Then Kiss Me Page 3

  The manager, a bald guy with black-rimmed glasses who introduced himself as Ed, asked me a few cursory questions (stupid shit like Tell me a little bit about yourself. How original). Then he said, “I noticed you have some food service experience—cooking and waiting tables—on your application for a few years back, but more recently you worked for an art gallery.” He pointed to the first employer listed on my application. “Why did you leave?”

  No way was I going to tell him I’d gone through a divorce. As it was, my ring finger had finally just lost the dent the wedding band had carved there. I didn’t want to say anything negative if I could help it. “I moved here from Denver because I have family here. Honestly, I would love to work in an art gallery, but Winchester’s a small town, and those jobs seem to be pretty scarce. I know I can cook and wait tables. And I’m good at it.” Holy shit. Should I have said that? Was I going to lose my chance at a job by telling him the truth?

  And then the man of my dreams stepped into Ed’s office. It might sound cliché, but I’ve gotta say it anyway. He was an Adonis among men. He had short brown hair and was clean shaven, but he had some sideburns that were a little larger than most guys’. God, that was so hot. He had green eyes, muscular arms. In fact, he looked pretty fucking cut, but it was hard to tell. He was fairly tall and had a strong jaw. And on those arms were a couple tattoos. I’d missed those being married to conservative, business-oriented Barry, but I’d always had a penchant for them. So…yum. He was quite a sight to behold, and that sucked. I was supposed to be professional in this interview and instead I felt my heartbeat kicking up several notches. Wow…I hadn’t thought about men in a long time. It had been Barry and only Barry for years and even after our relationship had started to sour, I hadn’t given other guys another thought. That all changed right now, though. I hoped my face didn’t give away what I was thinking, but I was pretty awestruck. And now I really wanted a job here. The stakes had been raised and just after I had to open my goddamned mouth and tell Ed this wasn’t my dream job.

  Well, if it was meant to be, it would happen, right?

  That’s what I started telling myself in my head. Maybe then I could keep my cool.

  “Ed, the vents stopped working again. Will you have them looked at before we open?”

  “Yeah.” Ed looked at me. “Just a minute, please.” He started dialing the phone. Well, this would make for an awkward interview, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. The sexy stranger looked at me, gave me a perfunctory exam by eye (what the fuck was he thinking?), and then turned around to leave. I felt a vibration in my core. If I didn’t get this job, I’d have to come back some time for lunch.

  Ed finished the phone call, but I didn’t hear any of what he’d said. I was too preoccupied, still intrigued that I was in the mood to check out guys again. It was a cool revelation. And did that guy take my breath away.

  Ed hung up the phone and looked at me. “Can you start tomorrow at eight?”

  You fucking kidding me? I was shocked. I hadn’t expected that. It felt like we hadn’t even finished the interview. Hell, we’d barely started. Maybe the good-looking guy had been the perfect distraction. Maybe he was the reason I got the job, especially after answering a question so stupidly. Pick your jaw up off the floor, Casey. “Yes, I would love to.” Well, I wouldn’t necessarily love the work, but I already liked one of my future coworkers and I definitely would take the job.

  “I’ll have you cooking. We just had a cook quit yesterday.”

  I hadn’t expected that. I’d assumed I’d be waiting tables. But I was going to take it. “Okay.” I shook his hand. “Thank you so much.”

  Without missing a beat, Ed said, “We’ll see if you say that tomorrow.” I looked at him, probably looking confused, but then he smiled. A sense of humor! I’d have to get used to that. I’d been working too long for humorless, uptight, artsy people.

  Ed told me to wear blue jeans (the degree of fadedness didn’t matter but no holes, tears, rips, or stains) and a white shirt (if I was smart, he said, I’d buy some cheap t-shirts).

  I couldn’t stop thinking about the strange, sexy guy I’d seen. He appeared to be about my age, give or take. But that look he gave me—was it derisive, hateful? Angry? Irritated? I couldn’t tell. And why? What’d I do to him? Or was it something else I couldn’t even pinpoint? Well, I intended to find out at my first opportunity.

  When I got to my car, I looked at my list. I had three places to look at. Two were apartments and one was in a duplex.

  I looked at the first of the apartments. It was too small, dumpy, and out of my price range. It was an efficiency apartment where everything but the bathroom is in one room—not my cup of tea, especially for the price. If it had been reasonably priced, I would’ve considered it. I wondered if all the places I would find for rent would be that way. I didn’t have a lot of money saved up, so I hoped not. I went by the other two places and found myself equally unimpressed. I looked in the paper again. Maybe there was something I was missing. I read back over the ads. One I had overlooked before was for a small house, but it hadn’t had a rental price listed, so I had bypassed it. But it couldn’t be worse than what I’d already seen. So I dug my cell phone out of my purse and dialed. A sweet-sounding elderly gentleman agreed to meet me at that address in half an hour.

  The older man’s name was Lewis. He had gray hair, a bit of a belly, and a quick and easy smile. He gave me a tour of the little house. It was cute but rundown—two bedrooms, full bath. Nice, but…I figured it too would be way out of reach. Lewis asked what I did for a living. I assumed that was so he would know if I could pay the rent or not. I told him I was an artist, that I painted pictures, but that I would be earning a paycheck working for Bob’s Southern BBQ. He nodded approval. “You know, Miss Williams, if you would be willing to paint this house, inside and out, and get the yard in decent shape, I’d reduce your rent by fifty percent for the first year.”

  Well, that wasn’t the kind of painter I meant, but hot diggity dog! I was shocked at my great fortune. I knew I could afford that price, even if I didn’t work, on my savings alone for several months. And this gentleman seemed sweet as could be. I sensed he would be a good landlord. “You’ve got a deal,” I said and shot out my hand, as though if I didn’t take the offer now, it’d be lost for good.

  “Come to my house and we’ll write up the lease.” So I followed him in my car to his house a few blocks away. Overall, the lease was standard—no pets, and he needed a damage deposit, all that good stuff. He added a few sentences by hand covering our agreement. I told him I would come back later with first and last months’ rent along with damage and security deposits. We shook hands again.

  I went back to my parents’ house, feeling a little numb at how quickly things had changed yet again. And it must have been my lucky day finally, because everyone was out, so I wouldn’t have to tell them what I was doing. I dug the cash out of my luggage and drove back to Lewis’s house. Once I gave him the money, he gave me a receipt and the keys. He said if I ever needed anything or had a problem to get in touch with him. His phone number was on the lease. I didn’t imagine I’d need to contact him often, but it was nice having it handy.

  I went straight from Lewis’s house to a bank I’d seen downtown yesterday when I’d been looking for work. I opened a checking account with my remaining cash. After the deposits and such, I didn’t have as much cash as I’d originally thought I would, but I did have enough to live on for a while. Well, it didn’t matter anyway. I’d already spent it. And it didn’t matter anyway. I had a job now, so I’d have cash flowing in.

  Then I went back to my parents’ house, elated at how quickly I’d taken my life into my own hands and, with a plan, had managed to secure my independence. Joyous freedom! I started packing, relief washing over me. I heard the whole family walk through the front door shortly after I did. I figured I’d better break the news, so I updated them over iced tea at the dining room table.

 
Of course, mom wasn’t thrilled. “Casey Lynn! You could save money by staying here. What are you thinking?”

  “Mom, we’ll all be happier if I’m not here. And it’s only on the other side of town.” It wasn’t like the Metro Denver area where the other side of town could take hours to arrive at during rush hour.

  “Casey, I don’t want you to do it.”

  “It’s too late, mom. I’ve already signed a one-year lease.”

  Mom gave up, sighing. That was easier than I’d expected. Dad smiled comfortingly, and I carried my boxes and luggage back out to my car. I was glad I hadn’t wasted time unpacking everything. Dad helped some and whispered to me at one point, “She’ll get over it.”

  I apologized for leaving but I had to set up my house and go to work the next morning. I spent several hours unpacking, unlike I had at my parents’ house. This was real. Take that, Barry. I don’t need you to sign a lease for me.

  Fortunately, the house was furnished, so I wouldn’t have to go to one thrift store after another looking for items I wouldn’t be able to afford anyway. One room had a twin bed, the other a double. I knew, though, that I didn’t need two bedrooms, so I dismantled the single bed and stored it on the back porch. Then I made that room my “studio”—more than anything else I planned to do with my life, I had to continue with my art. It was all that made life worth living.

  I realized as I unpacked my stuff and rearranged the house to suit my liking that I needed so many things I hadn’t even considered. I needed sheets (not to mention pillows and blankets), towels, dishes, clocks…and food. Mother would be proud that I thought of the last one. Oh, and cheap white t-shirts for my work uniform. I’d almost forgotten those. So I drove to Walmart and bought everything I could think of that I needed, including a few food items, even though I really wasn’t that hungry. Those purchases put another chink in the savings that I hadn’t thought of. Good thing I started work tomorrow.

  All the unpacking, cleaning, and organizing done, I took a long hot shower (in my own place!!), set my new alarm clock, and slept better than I had in a long time.

  Chapter Three

  I ARRIVED AT work the next morning a few minutes early. Ed was already there. I found him outside the office near the front. I didn’t know if he was waiting for me to arrive or if he was getting ready to do something else, but the timing was good. “Hi, Casey. Come on back.”

  I followed him back into the kitchen area. It was bigger than any other kitchen I’d worked in before. He led me around, showing me where everything was located. The first thing he showed me was the employee area. There was one small table and some shelves and hooks for hanging personal items. The schedule hung on the wall (pen and paper in this day and age!) as well as posters announcing minimum wage (which I’d be earning) and other posters and papers letting us know our rights as workers. There were also some personal notes on a corkboard…one was a note about cheap babysitting (an employee’s wife offering child care) and another about a concert at a bar downtown later in the week. There was a small computer in the corner, and Ed showed me how to clock in and out. Fifteen-minute breaks didn’t need to be clocked in or out but long breaks did, he said.

  He asked if I had questions, but it was too soon. There was too much and it was too overwhelming. So he led me through the kitchen, pointing to the walk-in refrigerator / freezer combo, the food prep area, the dishwashing area, and the cooking area, the last place on our list.

  I felt the breath pour out of my lungs like a waterfall as we walked back to the food prep area. The fucking hot guy I’d seen yesterday morning during my interview was there. He was walking out of the walk-in refrigerator, arms full of iceberg lettuce and tomatoes. At this point, I assumed he wouldn’t be a stranger much longer. Ed said, “Scott, this is Casey. She’s our new cook.” The man named Scott barely glanced at me as he walked to the metal counter and placed the vegetables on it. Ed looked back at me, apparently unfazed by the rudeness of his cook, and said, “Scott will be training you today, Casey.” He turned around to leave but looked back and said to Scott, “Be nice to her.”

  What an odd thing to say, but I was already beginning to see why. I stood next to Scott and watched him work, waiting for him to impart his wisdom upon me. He muttered as he worked, telling me what I needed to do each day (he was getting the LTOPs done right now, he said; I asked what that meant—lettuce, tomato, onion, and pickle, the garnishes for the burgers they made each day. They set up the garnishes in advance and when someone ordered a burger, they’d slap an LTOP on the plate). Throughout the morning, all we’d be doing would be preparing for serving food all day long. At ten o’clock, the salad and dessert staff would come in along with the lead dishwasher and two waitresses. At fifteen till eleven, the bus staff and host or hostess would come in, along with the other cook and remaining waitresses. In the meantime, though, the kitchen area was all ours (and that made me more than a little tingly), and he showed me the list of work we had to get done every day in our efforts to serve the hungry folks who walked through our doors. Among other things, we had to get our grill heated up and ready to go—well, basically, we had all the equipment to prep, everything from fryers to a rotating toaster (and, apparently, vents that didn’t always like to work properly). We had to get all the food ready to go, and that included making baked potatoes (and then they’d be held in a warmer drawer), gravies for chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes, and other home-cooked sundries. We also had chili and barbecued beef to heat up where they would be held in steamer trays. There was a lot to learn, and even though Scott seemed reticent, he explained what he was doing and why he was doing it, and if he didn’t, I’d ask questions. Once in a while, he’d get snappy but he’d still answer the question. He reminded me that there were always two cooks scheduled to open and usually a third arrived at lunch time. The cook scheduled for the longest shift got to choose what duties he wanted to do. I chafed a little when Scott said he, and he noticed.

  “Sorry, babe, but you’re the first girl cook we’ve ever had here.”

  “So that means you’re gonna call me a guy even if I’m not?”

  He actually almost smiled. He didn’t, but his mouth thought about it. He didn’t apologize, though, but I figured I’d consider the almost smile close enough. Fortunately, even though I found all the information overwhelming, I knew I’d catch on quickly, so I didn’t have to ask too many questions. Scott kept wavering between explaining himself thoroughly and then saying nothing at all. He seemed aloof at times and sometimes almost hateful. Sometimes I’d ask a question and he’d look at me like I was a fucking idiot. I couldn’t understand why. He was good looking, but what an ass.

  Still, I’d almost made him smile, so there was a chance. So the next time he gave me a cursory answer and a God-you’re-stupid look, I said, “What’s your problem with me anyway? Is it because I’ve broken into your all-boys club?”

  That time he actually did smile, but his expression grew somber again fairly quickly. “No, it’s because I fucking hate training people, and Ed knows it. I waste all this time teaching people how to do stuff and then they just go and quit.”

  Well, I could understand why that would be a little maddening but it was not my problem. And I didn’t appreciate receiving the hostility he was holding for people who’d pissed him off in the past. Oh, and my attitude. I told you about that before, right? I had a bit of an attitude, and when someone pissed me off, they’d likely get a taste. Well, Scott had pushed me there. He probably wouldn’t have gotten under my skin if he hadn’t already gotten under my skin…if you catch my drift. But he had. So I said, “Well, maybe people quit because you’re an asshole.”

  At first, I thought he was going to let me have it. His eyes got dark and I even saw his jaw ripple. But then his eyes crinkled up in a smile. “Yeah, maybe so,” he said and started laughing. Oh, it was a rich, hearty laugh. Maybe I’d have a chance with this guy after all.

  At lunchtime, I met another cook named Jim who se
emed to be good friends with Scott. He was also much friendlier than Scott, even though Scott was warming up a little bit. Jim was a good-looking guy with dark hair, dark eyes, a few skeezy tattoos on his forearms, with a decent build, but he was married and, therefore, off limits. Finally, I got to go home at three o’clock after meeting two other cooks. I also met several waitresses, bus persons, and dishwashers, but there was no way I could keep all their names straight at first. I was grateful to be going home. I was grumpy; I smelled like grease; and I was tired. I’d had to work the fryer section all day (probably because there was less chance of my fucking something up there) and just wanted to go home and take a nice warm bath. But it was a living, I figured, and I needed the money. I slept well again that night, this time from sheer exhaustion.

  I got used to the work fairly quickly and started feeling comfortable there. But for some reason, it seemed like there was an initiation phase. Will she put up with the shit or not? Well, I’d made it through and was no worse for wear. I caught onto the work quickly and even became proficient (it’s amazing how fast you can get back into food service). But I was learning new things too. I’d never known how to cook steaks with the ability of cooking them rare, medium, or well and being able to tell without cutting them open if I’d succeeded. The first few weeks, I was just settling in and getting to know the whole crew. Unlike most restaurants, this staff seemed to have some longevity. It wasn’t a bad place to work for. And after you made it your first month, some of the employees told me, you got a nice raise. After three months, another one, and so on. The owner rewarded good work and loyalty. So, even though it wasn’t my dream job, I started liking it there.

  I liked it so much that I forgot to check out the Center for the Arts.

  Well, did I like the work or was I fascinated by a certain coworker? When I confirmed he didn’t have a girlfriend, I became even more interested.