Running Home to You (The Running Series) (11 page)

I pass through the kitchen to reach my office in the back room and find Marcus going over last minute directions with Reese.  He’s reminding her of the agreed upon procedures for expediting food orders, but she seems to be largely ignoring him.  I’m disappointed to see her treating her boss, and my friend, so disrespectfully.  It’s not what I expected from Reese.  But then again, I don’t know why I’m so surprised. 

Reese and I have been friends and roommates for a little over two years, and in that entire time, we’ve never worked together.  If her study habits are any indication of her work habits, I should have been better prepared.  She has a natural talent in the kitchen, an outgoing personality, and sharp mind.  She never had to do much studying or practicing to do well in school.  I always envied her sense of confidence.  Now, I feel it’s morphed into an over-confidence that could serve to derail an otherwise smooth opening.  I hope I’m wrong, but I fear I’m not.

There’s no point in stepping in at this point.  We open in just a few more minutes, and I don’t want to undermine Marcus’ role of authority.  I’m going to let him work it out for now, but I make a mental note to stay on top of things for the rest of the night.

As I approach the door to my office, I hear the familiar tapping of keys on a keyboard.  I have no doubt that sound I hear is Evan, unable to stay unplugged from his team for very long.  Morning, noon, and night, he spends every waking moment on his ‘off’ days watching clips from the team’s practice or e-mailing his coaches and trainers.  “Evan, seriously?  Can’t you stop checking in with the team for one minute and help me out here?  It’s almost time to open the doors.”  Is it too much to hope that he’d forget about football for just one night?

He finishes typing and eyes me suspiciously, “Come here.  I want to show you something.”  He sits back in his chair and pats his lap, indicating his wish that I sit on his lap and look at the screen with him.  My disposition softens a little, and I join him as we gaze at the screen.

Evan wraps his arms around me to reach the keyboard.  I close my eyes for a moment and inhale his unique scent.  It’s a heady mixture of body wash and testosterone, and each time I’m near him, it has an immediate effect on me.  I try to push back these intense impulses and focus on the computer as Evan pulls up the site he was just on.  It’s his Twitter feed.  He’s tweeting about our Soft Opening tonight.  Then he clicks some more and shows me his Facebook status that says he is “thrilled and blissfully happy to be hosting the Opening of Rush Dessert Bar”. 

He whispers in my ear, “I’m just trying to help in the best way I know how – giving people something to talk about.”  Evan looks deep into my eyes and adds, “Speaking of which, I have something special I’d like to give you.”  He reaches around me for something left on the floor, just out of my sight.  When he raises his hand back up, he’s holding a beautiful bouquet of wispy pink and white flowers wrapped tightly with a big white ribbon which he hands to me.

“Oh, Evan.  You didn’t have to.  You’ve given me so much already,” I tell him.

“It’s just a little token to remind you that even though sometimes I may not show it, you’re always on my mind.  These flowers are heather.  The pink ones represent Good Luck and the white ones represent Protection.  Their combined powers should guarantee a successful opening.”  He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight, “You ready to open the doors, baby?”

I lay the flowers on the desk, drape my arms around his neck, and plant a sweet kiss on his lips.  “Ready when you are, baby.”  I quickly strip off my ratty old t-shirt and slip on my new staff shirt.  Evan is wearing his staff shirt, too.  I’ve always gotten such a thrill seeing him in his football uniform, but seeing him standing there in a shirt that I designed, wearing the name of the business we own together is almost like seeing him wearing my mark.  It’s as if I’ve stamped him with a branding iron proclaiming to the world that he belongs to me. 

Together, hand-in-hand, we walk to the door, turn the deadbolt lock, and gaze upon the crowd gathered on the sidewalk. Despite the lack of advertising, word seems to have gotten out because there is a crowd assembled on the sidewalk that seems to go around the block. 

I take a deep breath to steady myself and calm my rising nerves.  Evan wraps one arm around me and holds me close, allowing me to use his power as a lightning rod to fuel my own strength.  First in line, as promised, are Evan’s parents, accompanied by his sister, Callie, and brother-in-law, Dean.  Relief washes over me as Evan greets the anxious crowd.

“Welcome to Rush Dessert Bar,” Evan proclaims. 

“Thank you for coming out tonight.  We will seat all of you as quickly as we possibly can,” I add.

The hostess gets busy seating the guests as quickly as possible.  I’ve reserved one of the booths for Evan’s family and a table beside it for mine.  Evan and I spend a few minutes chatting with our families and proudly greeting the rest of the guests.  Friends, family, and strangers all ask to take a picture with Evan.  A few of them want me in their photo, too. 

As we walk around the restaurant, I try to keep an eye on the staff.  The waitresses are taking orders, the busboys are filling water glasses, and the hostess is nearly done seating the guests.  There is a palpable buzz of excitement and joy in the air.  So far, so good.

However, after closer inspection, I notice that the bar staff is quickly getting in the weeds.  It takes diners a little while to decide on their meal selections, but choosing a beverage is something most people do fairly quickly.  As a result, drink orders are quickly piling up.

Without hesitating, I join Emmy, Derek, and Blaine behind the bar.  Working closely with my friends brings back memories of the months we spent at Wilkinson’s bar on the boardwalk in Point Pleasant.  It was my first bartending job and the place where I discovered my new passion for cocktails and mixology. 

Since the three of them have been training non-stop for weeks, they are much quicker at making the house specialty drinks than I am.  Instead, I plant myself at the draft beer and wine station.  Each of us carves out our own territory as we find a groove and swiftly begin to clear the tickets. 

“Hey, boss lady – bet you I can bang out these cocktails faster than you can pour drafts!” Derek calls out to me as he sets up three cocktail glasses and fills them to the rim with ice.

“Isn’t it a little early to be so cocky?” I ask.

Derek walks up behind me as I continue to fill a frosted beer glass for a customer.  He presses up against me as he reaches for a bottle of Jack and whispers in my ear, “You know I have mad skills, Jette.  Are you regretting your decision to cast me aside for that big, rich, handsome, and famous jock?  I just don’t know what you see in him.”

I give him a playful elbow to his ribs that he wasn’t expecting, causing him to take a giant step back.  “You better be careful, Derek, or I could bring you up on sexual harassment charges,” I warn him.

“Come on, Jette, you’re the boss and I’m the employee.  I can’t sexually harass you.  But anytime you want to sexually harass me, you have my permission,” he teases.

“If you two don’t cut it out, I’m gonna go get Evan to put an end to this!” Emmy chides.  Derek immediately backs off me and focuses his attention on Emmy.

“Aw, what’s the matter, Em?  You feelin’ left out?  Come here, darlin’.  I can sexually harass you, too, if you want,” he calls to her as he finishes filling his drink order.

It feels so good to work behind the bar with my friends, just like old times.  I feared that my new role as employer would put a strain on my friendships, but it seems that my worries were completely unfounded in this case.  Derek has no inhibitions and I’m glad for it.  I just hope that Evan didn’t witness that little display.  It was all harmless, fun banter.  When women openly flirt and tease with Evan, their intentions are nowhere near as innocent.

I finish filling the remaining orders for beer and wine, then slip out from behind the bar.  I find Evan sitting in the booth with his family giving them a full update on his recovery.  He spots me and scoots in just enough to give me room beside him.

He lays an arm across my shoulder, absentmindedly playing with my hair as he finishes his conversation with his mother, “To be honest, my hand still gets numb from time to time and I sometimes lose my grip.  But that’s happening less and less often.  Dr. Geiselman tells me that I should be able to practice with the team in a week or two.”

Evan’s father gives him a warning of sorts.  “Now son, remember to move cautiously.  Don’t push it too quickly.  I’d much prefer to see you miss a few games during preseason while you heal than rush in before you’re ready and wind up missing the entire season.”  He knows Evan well. 

“Don’t worry, Dad.  The coach wouldn’t even let me near a football until he had the doctor’s release in his hand,” Evan explains.

Dean asks Evan about the Sentinel’s quarterback, Matt Ortiz.  “You know, Mac, Ortiz isn’t getting any younger.  He’s almost forty years old and he’s had a few knee injuries over the years.  Maybe this will be your break-out year.”

“Don’t count on it, Dean.  Matt’s still got a strong arm and our offensive line is built to run block,” Evan explains.  I know that Evan is really looking forward to working with Matt and learning from his experience.  He took the team to the playoffs three times in his career.

They spend a few more minutes talking about the upcoming season and the early predictions.  I give Evan a peck on the cheek, and excuse myself to join my mother and grandmother sitting at the table alone.  “So tell me,” I ask, “how is everything?” I ask my mother.

“I must say, you did a wonderful job designing this place.  It’s really beautiful.  The lighting behind the bar really draws your attention,” she praises.  “And I have to tell you that my drink was out of this world!”

I look down to see if I can figure out which cocktail she ordered, and I see two drinks – one for her and one for my grandmother – but only one meal.  My mother’s sandwich is sitting in front of her, untouched, but there is nothing on the table for my grandmother.  “Gram, aren’t you hungry?  I can have the kitchen send you out some soup if you like,” I tell her.

“Oh, dear, that’s not necessary,” she sweetly replies.  “I’ve already ordered.”

“I don’t understand.  If you ordered, why don’t you have any food yet?  Mom, what’s going on?” I ask.

“Well, we both ordered at the same time, but the waitress just brought out my sandwich.  She said your grandmother’s meal would be out shortly.”  She quietly adds, “That was nearly ten minutes ago.”

I excuse myself to speak with Marcus.  I find him in the back of the restaurant, speaking with two of our waitresses.  They are complaining about the kitchen.  Dinners are coming out randomly, without rhyme or reason.  Tables are getting their food in dribs and drabs.  It would seem that my grandmother isn’t the only customer whose entre was delayed in leaving the kitchen. 

I thank the waitresses for notifying us of the situation and authorize them to offer each table affected a complimentary dessert.

“Have you spoken to Reese about this yet?” I ask.  “This is more than an inconvenience.  Now her mistakes are starting to cost us money.”

“No, I haven’t gone back yet,” he responds.  “I was just about to go in there when you showed up.”

“Let’s go talk to her, Marcus.  Maybe we can get things back on track.”

Marcus and I step inside the kitchen doors, and when I do, I’m shocked by what I see.  Reese is cooking on the line, and one of the sous chefs is trying desperately to expedite the orders.  She has relinquished control of her kitchen to someone hired to train under her tutelage.

I don’t even give Marcus a chance to speak up before I jump right in, “Reese, what the hell?  Why aren’t you expediting the tickets, for Christ’s sake?  The orders are getting all fucked up out here!” I reprimand her.

She doesn’t even give me the courtesy of turning around to talk to me.  She keeps leaning over the grill and sauté pan as she explains, “Listen, Jette, I had no choice.  Would you rather I send out crap food?  These guys don’t know how to cook a burger, much less make a red wine reduction.”

“That’s not my problem, it’s yours.  You had weeks to train your crew and get them ready for tonight.  Evan and I pay you a good salary to run the kitchen – the entire kitchen.  You need to get your shit together or we’re going to have to make some changes back here,” I warn.

“Yeah, right,” she snorts.

“Just because we’re friends, don’t think I won’t do it.  I have a lot of people depending on the success of this place, Reese.  Great tasting food won’t bring the customers back if the service sucks.  And right now, that’s one hundred percent on your shoulders.”

Now I have her attention.  Finally, she takes the pan off the burner, turns, and addresses me.  “I left a perfectly good job back home in Wisconsin to come and help you, remember?  Is this the thanks I get?”

“You hated your job in Wisconsin.  You told me every chance you had.  Evan flew you out here on his dime and I gave you a free place to live.  Don’t you dare accuse me of being ungrateful, Reese.”

“You’re not even giving me a chance, Jette.  I’ll admit that things aren’t going perfectly, but you’re totally over reacting.  Is this because of Derek?  I know you had some pathetic fantasy all worked out in your mind about all of us riding off into the sunset together, living happily ever after, but that was never going to happen.”  She tears off her apron and throws it onto the counter.  “You’re going to have to deal with the fact that you hurt him and throwing us together isn’t going to make that disappear.”

“This has nothing to do with Derek.  Frankly, I don’t give a shit what you two do when you’re not at work.  Fuck him.  Don’t fuck him.  I don’t care.  Derek’s a big boy and he can take care of himself.  Of that I’m certain.”  I take a step closer to her to make sure she knows that I’m not going to be so easily intimidated by her accusation and misdirection.  “What I do care about is this restaurant and its reputation.”