Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
But that’s not a conversation for now. I don’t want to break Brooke’s heart with reality.
And if I’m honest, I don’t want to break mine either.
Thursday, May 12th
I finish counting the petty cash in the back office and put the money in the safe beneath the desk. We’re so busy tonight, Vinny had to send one of the sous chefs out for flour and tomatoes from the store, as we were running out of both, and I always like to do a secondary count on the cash if we have to take money out.
La Croisette is typically busy on a Thursday evening, but tonight, it’s on a crushing level.
Every table is filled. The kitchen is working their asses off. And every staff member inside the restaurant is moving on quick feet.
I know I’m needed back in the dining room as promptly as I can manage, but as I stand, a text message stops my progress toward the door.
At one point in my life, I never would have considered touching my phone during a shift. But now, in the era of broken arms and projectile vomit, I can never let a message go unchecked.
Zoe: Grant just told me he’s no longer allowed to take baths or showers until his cast is off. I have a feeling I’m being lied to but just want to make sure I’m not missing something…
Me: You probably have that feeling because my son is absolutely full of shit right now.
Zoe: LOL. What a little manipulator! I’m guessing we still have the green light on baths, then?
Me: Yep. Just have to wrap his cast up in plastic to prevent it from getting wet.
She sends a thumbs-up emoji, and I slide my phone back into my blazer pocket and head out of the back office and into the main dining room.
“Mandy, how are we doing with reservations tonight?” I ask one of my favorite hostesses. She’s been a part of the La Croisette team for over two years, and her ability to work quickly under pressure while still being professional and courteous to all patrons is unmatched. Needless to say, I’m relieved when I know she’s running the front for the night.
“Not too bad. Only running five minutes behind on one party’s seating,” she answers. “We do have a business dinner reservation arriving in a few minutes for the ten-top in the back that just vacated, but I’ve already ensured that the bussers are cleaning it up now.”
“Who is that reservation for?”
She glances back at her list briefly. “Uh…Mr. Evans.”
I just stop myself from slamming a palm into my own face. Wow. I don’t know how I forgot that Gavin had a dinner here tonight—I mean, he even texted me about it—but I guess I’ve been a little busy being a single, working mom trying to juggle all the things.
Not to mention, keeping Grant sticking to doctor’s orders and not swinging his casted arm around like it’s Thor’s hammer is no easy feat. It’s a miracle the X-rays they did at his appointment on Monday showed intact hardware and healing bones.
I calm my racing mind long enough to smile at Mandy gratefully. “Any other big reservations I should know about?”
“Nope.” She shakes her head. “Everything else is two-, three-, and four-tops that I’ll have no trouble accommodating.”
“Have I already told you I love you tonight?”
She grins. “You just did.”
I start to look for Mo, to check in with her briefly, but when I spot her across the dining room, chatting up a few patrons—ones I recognize as regulars she has a natural chemistry with—I leave her be and start to make my way to the kitchen to see how Vinny and the crew are faring.
“Hey, you.” A hand on my shoulder and a whisper near my ear catch me completely off guard. So much so that I startle.
Gavin chuckles and apologizes, “Sorry, babe.” Dressed in a smart black suit and tie, he looks undeniably good tonight. His green eyes are bright and happy to see me, and his smile is worth the millions I’m sure he makes.
He pulls me in for a tight hug and presses a gentle kiss to my cheek, and I accept it willingly. He’s truly been so good to me from the moment I bumped into him on that busy sidewalk, and for as confused as I feel emotionally, I’m starting to get more comfortable around him physically.
“Sorry, but I couldn’t help myself,” he whispers sweetly. “It’s so good to see you, Sammy.” He holds me away with strong hands at my biceps, dropping his voice reverently. “You look beautiful.”
I look beautiful? In the middle of my work shift with a busy Thursday-night rush? Has he been huffing glue?
“T-thanks,” I stutter over my tongue, still not used to men passing out compliments like candy. About a year into our failed marriage, my ex-husband Todd stopped complimenting me about anything. Instead, he stuck to criticism.