I start wrapping the silverware the way he showed me. It’s a monotonous, boring job, but I guess someone has to do it. I glance up to see Johnny standing at the cash register, facing the other direction, and frown. I would love to know what I did to deserve his cold shoulder. It seemed all I had to do was move to town. I could ask him, but then he would get the satisfaction of my curiosity.
After wrapping another napkin, I get a better idea. Who wants a boring rolled-up napkin when they can have something more creative—like the shape of a sun? I jump into a rhythm that sends my hands flying into repetitive motion. I’m done in minutes. When I stand and look up with a satisfied grin, Johnny is standing there with a strange look on his face.
“That was fast.”
I look at my handiwork and shrug. “It was easy. What’s next?”
The top of my head only reaches his collarbone, so I have to lift my chin to meet his gaze. He stares down with a heated intensity that could fry an egg. From here, I get a good look at the scar that runs from the side of his eye to the top of his right cheek. It takes everything in me to contain my shudder as I imagine him in some sort of biker brawl that he most likely won.
His eyes flicker down to the table—to my masterpiece. He lifts one of the cloth suns, shakes out the silverware, and dangles it in front of him. “What the hell is this?”
My words are lost at first. I swallow my nerves and stand up straighter. “Anyone can roll a napkin. These”—I give an excited wave of my hand—“are fun.”
“I don’t remember asking for fun.” With a shake of his wrist, the napkin unravels, and he tosses it on the table. “Fix them all.”
I drop into my seat, mouth agape. Johnny walks toward the kitchen, and I am utterly speechless. I know he’s rude, but I’m not sure if his growl is worse than his bite. Frustration consumes me, and as soon as he’s out of sight, I’m making quick work of the task he gave me, undoing what I created and rewrapping the silverware the way he instructed.
Not enough time has passed, and I’m still fuming when I lift myself from the seat and march into the staff room to confront Johnny. He has no right to talk to me like that.
I slam the door open with my palm, ready to let him have it, when I get an eyeful of his shirtless form sliding a shirt over his head. He’s facing me, his face covered by his shirt’s fabric, so he doesn’t see the way I ogle the deep carvings that define his abs and the scar that starts near one side of the V that dips into his shorts and reaches around his back. I should turn away or run—anything else but stand here and stare.
His shirt slides over his eyes, and he’s staring back at me.
My cheeks warm and my breathing is unsteady. “I-I’m sorry.”
He says nothing about my gawking. Instead, he grabs a black shirt on the counter beside him and chucks it at me. When I open the balled-up material, I notice it’s a work tank top with Island Grille’s logo on it.
“Thank you.” The words are barely a whisper as they leave my mouth.
Johnny slides past me and walks out the door, allowing me to change in private.
For the millionth time, I debate whether a job here is worth it. I don’t want to quit before I’ve even been hired, and I don’t want to let a grumpy asshole like Johnny get the better of me, but I don’t know how I can work with the guy long-term.
After changing into the work tank, I find an empty locker to toss my shirt into. When I walk out of the staff room, Johnny is leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded across his chest.
He tosses me a stained white cloth that smells of cleaning solution. “You can wipe down the tables and set the chairs out.”
I narrow my eyes and fold my arms to mirror him. “Oh yeah? And what are you going to do?”
He raises his brows, as if accepting my challenge. “Clean the bathrooms. Why? Wanna swap?”
I let my arms fall, feeling deflated. It’s if he won some sort of battle, and I’m too annoyed to answer.
He rolls his eyes and pushes off the wall. “Didn’t think so.”
After heading back out to the restaurant, I spend the next thirty minutes wiping down each table and placing the chairs in their respective positions. It’s enough time for me to get my head straight again and remember that Johnny is harmless compared to Steve. Sure, Johnny hates me for some mysterious reason, but he isn’t doing anything more than being rude. I can deal with rude.
Once he’s done with the bathrooms, he shows me how to take an order and place it into the system then how to charge a customer’s card to close out a table. Meanwhile, I just listen and take it all in, doing everything in my power to avoid eye contact and speaking to him. If I open my mouth to say anything, I know it won’t be nice.
“Monday mornings are never busy, so it’s just you and me for the first hour. I’ll shadow you and tell you everything you need to fix.”
My eyes widen, and I see there’s a twinkle in his eyes to tell me he’s actually joking. Not that he’s being playful. He’s just enjoying being an ass. “Oh gee, what a great guy you are.”
“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t go that far. Just looking forward to watching you fail.”
Fire flares in my chest, and I’m not willing to back down this time. “Excuse me? What is your problem? You’ve been nasty to me since you laid eyes on me. I’m sorry I hit you when I was playing pool the other day. It was an accident, but you were terrible to me before that. So what gives?”
Johnny starts to open his mouth, but the door swings open.
Roy walks in. “Hey, Kat,” he greets with a big smile. “Don’t mess up.” He salutes, then he walks straight to the back, most likely to his office.
When I look back at Johnny, I swear there’s a tiny smirk lifting his cheeks. When I let out a little growl and open my mouth to prompt him to answer my question, Johnny places his hands on my shoulders and swivels me toward the door. “Your first customer. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
For the next hour, I take all the distractions I can get. Customers enter, and I rush to seat them. I get their drinks then take their orders. At some point, Johnny gets busy at the bar, and I no longer feel like I’m putting on a show for him. After other staff members and customers arrive, I feel like I’m thriving in the chaos of tending to multiple orders at once.
When I pick up an order from the kitchen, I find Johnny and Roy near the break room, standing close together and speaking about something. I find it interesting to watch Johnny interact with someone without the grumpy face he always seems to wear around me.
Roy sees me standing in the kitchen and waves. “Hey, Kat. You're doing good out there.”
I smile at the old man, happy to have pleased someone.
“Order up!” Mikey calls, snapping my attention toward him. He winks, and I grab the sizzling breakfast skillets off the warmers.
“Whoa!” Johnny calls out before running over to me and blocking my way to the dining area. He looks down at what I’m holding, his expression twisting in confusion. “Those skillets aren’t too hot for your hands? Most people use the oven pads to grab them.”
I shrug. “My hands are tough, I guess.”
He shakes his head as if he doubts me. Meanwhile, my heart is fluttering wildly, partially because of our proximity and partially because I know that I might smack him if he says another rude thing to me.