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Kai gives me a look, his lips twitching as if he’s wrestling with whether to share more. The moment stretches, filled with anticipation as I wait for him to elaborate.
Just then, Rita interrupts, peeking into the kitchen. “Gina, your presence is requested at the register.”
I reluctantly rip my attention away from Kai, even though I desperately still want to hear what he has to say. But by the time I glance toward the doorway, Rita has already disappeared, leaving me unable to ask who’s looking for me.
With a pointed look and a raised finger, I say to Kai, “I’ll be right back,” eluding to him that our discussion is far from over.
Kai’s nonchalant shrug as he turns back to his work tells me all I need to know. Drawing him back into the conversation about Randy will be a challenge. Nevertheless, as I make my way to the front of the restaurant, my mind buzzes with strategies to revisit the topic. Yet all my planning screeches to a halt the moment I see who’s standing in front of the counter, waiting for me. The sight of Randy makes me stop in my tracks. Even my jaw has dropped from sheer shock.
Seeing Randy in casual attire is a rare treat. I’ve only glimpsed him like this a few times, Friday night included. He has a way of making an edgy black leather jacket look like it was tailored just for him, and today is no exception. Underneath, he sports a frosty pumpkin orange T-shirt that looks impossibly soft. While the counter obscures the rest of his outfit, I’m willing to bet his pants complement his build just as well. Randy’s physique is noteworthy, both in and out of his clothes, and the intent way he’s looking at me now only adds to his appeal. I’ve seen that look before, one that usually inspires us both to get half naked and on the kitchen counter.
“No, Gina, no,” Naomi’s voice says in my head. And she’s right. He’s not getting any more of that from me.
Wiping my damp hands on my apron, I steady myself. I’m silently hoping Randy hasn’t summoned me from the kitchen to start an argument with me. I’m not ready to go to battle with him just yet.
“I guess you’re the one who called me up here?” I ask as I approach him. The familiar scent that’s so uniquely Randy washes over me, accompanied by that magnetic pull he always seems to inspire. A shiver runs through me, prompted by our proximity. Realizing I’m too close for comfort, I instinctively step back. Some space between us is definitely required.
A playful yet enticing smirk blossoms on his sexy mouth. “Didn’t I see you at the pier with Jeremy the other night?”
“No,” I answer too quickly, my response tinged with nervousness I can’t quite hide.
Randy’s gaze lingers on my face, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Jeremy mentioned you took off after spotting me. He was concerned and tried calling, but you didn’t pick up.”
Internally, I feel like I’m turning to stone. This is the first time I’ve found myself at a loss for words around Randy, and it’s unsettling. Normally, I’m ready with a retort for anything he might throw my way, but this vulnerability, this inability to engage as I usually would, places me at a stark disadvantage.
Struggling for an explanation, I manage, “Umm… I was at my parents’ house, so I couldn’t answer my phone.”
Randy rubs his stubble thoughtfully, nodding as if piecing things together. “Ah, dinner with your parents. I see.”
“I’ll call him back soon,” I assure him, hoping to ease any concern.
At this, his eyebrows knit together. “By the way, the person you saw me with? That was my manager.”
“Your manager?” The revelation catches me off guard.
“Yes, the woman you saw me with is my manager—Deanna Blume.” He’s still grinning like he knows seeing them together has driven me crazy, literally.
Surprise leaves my mouth agape even as a wave of relief turns my once hardened insides into jelly. The impulse to abandon my decision to end things with Randy flares up, yet I resist, knowing it’s not wise to flip-flop based on this one clarification. Sure, the woman was his manager this time, but what about next time? What happens when he’s on a date with someone else?
However, his mention of having a manager piques my curiosity, stirring an unexpected concern within me. “Why do you need a manager?” I find myself asking.
I note his nonchalant stance, hands tucked into his pockets, as he casually explains. “Because I’m a chef. Even though I’ve been stationed here for a bit, I haven’t given up on my career ambitions just yet.”
I bite my tongue because my first instinct is to be sarcastic by rolling my eyes and saying something like, “Yeah, right, Mr. Celebrity Chef,” which would’ve been unnecessarily unkind of me.
Meanwhile, two women by the register are casting flirtatious smiles and batting their eyelashes at Randy. One of them, her voice dripping with sweetness, inquires, “You’re Randy Thorn, aren’t you?”
Jeez, I think I just caught a sugar high.
“Yes,” Randy replies, his response brief yet polite. Then, turning to me, he suggests, “Gina, can we talk over there?” He gestures toward a more secluded spot at the end of the counter.
I give a nod, silently agreeing, and start to follow him. There’s something about his demeanor that’s very different this time. I have no idea what he has to say to me in private if he’s not going to reprimand me about something I did or didn’t do.
“Listen,” Randy begins, cutting off any chance I have to craft a witty remark to temper the whirlwind of anxiety inside me. There’s a peculiar sense that we’re on the verge of entering new territory in our interaction. Gosh, he’s being too different, and I can’t shake the feeling that he’s also nervous. But why? Randy Thorn, nervous around me?
“Jeremy mentioned you’ve been asking him quite a few questions about me. If you have questions, why not come directly to me?”
The answer comes to me swiftly. “Because up until now, you’ve been nothing but an asshole to me.”
