.
“Chef?”
“Yeah?” I blink, staring at Natalie as she stands next to me, her eyebrows knitted in confusion.
“What do we do with the paperwork now that we have everything accounted for?” She seems kind. Guilt ebbs its way into my chest. In the past few hours, I’ve learned that Natalie is a genuine, hardworking chef. She deserves more than my half-ass attempt to teach her the way Max likes to run his restaurant.
“I’m sorry.” I massage the bridge of my nose with my fingertips, hoping to rub away the fog that has clouded my head this morning. “There’s a file in my office on my desk labeled ‘inventory’. We put all the records in there for Max to go over.” I point to my office. “Here, I’ll show you.”
“Excuse me, Chef?” Both Natalie and I turn our attention to Emily, one of the hostesses. She emerges from the swinging doors dividing the kitchen from the dining room. ”I’m sorry to interrupt but there’s a man here who says he wants to speak with you.”
“Did he tell you his name?” I swallow, ignoring the way my heart skipped the moment Emily said someone was here for me. It’s hard not to always be skeptical of people around me.
“I’m so sorry.” Emily winces. “He told me, but I can’t remember. Jared distracted me when he dropped one of the glasses from behind the bar.”
With my mouth closed, I stare at the swinging door to the dining room, over Emily’s shoulder. Emily’s comment about Jared shattering one of our glasses doesn’t even phase me. I’m too consumed by the stranger who came into my restaurant and asked to speak with me.
Nerves getting the better of me, I try to delay seeing who the man could be. “Do you mind telling him I’ll be out in a minute? I just need to show Natalie where the paperwork goes.”
Emily’s mouth drops open, ready to speak but Natalie stops her. “Actually, if you don’t want to keep him waiting, I can put these papers away for you.” She’s still holding on to the papers, her bright eyes staring up at me.
“Are you sure?” I try to tone down the nervousness clearly laced in my voice. I really need to keep it together. Despite my nerves, I resign to let Natalie do this simple task so I can do my job properly.
“Of course.” Natalie grins, pointing back to my office. “You said the file is on your desk?”
“Yes, it’s to the right of my computer. Thank you.”
“That’s what I’m here for, right?”
I lightly laugh. “Right.”
Natalie spins around on her heel. She walks with a bounce to her step as she rounds the corner and down the small hall leading to my office. Once Natalie has disappeared, I turn to find Emily has left me too. I stand in the kitchen listening to the quiet knife cuts coming from my prep cooks, readying myself the best I can before pushing open the swinging door. My foot lands against the polished hardwood, the sounds of the kitchen muting as the door closes behind me. I grab on to the bottom hem of my chef jacket, pulling it down to straighten out any wrinkles. I’m nervous and I can’t help it. My shoes pad across the floor with a dull thud but every sound is sharp to my ears. I’m being ridiculous and I know it.
The closer I get to the host stand, the more my nerves race. I wish I hadn’t left my pack of Tic Tacs back in my office. The four chambers of my heart work harder, the beating drowning out the sharp sound of my feet. A tall, slim man is standing by the host stand, the jacket of his suit stretched across the planes of his back. He’s turned away from me as he stares at the busy downtown Seattle street. My anxiety only ramps up the smaller the distance becomes between me and the man in the too perfect suit. A piece of me cracks, remembering the only man I’ve ever known to wear suits practically every day of his life. The same man who tried to kill me. The same man who can’t seem to let go of my wife.
I don’t have the chance to speak when the man suddenly turns around. He must have heard me coming over the hushed tune of music pouring from our speaker system throughout the dining room. My breath catches in my throat, studying the man’s features. I’m expecting to find those familiar blue eyes, the ones that burned with fire to drain the
