Behind the lamp’s halo of yellow light, a familiar silhouette made her skin crawl. He was bulky, but not very tall. Maybe even an inch or two shorter than her, though if it was who she thought it was, that wouldn’t matter.
It’s him.
She rested her hand on the car next to her, using it to propel herself forward when her feet wanted to run in the opposite direction. Her steps were slow, but Tracy had to know if it was the man from her vision, the one whose identity had eluded her for almost a month. A deep, ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach seemed to already have the answer, but she had to know for sure.
Halfway across the lot, the man flicked his cigarette into the street and pushed away from the streetlight. He started down the alley without so much as a glance her way. Tracy followed, though she kept her distance. All the while, her heart felt like it was going to pound right out of her chest. It was getting hard to breathe normally, and her head felt like it would float right off of her neck. The whole world felt like it was being turned upside down.
Tracy slipped past the streetlight and watched as he made it halfway down the alley and abruptly stopped. Her breath caught in her throat.
Did he notice me?
For a while, he just stood there. It took Tracy a while to work up the nerve to go over there, but eventually she did. To her, the risk that she was taking was worth it if it meant getting the answers that she so desperately needed.
She started down the alley, inching closer to the man as the rising tide of fear grew in her chest. Finally she reached him, though she was careful to stay an arm’s distance away.
"Who are you?" her voice came out as nothing more than a squeak.
The man didn’t answer. Going against all of the alarm bells sounding in her head, Tracy reached out to him. Her fingers barely grazed the man’s tattered jacket when he spun on his heels. Tracy jumped backwards with a yelp, sure that she had made a grave mistake.
To her surprise, the man who greeted her was not the one from her dream, but rather one of the neighborhood bums. He smiled at her with a toothless (and far from sober) grin.
"Hey there, honey!"
Tracy suddenly felt like she was going to throw up. Hot tears stung the corners of her eyes and she felt the skin on the back of her neck get hot. All of the swirling emotions in her head were becoming too much for her to handle. She wondered if maybe she was losing her grip on reality, if she had gotten herself in over her head.
She backed away from the stranger, then turned and ran to the rear of her restaurant. The tears were flowing freely by the time she arrived seconds later.
Plopping herself down onto the back step, Tracy buried her face into her hands and let it all out. She sobbed uncontrollably, her shoulders heaving up and down as she sucked down air between fits of anger and frustration.
She gave herself ten minutes to cry before sneaking into the bathroom to fix her makeup. It wasn't nearly long enough, but it was all the time she had to spare tonight. Honestly, she didn't even really have ten minutes, but the last thing she needed was for people to think she was as crazy as she felt.
The rest of the very long night went about as well as Tracy could have hoped for. The guests were pleased, her staff pulled in tips that would be hard to beat in the future, and Mr. Hayes declared it a resounding success.
At long past midnight, after everyone else – including Mr. Hayes, who had to be up for a meeting the next day – had gone home, Tracy and Gordon sank down into two chairs with heavy sighs. Most of the lights had been turned off, leaving them in a spotty darkness that reminded Tracy of their sinful encounter just weeks before.
"Excellent work, Mr. Baxter," she said with a smile, stretching her arms up and over her head. The tension slowly released as she realized the day was over.
"Why, thank you." He leaned back in his chair and yanked the soiled apron off, throwing it onto the floor. "I didn’t know if you had it in you," he continued, "but I think that you handled it pretty well."
You wouldn’t say that if you had seen everything, she thought to herself.
"I don’t know about that, but I do think that we have cause for a little celebration,” she said, rubbing a sore spot on her shoulder. “Maybe this week we can all go out for drinks."
Gordon Baxter leaned forward and put his hand on her knee. "Why wait?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why don’t you come back to the hotel with me for a little w
hile?" he asked, taking his hand away but smiling a cocky half smile. His voice was innocent, but the memories of the other night were still fresh. Drinks often had a tendency to turn into something more.
She raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.
"Don’t worry," he responded, waving his hand like it was nothing. "I had a few menu ideas and vendor suggestions to go over. The hotel’s wine selection doesn’t hurt, either, I guess."
Tracy looked across the small space, trying to read him. The way he shifted in his chair, she could tell that he wanted her again, but having her alone was something different entirely. Once, with permission- and approval- was one thing. The idea of sleeping with him without Mr. Hayes knowing or agreeing made her stomach twist. She was dating Mr. Hayes. The last thing she wanted to do was jeopardize what she had with him.
Still, he was her chef. Without him, this restaurant would fall apart. He was the reason for their success, and she had no illusions about that.