Avery nodded. “Well, he’s missing out. He should at least allow you to explain yourself, right? Nothing happened. Much to my chagrin.” His smile was lopsided, and I realized anew Avery was a lot like a lost puppy. A lost, very ambitious puppy.
I punched him playfully in the gut. I meant it to be playful, but I did see him grimace before he could hide it. “Time to impress Killian McGuire. Personal lives are officially dead in the water until he’s full, happy, and tweeting to his heart’s content. You ready?”
“Born that way.” He turned and bumped into Tova, who ducked past him like a lithe cat and approached me with open arms.
“Charlie,” she said, burying her face into my hair. “I’m so, so sorry. I saw the whole thing on Sparkle Online.”
“Thanks,” I said awkwardly. My arms were pinned to my sides within her embrace.
“Go ahead and cry.” She petted my hair. “Emote. Feel. Be present. This is a safe place.”
“Probably not,” I muttered, eyes on the distant cameras. “Listen, Tova,” I said more loudly. “We have a lot to do today. Did you hear Killian McGuire is coming to Thrill tonight?”
She pulled back. Her ginormous eyes looked soulful, maybe even thoughtful. Hard to tell with the mascara. “I heard about some reviewer guy. Never heard of him. But Charlie …” She gripped my hands. “I want you to know I’m here for you whenever you need to talk. And I totally understand heartache. I’ve been dumped many, many times.”
I pursed my lips. “It’s a harsh word, dumped.”
She clapped her hands and reached for her apron. “I know you, Charlie Garrett, and I know you are a worker bee. Work can be a great distraction against feeling like yesterday’s trash, so let’s get to it. What do I do first, Captain?” She threw off a mock salute.
Trying to focus on Tova and not the all-star pastry team I wished I had for a visit from McGuire, I pointed to a crate of strawberries. “Wash those thoroughly. I’m pretty sure he’ll order the gelée, and I want to be ready.”
We set to work and literally kept our heads down for the next six hours. Tova was not going to win any awards for her technique, but she did seem to genuinely want to please me and help me do well. Perhaps pity was driving her to work harder than I’d seen her work before. She did offer several times to “hug it out” with me, a concept I found both frightening and inefficient. The third time she brought it up, I told her just that.
“Say what you want,” she said, unaffected by my blunt refusal. “But I know that deep underneath that heart of ice, you do have feelings, and those feelings are hurt. When you are ready to face the hurt, Charlie, I’m here. You know,” she said as she returned to cutting butter into cubes, “I’ve taught hot yoga for, like, three years. I know tension and pain when I see it.”
I snorted my cynicism and she shrugged. But by the time I’d prepped for two services, torn into a BLT during a hasty family dinner, and scrubbed down my station for the fifteenth time, I was certainly tense and certainly in pain. My fingers were kneading one particularly large lump in my neck when Avery flew around the corner.
“He’s here.” A fine bead of sweat lay along the edge of his chef’s cap.
Tova squealed. “I’m so excited! Is he gorgeous?”
Avery glanced at her as if she was some sort of noise pollution he had just then noticed. He zeroed in on my face again, and I saw his eyebrows shake. “We can do this. Right?”
I nodded. “We can and we will. Tell me as soon as you can what he has ordered for first and second courses so I can be ready.”
The rest of the restaurant filled up quickly, and those people wanted food, too. I charged through the orders that Chet hollered from the main kitchen.
“Fire two crème br?lées, one gelée!”
“Yes, Chef!”
“Fire one flourless chocolate, one gelée, and one nut tart!”
“Yes, Chef!”
Chet barked, we answered and cranked out dessert after dessert. I kept my eye on the gelées, pleased to see them selling so well but beginning to worry we would sell out before Killian McGuire had a chance to order.
“How many people are in McGuire’s party?” I asked Tova, knowing she would not hesitate to gather intel. A few moments later, she returned from her errand.
“Mike the camera guy says Mr. McGuire is dining with three other people.” She became very serious and lowered her voice. “I want you to know that Mike is trustworthy. I know this because I’m unofficially dating him. Today’s our three-day anniversary. Don’t tell Margot.”
My laugh was sharp. “Your secret is safe with me. Believe me, you don’t want Margot involved in your dating relationships. Gets very crowded very fast.”
She turned toward the ice cream maker. “I can’t see us lasting anyway,” she said above the noise of the machine. “He’s already seeming like the jealous type. But he does look really cute in a headset.”