Like I said, the list is endless. I can encompass it by saying I want to know everything about Macsen Evans no matter how insignificant.
And the need to do so is almost overwhelming.
That’s why the distance he’s created between us is so frustrating. I get the impression he’s giving me space to process everything, and I appreciate the gesture, I really do.
The trouble is, I’ve had a taste of Macsen Evans, and now I’m an addict, and like any addict, I’m craving my next fix, a bigger hit, more, always more.
For the last two days, all we’ve shared is a quiet drink at the bar each night before closing, but since our dinner date and the most amazing mutual orgasms of my life, it’s not enough.
Getting drip-fed half an hour of his company a night hasn’t done anything to sate the craving. In fact, it’s made it worse. It’s almost like going cold turkey.
I’m in Macsen withdrawal, and it’s driving me crazy.
I find out he’s supposedly the other half of me, and then get to spend a bloody wonderful but far too short amount of time learning everything about him. From his sharp wit to his propensity for storing up general knowledge, or ‘useless information’ as he calls it, and then we both go to bed. Alone.
I wake up alone.
I go through my day alone.
It’s like all my time is spent waiting for that thirty minutes before last call. I’m not living; I’m counting down to the moment where I get to walk out of the kitchen, hoping to find him sat on the same stool waiting for me. A cold beer placed on the bar next to him—the brand I drink—while he sips from a glass of his favoured brandy.
And it’s not enough.
“Table eleven was the seabass and scallops.”
“I know.”
Iris slides two perfectly plated dishes across the counter before me.
One plate of locally farmed lamb shanks with tomato and rosemary, and the other, fresh monkfish rubbed with toasted coriander and cumin.
“Shit. Fuck. Bollocks.”
“Yep.” The p pops, her sarcasm hitting me in the face like a slap. “All of those things you just muttered, but no seabass or scallops.”
“Give them my apologies and comp them their meal.”
I ignore the plates of now wasted food and set about prepping the right order.
“Let Llinos finish the service, Ell. You’re giving away more meals than you’re selling tonight.” Iris’s hand lands on my arm, her touch firm and demanding of my attention.
I shake her off as if her worry burns and regret it almost immediately. She’s right. I’m the one in the wrong; getting arsey with Iris won’t solve anything.
“Listen, I appreciate your concern. I’m fine. Honestly. We can’t afford to have a man down in the kitchen tonight. It’s not fair on everyone else to pick up my slack.”
“Jesus Christ, Ell. Take a look around. They already are.” Her tone is thick with exasperation, her arms flying out to the sides indicating the hustle and bustle around us.
I lift my head, ignoring Iris’s glare, ready to tell her to keep her nose out of my business and what I see is Tomos and Llinos working at double pace. Even my ruined order is already being rectified with Llinos plating a perfectly cooked seabass and giving me a shoulder shrug that’s half, ‘we don’t need you’ and half an apology for not needing me.
“See?” Iris’s tone isn’t smug like it should be; it’s patient, understanding and a little concerned. “It’s all under control. Take the rest of the night off.”
“It’s only seven-thirty. It isn’t even peak dining time. They can’t keep up this pace all night without extra help.”
“They won’t have to.” Iris pushes by me, reaching for a spare chef’s white and slipping it on over her clothes. “I’m going to help.” Then she all but shunts me out of the way, taking over my station like she’s always worked my job.
“Iris, I love and appreciate you, but you’ve never cooked under this pressure.”
She shrugs, picks up a knife and begins prepping fish like an expert.
“Maybe not, but I won’t be any worse than you. Now,”—she flicks her knife hand towards the door— “Piss off. I’m not telling you again. If you’re not out of here in the next ten seconds, I’ll call in the bouncer to escort you off the premises.”
“We don’t have a bouncer.”
“Tal,” she huffs, her glare stern and mildly amusing. “I mean Tal. He can get mean with the right incentive.”
“Is this an intervention?
She stops what she’s doing and looks over her shoulder at me.
“No, this is a takeover. Your intervention is sat at the bar talking to our bouncer. Why not intervene and take your intervention outta-here.”
“Macsen is here?”
“Is that all you have to say after my amazing play on words?”
“Macsen is in the pub at the bar?”
“Huh. I guess that is all you’ve got to say. Okay, then. My work here is done. Well, not work, because I’m doing all of yours, but you, my you here is done. Now, get lost.”
I’m torn. Iris isn’t stupid; she can see I’m battling between doing what I think is the right thing and staying, even if I’m more of a burden to the kitchen than a help, and rushing out to get my fix.
This is my place. My business.
And, I’m currently making an utter mess of it.
Macsen. Macsen. Macsen.
The call to go to him is strong. If I leave now, I could get more than half an hour of his time.
After one last look at everyone in the kitchen, Llinos and Tomos dutifully ignoring me about to abandon them and powering on as if it’s no big deal, and Iris smirking at me knowingly, my decision is made.
Not that it was an equal choice.
It feels like Macsen will always win.
In a rush, before I can second or third guess my decision, I place a soft kiss on Iris’s cheek and lean in to whisper in her ear.
“I owe you a raise. Remind me to double your salary. It’ll have to wait until I pay off my debts, which I estimate to be around the year twenty-ninety-nine, but I’m good for it.”
She sighs like a lovestruck virgin.
“Be still my soon to be rich beating heart. I can’t wait to rake in all that back pay from my grave.” With dramatic flair, she lifts her hand and rests the back of it on her forehead, like a damsel swooning at her hero. “It’s no wonder you’ve nabbed the attention of the most eligible bachelor to ever come to Lily Bay, Ell. You’re such a sweet talker.”
Her laughter follows me out of the door, and I manage to keep my own smile hidden until I’m out of her sight. It would do her no good to see she’s cracked me—she’d become insufferable in her glory.
When I step out into the pub, I can see the place is busier than usual for a Wednesday night, likely down to the mini heatwave we’ve been having the last few days encouraging day-trippers and sun-seekers to visit midweek.
It doesn’t take me more than a few seconds to locate Macsen, and, as always, almost like he can feel my approach, he turns on his stool and immediately sees me winding my way through the tables towards him.
And, just like always, the smile he gifts me begins in his eyes, setting his handsome face alight.