4
Poppyseed
“Youtellthatprickthat his burger is done perfectly. He wanted medium-rare, I made medium-rare.” Zoe smacked her clean hands on the towel and flicked it back onto the hook.
Admittedly, it wasn’t the perky ponytailed server’s fault, as she was just the messenger. But Tara was tough as nails and would normally at least have the guts to deal with the impatient customer herself. “That’s what I said, but he insisted you would want to see for yourself.”
“Oh, I want to give that asshole an earful for myself,” she huffed. Busier than expected, the weeknight crowd completely threw off their staffing, and her options were slim. Spend the next hour on the phone trying to convince someone to come in on their day off, and the crowd would probably have thinned by the time they arrived anyway. Or, she could just work at twice her normal speed.
Foolishly, Zoe chose the latter. Her temper tried to keep up.
Ripping off her apron, she paused to hang it on the hook and took a breath before berating the angry customer in front of all the pleasant diners. She breezed past Finn at the bar, the beer he was filling spilling over when he saw the steam puffing from her ears.
Halting in front of the table in question, she swallowed her tongue and felt the searing hot rage bubble up her throat. “Raphe,” she muttered under her breath, more of an expletive than actual words. “Dammit, I don’t have time for this.” She fired a glare back at Tara.
The cringe was almost convincing, but Tara had seen Zoe’s puffy eyes after the breakup, and the perhaps unhealthy avoidance behaviors Zoe was almost ready to admit to.
Shit-eating grin pasted on his smug face—a smile she used to find irresistible—he leaned back in his chair and looked her up and down. “Gotta say Zoe, you know how to make an entrance.”
“And you still know how to piss me off.” She rotated on her heel to escape back to the kitchen.
“Wait, hang on,” he pleaded, the chair squealing against the floor as he tore out behind her.
Shaking her head, she ignored him and stormed back into the kitchen, not giving a damn that the entire pub was watching and probably fearing the chef would burn their dinners with her fury alone.
Raphe followed close behind, blazing with a fresh rage to match hers.
Dammit, she didn’t have time for this shit. She flicked on her apron and scrubbed her hands. Checking the orders, she pulled out four slices of sourdough, retreating into the savory scent of the bakery-fresh loaf as she ignored the asshole. “You’re not welcome back here,” she muttered.
Sweet as pudding pie with his smile, he folded his arms over his chest, and crossed one foot over the other as he leaned against the door separating the bar from the kitchen. That damn grin, like he thought he was Adonis reborn, and women should swoon at his feet. “I used to be.”
“That’s when I still thought you were a nice guy. My mistake.”
“Come on Zoe. I miss you, and I know you miss me, too. I’ve been watching. You’re lonely without me.”
Rage boiled hotter in her belly. “Wait, did you say ‘watching?’ So, what, are you stalking me now?” Three months, and he couldn’t get the hint. Or the yell. Self-absorbed asshole, still. Always.
“That’s not what I meant,” he hissed, hands planted on his hips and his jaw gritted tight as he shook his head, disappointed in them both, maybe. “I’m saying… shit, Zoe, this isn’t how I intended for this to go.”
“Right,” she huffed. While the sandwiches heated, she ladled tomato soup into one bowl and beer-cheddar into another, plating them and grabbing the knife to slice the grilled sandwiches, pointing it at Raphe as she turned. Dammit, not even the satisfying slice of the sharp knife through crispy bread with the gooey center took the edge off her attitude. “Pissing me off wasn’t your best way to open a line of conversation. Now get out of my kitchen.”
“You wouldn’t return my calls.” Arms open wide, he crossed close to her, and knocked into a hot pan. He grabbed the burn and hissed, shaking it off and lifting a look that screamed apologetic a little too loudly. “I’ll leave as soon as you admit that you miss me. We were good together.”
“You’re deluded. We havenothingin common.”
“You don’t need much in common when there’s chemistry like we have.”
After sliding the neatly plated dinners out for Tara to deliver, she drizzled the lime-olive oil dressing over the smoky cheddar and carnitas salad, and added a garnish of cilantro on top. Checking that she was caught up on orders for the moment, she leaned against the counter and folded her arms over her chest. “It’s over, Raphe. I’ve moved on. We weren’t right for each other to begin with. Even before you dumped me, didn’t you notice that we had to work so hard at it?”
“Relationships take work.” His voice softened and he stuffed his hands in his pockets, wincing as the burn hit denim, but he ignored the wound to nail the apology properly. Better than his prior apologies, anyway.
“Not like that,” she said slowly, gentling her tone as she looked up and saw the thickening gloss in his eyes. He’d ended it, but she liked to think she would have if he hadn’t. “I can’t—andwon’t—change my hours because my schedule doesn’t fit in with your image of a perfect relationship. I’m a chef. I can’t not work weekends and evenings.” Letting out a breath that had been trapped and burning in her chest, she shook her head. “Do you remember what you got me for my birthday?”
“Of course. You like smelling nice.”
“Which is why I shower daily and wear good deodorant. I don’t wear perfume. Ever. I don’t like it and I think I smell just fine without it.”
“I liked it, but you never cared what I liked. I shaved my beardfor you. I quit smokingfor you. Hell, I bought my house to impressyou, hoping you’d want to move in with me, eventually. Relationships are about compromise.”
