Page 25 of Falling With You

“Yeah, I know, it’s a disgrace.”

“Or it could be the fact that it works for them and it’s part of the bottom line,” Jorge said as he walked by, snorting.

I flipped him off and went back to helping Dillon.

“We are not those restaurants. What they want to do is fine. But I will not have that in my place of business. Do we understand that?”

“Yes, chef,” they all said at the same time, and I just shook my head.

“I’m starting to believe you don’t actually mean ‘yes, chef’ when you say it,” I said dryly.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Beckham said as he walked in, carrying an empty crate for bar glasses. “I mean, I don’t actually call youchef, but I could if you want.” Beckham winked, and I flipped him off.

I kind of missed being able to use my dominant hand to flip people off, but I was getting better at using my left hand to do it.

“You don’t call me chef because I’m not in charge of the bar area.”

“Lame,” Beckham said, walking back towards the bar with a filled glass crate. “I mean, come back with better comebacks.”

“I would, but all of my time and energy is focused on the kid here.”

“Don’t blame me for the fact that that was really crappy.”

I glared at the kid, who just shrugged.

“What? I’m starting to think maybe you hit your head rather than just your hand.”

“You’re lucky you’re on the clock so I can’t beat the crap out of you.”

“Another dollar for the jar,” Beckham said dryly. “Every time we threaten with violence, we have to put a dollar in the jar.”

“At least it’s not cursing,” Jorge said. “Because that would fucking suck.”

I just shook my head and put a dollar in the jar. All of us threatened each other jokingly, but we knew if anyone else heard it, we’d get our asses handed to us. And not in a violent way. So, we were trying to do better about it. I just sucked at it sometimes.

Also, I was pretty sure half the dollars in that jar were mine. We didn’t actually know who the money was going to in the end. Probably all of us for beers. Or maybe we’d donate to a charity or something. Sandy, one of my line cooks who wasn’t here today, usually took care of it. She was the only one any of us trusted with the money. Mostly because she wasn’t going to spend it on herself.

But still.

“Okay, let’s get back to it,” I said as I gestured towards Dillon. “Once I’m out of this damn cast, I’ll be back to my brilliant menus.”

“Oh, good, he’s going back to his brilliance,” Jorge said, laughing.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s been like a whole minute since he started talking about that beautiful, brilliant mind of his when it comes to food,” Beckham said, coming back into the kitchen with an empty tub.

“Don’t you have somewhere better to be rather than here, razzing me?” I asked, glaring.

“Well, Brendon isn’t here, so I can’t make fun of him for his bartending skills. I’ll just have to make fun of you and your attitude. That’s sort of my thing.”

“I thought your thing was to be the brooding, quiet guy behind the bar?” Dillon asked, his attention on his hands rather than anything else.

I lifted up my fist, and Dillon held his up. We fist-bumped, and the kid went back to work.

“Good one,” I said.

“I hear the girls talking about his broodiness all the time. I figured it was good to put it into conversation.”

“I do not brood,” Beckham said.