The problem with having blowouts with Cas on Thursdays means I have to wait a whole week before I can speak with Ashley. While Jack has been great, I don't want to burden him with anymore of my drama. I don't want him to see the sides of Cas I'm seeing. I want Cas to remain this fixed figure in his life. The boy who never left. The boy who never changed.

     That coming Saturday is a Weston's After Hours. It's the third one and things are starting to run more smoothly. It's less of me feeling at any second I'm going to make some huge error that ruins the night and more of just enjoying the process. While Tasha has been helping out as a hostess, I'm thinking I need to hire someone for the position. I don't want Tasha to feel obligated to work every other Saturday night here.

     Antonio and Fiona are back and cooking in the kitchen with me. I've gotten to know them a bit better, which makes cooking with them run smoother. Fiona is funny, in a dry, sort of at-your-expense, kind of way. She's into tattoos, has a half-sleeve and one of her calves fully marked up. She has a son, Peyton, who's seven, and a twelve year old, Jamie, who's non-binary. She says it very easily, like it's no thing at all, the way parents should say it.

     Antonio is a bit younger than Fiona, still older than me, and not settled down. Fiona says he "rips through the streets" to which Antonio replies with a roguish grin, "And the sheets." She rolls her eyes at that. He's good looking and the accent doesn't hurt. He gives me the impression that he doesn't sweat anything, even when he's cooking. When his pan catches fire, he doesn't flinch, just grabs a lid and plops it on top like its business as usual.

     The first course goes out at seven-thirty, which seems to be the regular start time now, giving everyone a chance to mingle and choose their drinks before they sit. Today's menu is a nod at Middle Eastern cuisine. I knew Olivia was coming this evening and that she would appreciate the choice. For the appetizer, I'm serving pear-glazed octopus skewers with a chunky fattoush salad and fresh pita bread. Following shortly after is a za'atar and sumac roasted chicken over a feta and toasted sesame hummus. I paired it with a stuffed eggplant boat of halumi and basil. For the final course, a more modern take on a traditional Middle Eastern dessert, a date and ricotta baklava served with a scoop of lemon sorbet and garnished with a sprig of mint and some rosewater syrup.

     Once the last dessert goes out, I get started on cleaning. I've learned now that if I start nearly immediately, I don't have to spend my whole night in the kitchen. Fiona and Antonio are only here till ten p.m., so they head out a little bit after dessert has been served. By then I've got most of the pots and pans we used to cook in the dishwasher running and am cleaning down the stovetop.

     When Tasha walks in, I know it's time for me to go out on the floor and show my face. I wore a chef's coat over a button-up, which I take off now, so I look a bit more put together. Tasha reaches over, wiping my face as we walk out of the kitchen. "You've got...I honestly don't know what that was."

     I wipe at my face after her.

     "If it's any consolation, you're not nearly as messy as you usually are," she says, smiling brightly.

     "Nearly, huh."

     "Well, you do kinda smell. Like onions, maybe?" I've been cooking with red onions all night, so she's not wrong. Before we walk into the room, she says, "Okay, put on your happy face."

     "This is my happy face," I deadpan.

     She places a hand on her hip. "Alright, fine, think about your boy toy and how dashing he looks in a suit." Her comment catches me off guard. Where she got it in her head Cas is my boy toy is beyond me. "Ah, there you go, perfect."

     We walk in and like always, I am almost immediately overwhelmed by the display of people, standing and sitting, talking and eating at a volume that Weston's doesn't normally see. Decidedly, I don't speak to the room anymore. Speeches are simply not my forte and I readily accept that. Instead, I start at the edge of the crowd and circulate, thanking every table for coming and asking about their experience.

     Mr. and Mrs. Chamberlain, who own the grocery store in town, say the octopus was very daring and Willa Oberlin, who gets a chai here almost every morning and is actually Rumi's orthodontist, says she'd love to see more meatless dishes come into play. I don't think she's a vegetarian, but she plays around with it. I read that even going plant-based one day a week has exponential effects on the environment and your carbon footprint, so I'm not opposed to it.

     The last stop on my round lands me at Dolores' table, where she's seated with Charles. Jack and Jasmine are here, too, seated across from Cas and Olivia, talking animatedly.

     "Ah, the Chef," Dolores cries when I walk up. She claps her hands. I think she's drunk. Old age has made her a lush.

     I meet Cas's gaze and he nods his head, barely noticeable, as if to say more or less.

     Whatever the other night did to us, he's clearly prepared to ignore it. I guess I'll ignore it, too.

     "Dresden, this meal." Olivia bows her head, putting a hand up like she's blessing the table. "There are no words."

     "You know at first I was like, no way is this man trying to have me eat some octopus on a stick," Jack says, both his eyes wide. "But I was pleasantly surprised."

     "This coming from someone who will happily eat a burger every single day," Jasmine says and the table laughs.

     "It's the simple things in life for me," Jack responds with a shrug.

     It might be that I have a second sense for it, but I look over at Cas just as he nudges the chair closest to him with his foot, pushing it away from the table. "Take a seat," he says, casually, low that it doesn't really disturb the conversation occurring at the table. "I'm sure you've been on your feet all day."

     I have been. I take the seat, hesitantly, still put off by his attitude. It doesn't really make sense, considering how harsh things have been since he's gotten back and it definitely doesn't make sense after the night we had.

     "Did you eat?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

     I tip my head sideways, so I'm looking at him. "That's my line."

     He smiles, but it's a small thing. Not really a Cas smile. He says suddenly, "You didn't end up doing any of the recipes you were trying out."

     "Huh?" I say before I've given it much thought. I've been feeding Cas relentlessly, pretty much every chance I get. "Oh, yeah, you know. I was going to do the pulled pork you had a few days ago? But then with Olivia, I thought a nod towards the mediterranean you're always having would be nice."

     "It was," he says nodding enthusiastically.

     Olivia turns and glances at Cas, giving him a weird face. "You hardly ate."

     My stomach tanks at that. Cas scrambles. "I ate."

     She side-eyes him before turning back to the table, nodding her head along to Dolores talking.

     He looks at me. "I ate."

     "Its fine," I say quickly. "If you didn't like it. You don't have to —."

     "No, I —," he stops himself short, his expression kind of pained. I don't need him sparing my feelings. In fact, if he didn't like it I'd like to know why. There's always room to grow. While everyone's palate is different, I'd want to know if I'm over or under seasoning or if the cook on something is off.

     I stand, pushing my chair in behind me. The table quiets as everyone turns to look at me. "I've gotta' get back into the kitchen to clean up," I say as I come around the table, leaning down to kiss Jasmine on the cheek, saying goodbye.

     "You should like pay someone to do that," Jack comments. I slug him in the shoulder.

     "No one cleans my kitchen but me," I tell him as I move, receiving a firm handshake from Charles. Dolores grabs my hand as I'm passing her to Olivia, and says, "The baklava could've used a bit more honey."

     "Everyone's a critic," I mock and we both chuckle. Olivia has moved to her feet and pulls me into a swift hug.

     "This is really quite brilliant," she says. "You outdid yourself. I'm so proud of you."

     I am deeply uncomfortable. Know it's actually tangible by the way I go rigid. I don't know that it's because it's Olivia and praise and I just don't do well with it, or that Cas is here to witness it. Feels like betrayal. Feels like something we'll fight about later.