In the middle of chopping an onion, I took a break for the sake of my eyes and walked to the sink to wash off my hands and knife. It brought me right by the service window, and I looked out at an angle I didn’t normally see, one that showed the far corner of the booth tables. Chloe was standing at the end of the booth, her order book in her hand but down by her side. Her other hand was twirling her hair. One foot was propped up on the toes and was twisting back and forth.
She laughed at something apparently funny and reached down with her free hand to touch the shoulder of the guy there. He smiled at her in a way that suggested he had said something that could be taken more than one way. Then he winked. Chloe playfully slapped him on the arm and walked away, but her hips wiggled a little more than normal.
I looked away.
Jealousy coursed through my veins, and I didn’t know why. I had to let that go. We weren’t in a real relationship. It was fake. Everything was fake. The make-out session on the couch had been because of alcohol and loneliness and nothing else. I needed to tone things down.
I needed to not get upset.
Telling myself that didn’t seem to change anything, though. Instead, I stood in the back, throwing my attention into the work and seething. I felt protective and hurt. I wanted to rush out there and kiss her right there in front of that customer. To claim her.
My thoughts were interrupted by cutting my finger, and I cursed loudly. All the onions I had just cut needed to be tossed as there was blood on the cutting board, and I rushed over to the sink to wash it off. Grumbling, I decided that I just needed to keep to myself that night and cool off before I lopped off a body part.
The rest of the evening went pretty smoothly with service being easy enough and customers not being too picky about their food or sending it back. Usually as the night went on, I got less of that as we went more from restaurant to bar and the alcohol increased tolerance for an errant pickle or their burger being ever so slightly pinker than they wanted it.
I was just about done with the kitchen, since we closed it an hour before the last call, and my line chef was handling all the closing duties anyway. That meant that as soon as I plated the last plate of mozzarella sticks, I was done. I grabbed the handle of the fryer basket and dumped them onto paper towels to soak and was grabbing a plate when I heard my phone ringing. Considering the late hour, I rushed to it, wondering who would need me.
It was Tom.
“Hello?” I said, answering the phone hurriedly.
“Matt, hey,” Tom said. He sounded tipsy. For Tom that was rare. What the hell was going on?
“Tom, what’s up? You usually don’t make calls this late.”
“I was still up,” he said. “Busy planning Mom’s party.”
Shit. That was the upcoming weekend. Just days away. The entire reason I was doing the fake marriage with Chloe was to avoid Mom’s insanity. Now I had just a few days to get everything set and done and get over my jealousy issues with seeing her do what we agreed we could do. I had to invite her. I had to bring her and show her off and pretend everything was perfect.
Then I had to tone things down.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m excited.”
“I bet you are,” he said. “I heard you were seeing someone. Might bring them.”
“Yup,” I said, dumping the mozzarella sticks onto a plate with a ramekin of marinara sauce and hitting the bell.
“Well, just make sure she comes. Amanda is dying to meet her. She thought you’d never get married.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“No, no, not like that,” he slurred. He must have had a hell of a party. Tom was never like that. “She just thought you weren’t planning on ever settling down. We’re happy about it.”
“Good,” I said. “Look, I have to close the kitchen. I’ll see you this weekend.”
“Alright, buddy,” Tom said. “See you then. Tell Jordan and Hannah I said hello.”
“Will do.”
With the call over, I sighed and put the phone back in my pocket. I needed to let Chloe know we were a go and that everything that happened last night was okay. We needed to be on the same page. Usually, right at last call, after the last of the drinks were served, the waitresses would take a small break. I saw them filing past the kitchen for the door outside and poked my head out as she came by.
“Hey, babe,” I said, getting a look from Hannah as I did. “Can you talk to me in the office for a sec?”