Chapter Text
“Did you hear?”
“Hear what?”
“Reservations have been slowing down recently, you think they're gonna be cutting shifts now?”
“What?!? No way man, this place has lasted how long?”
“20 years the way Reilly tells it, I might have to find another job. I can’t afford less shifts, I’m just barely scraping by as it is!”
The conversation between Jamal and Taylor continued in this vein for another half hour while the rest of the kitchen staff were too busy during the dinner rush to really pay any attention to the ‘dish pit’. The three of us were usually clumped up in the back, hunched over our designated areas. Jamal and Taylor stuck together on the pots and pans, and I was relegated to the dish machine and plating.
I had heard talk of the bad review which started deterring customers at the North & Vine, but hadn’t put any stock into what was being said. A Michelin star restaurant losing customers to a bad review? One which wasn’t even published by a named food critic or food journal? Seemed a little ridiculous to me, but there must have been some stock because an hour earlier than normal, Executive Chef Grant Reilly was calling the last food order.
“And just like that, folks, the last plate has left the kitchen. Hey, guys. No, listen, its a Tuesday…”
I listened to his voice fade out of earshot as he walked back to the other side of the kitchen trying to keep the rest of the cooking staff’s spirits up. The three of us just kept our heads down and kept to work, we weren’t gonna be leaving until the last dish had been cleaned anyway. I normally relished this comedown after the dinner rush, when the rest of the cooking staff slowly started heading out and all that was left were us in the dish pit, Beans, and Reilly himself.
While we all finished up the sanitization and breakdown of the kitchen, I noticed how worn Reilly looked, now that there were no plate orders or chefs needing his attention. He was still as handsome as he had been the day I met him, of course, but it was hard not to associate the current downtrend of foot traffic with the darker than normal bruises under his eyes and sloped shoulders. He seemed more stressed than he normally was after a typical dinner shift, and he wasn’t as chatty with the rest of us as he was probably trying to force for the rest of the cooking staff before they all left.
I was finishing the last of the wine glasses when Taylor’s voice cut in.
“Liz! You done over there? We’re doing drinks at Jamal’s.”
“I’m done, but you guys go. Classes start again tomorrow.”
“I know, I know. One day I’ll get you to actually have fun. I’ll try again tomorrow.”
Right. Like they’d ever let me forget.
“Yeah, yeah. Go! Before you miss your bus.”
I waved them off and grabbed my things from my locker. Hat off. Apron hung. Jacket on. Halfway through scrolling my university emails, I heard someone clear their throat behind me.
“Eliza, your classes start again tomorrow?”
It was Reilly. I glanced over as he untied his apron. His sleeves were pushed up, forearms flexing with the motion. The overhead lights caught in his silver curls and highlighted his strong cheekbones. I tried to look away before he could notice I’d been staring.