Josh coughs. “And are you still harassing pedestrians—”
“You mean raising money for worthy charitable causes?”
“—or did you find a new line of work?” The hostility is still right under the surface, even after three years. His voice overcompensates for something. Probably a disappointing penis.
“I’ve been—” Ari hesitates for a few seconds, before remembering that she officially has the right to say it. Yeah, it’s a fact now. No qualifiers. No trying to “do comedy.” “I’m a professional comedian.” Chase or Jake is no longer paying attention, occupying himself with closing tasks. A server stifles a yawn as she runs her last table’s credit card, her nails clicking against the screen protector on the point-of-sale system. “I came here to celebrate with Rad. I sold a script.”
“For television?” Josh asks. There’s a slight dubious note in his voice.
“Yes.” She clears her throat. “Well, a streaming platform. It’s going to be the Netflix of comedy.” She’s surprised at the way she wants to keep chattering about this with Tall Sweater Nightmare Man. There’s an enthusiasm in her voice—an almost coked-up vibe, but clear, too. “And I did a really great set tonight. It really flowed. So I thought Rad and I could celebrate by getting blackout drunk and trying not to barf in the cab home.”
Enough. Jesus. Ari takes another sip of the whiskey sour to stop the giddy rambling.
“Your definition of ‘roommate’ hasn’t changed, either,” Josh says, shaking his head.
“Radhya and I are strictly platonic. Haven’t you noticed she’s hopelessly straight?”
He looks surprised by that. “We don’t exactly keep up with each other’s love lives during the dinner rush.”
“So she hasn’t heard your soulmate cookie theory? How’s that working out for you, by the way? Did you find your other half and make her breakfast?”
* * *
“I HAVE A girlfriend.” Josh pauses, considering how much to reveal. This conversation is a convenient excuse to be in the dining room for the tableside presentation of the duck at Table Five. “Sophie. She’s in brand management consulting. Speaks four languages. She’s the most intelligent woman I’ve ever met.”
“Wow.” Ari rests her chin in the palm of her hand. “Sounds like you really admire her.”
“Yes,” Josh agrees. “But it’s mutual.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he watches the server slice into the bird. It’s a choreographed dance—the strokes of the carving knife revealing perfectly roasted duck.
“How many eggplants?” Ari asks.
“Three—no, four,” he says quickly, feeling ridiculous for leaning into her eggplant scale, but oddly defensive.
“Lies!”
“I’m lying about my own girlfriend?” A girlfriend of two and a half months who likes responding to I love you with “that’s so nice.”
Maybe Ari and Jace will fuck each other later tonight. If he had to make a prediction, Jace will earn two emojis, max.
“See, I use the volcano emoji when—”
But she’s interrupted by the sound of clattering cutlery over Josh’s shoulder. Josh turns around, anticipating the delighted exclamation of a satisfied food critic at Table Five. Instead, he watches as the server looks over at him with a panicked expression.
* * *
—
“THAT DUCK WAS FUCKING UNDERCOOKED!” Josh bellows, slamming the swinging door to the kitchen against the wall.
Radhya flinches, looking up from the counter she’s scrubbing. “Jesus!”
“Turn the grill back on!” He heads straight for the walk-in, grabbing two Wagyu skirt steaks—the fastest entrée he can prepare. There’s no time to roast another duck.
Radhya bursts into the walk-in behind him. “I was following your instructions.”
“？‘Your instructions,’ Chef. It’s the most straightforward dish on the menu.” Josh blows past her, heading for the meat station. “I need the fiddlehead ferns and the cipollini in seven minutes!” he yells to the line cooks.
Radhya reaches for the steaks. “I’ll fire them—”
“Get the fuck off the line,” he says, wrenching them away. “You’re done tonight.”
“This is my station.”
The server rushes in from the dining room. “Table Five asked for the check, Chef.”