it taste so damn good.”
Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows expectantly. Since when is a waitress this aggressive about the food? Maybe it’s her boyfriend who runs the place. That would suck.
I start listing off everything I can taste. “Garlic, butter, kosher salt, way too much pepper…” I smack my lips to try and recall the flavors. “Berbere spice… and…”
“And…?” she prods.
Shit. There is something in there. Subtle. I can’t quite name it. I decide to turn it over to her. I’d love to see if this server even knows. “You tell me.”
“I can’t,” she says. Then she leans in close, but says loud enough for the cameras. “That’s why it’s called a secret.”
This woman is as irresistible as the food. “Finish this wine with me after your shift,” I say, quietly enough so the cameras don’t catch it.
“Like I said,” she responds, leaning in even closer, “I’ve gotta ask management.” Then she stands up straight and says professionally, “Enjoy your meal.”
I certainly will.
Though I’m also thinking about a certain dessert I’m interested in sampling, as well.
Seven
Cynthia
I’m putting out fires (not literally, thank God) in the kitchen and hanging on the chefs for the food for Stephen’s table. So far, he hasn’t actually finished anything, but that’s to be expected. He still ate way more than taste-testing nibbles. In fact, I think he ate about half of the tuna tartar, but who’s counting?
Me. I’m counting.
Also, sue me, but I love watching him eat. He sort of caresses the food in his mouth as that genius palate susses out all the subtle flavors. Yikes, Cynthia, perhaps it’s a bit creepy. But, I’m feeling pretty fucking good right now.
I take a peek to see how he’s faring. Ooh, I’d love to be at the end of his fork. I’m starting to enjoy the show when I see Nadia slink up to him. I had almost forgotten about you. It’s like she’s been waiting for the cameras to roll just to get in his shot.
She leans in, letting her cleavage almost brush his face, and my blood starts to boil. He shakes her hand, then physically moves away from her at his table. Ha! I cover my mouth to hide my sputtering laugh. This is great TV.
She’s not deterred, of course, and keeps on. She’s angling her body toward the camera in a completely unnatural tilt. It’s making me physically ill, and now she’s pointing at the food! My food!
I have no idea what she’s saying, but, at a certain point, Stephen clearly tells her to fuck off politely, or whatever his version of it is. I watch her recover quickly and shake his hand again, waving to the camera. When she finally disappears, Stephen sighs heavily and shakes his head.
I try to follow where Nadia’s headed, but the bell dings and it’s time to bring out his dessert. Focus, Cynthia, we’re almost done with this crazy night! No more TV crews and no more Nadia. Note to self, be sure to cross check reservation names in future.
Paulie takes the liberty of handing me my plates.
“Here you are, Miss Server,” he giggles. He finds it hysterical that Stephen mistook me for a waitress, and even more hysterical that I didn’t correct him. “You lucky bitch, I’ve always had that fantasy, you know? Little apron, Big Bad Boy wants to take me away from this place... Argh!”
“If you’d like to leave this place, Paulie, just say so.” I say flatly and he waves me off.
“You know what I mean!”
“Sure, sure. Hey, have you seen Nadia? I had eyes on her, but she disappeared.”
“No,” Paulie frowns, “Want me to do some recon?” He gives me his best secret agent stance. It’s unconvincing. I shake my head.
“I need you in the kitchen, 007, especially since I’m filling in everywhere tonight. Just because Stephen’s about to leave doesn’t mean we don’t still have a restaurant full of people to serve.”
Paulie nods and hands me my plate. “Knock em dead sister.”
I give him a hair swish and make my way out of the kitchen. One more dish, just one more fucking dish, and the heat is off. I can politely tell him off camera that I’m the owner and head chef, not a server, and we can go on our separate merry ways.
A part of me secretly hopes he’ll stick around long enough for that after shift drink. Just as I make it out the door, I feel something run over my foot. What the hell