I stare after him as the door separating the kitchen from the dining room swings shut. Did he just imply that I’m up for the executive pastry chef position? I feel a smile pulling at my lips as I look around to see if anyone else can confirm what he said. Kasumi stands at the far end of the kitchen by the industrial-sized sink. The wide-eyed expression on her face mirrors the surprise I’m feeling. But instead of returning my grin, she gives a tiny, incredulous shake of her head and turns around to rinse the cutting board she’s holding.
I change in the break room, and head out into the dining area. Everything goes smoothly for most of the evening. While my presence is not actually helpful to the other servers, at least I manage to steer clear of being a liability. I stick to pouring coffee and water and avoid anything where taking orders or entering them into the computer is involved. I’m clearing dessert plates, hoping that maybe I managed to make it through the night without any disasters, when something brushes the back of my leg. It must be the angle I’m leaning over the table to reach for a stray dessert fork. Maybe I’ve bumped the arm of someone’s chair. But then whatever is touching my leg starts to slide from my upper thigh to my ass. I look down, and my eyes lock on the florid face of Rob Thurmond. He grins up at me.
I jerk back, away from the hand and its creepy owner, and the stack of plates I’m holding teeters, topples, and hits the floor with the unmistakable crash of china on slate tile.
“Oh, for God’s sake. It’s Sadie again,” Marianne mutters to the other servers.
My cheeks flush so hot, I know they must be as red as the strawberry chardonnay sauce that’s now smeared across the floor. I turn and flee the dining room, leaving the pile of broken plates for the servers to clean up. I know they’ll be even more annoyed with me than they already are. But I don’t care. I dart into the break room, yanking off my server’s shirt and pulling on the sweatshirt I’d worn on my walk to the restaurant earlier. I’m grateful it’s oversized, and long enough to skim my thighs.
I know Rob is the one who should feel ashamed, and that I ought to march into Xavier’s office and tell him exactly what happened. But somehow, I’m the one who’s red-faced and burning with humiliation, and I know I’ll never say a word. I stuff the server’s shirt into the garbage can, going over and over the events in my head. Did Rob think I was flirting when he told that dumb joke and I forced a smile? Maybe I leaned too close when I was pouring his water? One of my buttons came undone halfway through the night. Why didn’t I check them before I went out there?
I’m angry that these thoughts even cross my mind because I know they’re not rational. If Kasumi was the one who had her ass grabbed, I’d tell her that none of it was her fault. But I can’t seem to give myself the same grace.
I just want to get out of here.
Thankfully, everyone seems too distracted by my mess in the dining room to notice me darting across the kitchen. I’m halfway to the door when I pass by my prep table and spot the doughnuts I’d been working on earlier. Someone packed them up neatly in a box. On a whim, I grab it and head out the door.
Outside on Bedford Avenue, the evening air cools my flushed skin, and by the time I’ve walked a half dozen blocks to Higher Grounds, I feel slightly less heated. Zoe has the café open late tonight, and the warm glow in the window beckons me.
Along with Zoe, José Luis is on duty tonight. Since business is slow, he sits in his usual spot behind the counter with a sketchbook propped on his leg.
“Hey, Sadie.” Zoe gives me a grin as I walk in. “Good to see you.”
I plunk the pastry box on the counter. “These are for you.”
She raises her eyebrows and flips open the lid. “Ooooh.” Out of the box, she pulls a tender brioche doughnut stuffed with the lightest, fluffiest coffee cream you could imagine. “This looks amazing.”
José Luis hops off his stool to peer over her shoulder. “Yum.”
Even Mrs. Kaminski seems to be slightly impressed. I put a napkin in front of her and place a doughnut on top.
“For me?” She blinks at the doughnut, and in the next second, she’s devouring it. Powdered sugar drops on her navy cardigan.
“I’ll do it,” I tell Zoe. “If you want me to bake for you, I can come in twice a week. I’ll stock the freezer with pastries—croissants, muffins, scones. All you’ll have to do is pull them out and bake them. And then I’ll make a couple of new desserts each week—cakes and tarts, things that are a bit more labor intensive that you’ll want to serve fresh.”
“You’re hired,” Mrs. Kaminski mutters with coffee cream on her chin.
“What she said,” Zoe says with a laugh. “If you agree to what we can pay, of course.”
I nod. Whatever Zoe can pay me is going straight into my Someday Bakery fund. If I could eventually work for myself, I wouldn’t have to put up with anyone else’s bullshit. Or roving hands.
“Welcome to the team.” Zoe holds out her hand to shake on it, and her smile is infectious. “When can you start?”
Mrs. Kaminski climbs off her chair, brushing crumbs from her palms. “Sadie the Cat Lady,” she says, pointing to me. “Wait here.” Then she turns her shaking, mottled finger to José Luis. “You, young man. Come with me.”
José Luis looks to Zoe for guidance, but she just shrugs. “You heard the woman.”
He rounds the counter and follows Mrs. Kaminski as she slowly shuffles to the front door, leaning heavily on her cane. Once they’ve disappeared outside, I turn to Zoe.
“Where do you think they’re going?”
“No idea. That woman is eccentric.”
I hang out at the counter, chatting with Zoe about baking supplies and the bulk cost of flour. A couple of minutes later, a cool breeze blows into the café as the door swings open. Mrs. Kaminski lumbers back in with José Luis balancing a cardboard box in his hands. The box appears to be moving, and I swear I hear something thumping around in there.
Once Mrs. Kaminski is safely inside, José Luis closes the door and sets the box on a table. “I’m not sure what’s going on here,” he confides, backing away. The box is definitely moving. And thumping. And then it lets out a high-pitched yowl.
“What is in that box?” Zoe demands, approaching it slowly. At that moment, a tiny, furry little black arm pops out the top of the box where the two flaps are folded together. Zoe lets out a startled shriek and jumps backward.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic.” Mrs. Kaminski rolls her eyes. “It’s a cat. For Sadie the Cat Lady.”
“It’s a what? For who?” I ask, eyes wide.
“It’s a cat. I found it in the alley.” She pokes at the box with her cane. “They won’t let me keep a cat in my building, so I brought it for you.”
I stand there, dumbfounded. “I can’t take home a…” My voice trails off, because of course I can take home a cat. I told Zoe that my cat died and implied I was devastated. What would it look like if I refused this one?
But… I can’t actually have a cat. Can I? I shake my head. I have enough trouble taking care of myself. How am I going to take responsibility for another creature?