Present

It was going to be a rough afternoon.

I could sense it as soon as I stepped into the busy kitchen. Marco was moving back and forth between the table and the stove, trying to cook and keep an eye on too many dishes at once.

"Do you need help?" I asked.

"I'd appreciate it. Two waiters called in sick, so I'm doing their job too."

"Damn. You should've told me sooner; the paperwork could've waited. What needs to be done?"

Staff absenteeism wasn't unusual in any business. I was lucky to have hired responsible people I could count on, but occasionally, viruses happened. Blame the end-of-summer chilly nights.

Marco huffed, "These steaks are for table two, that serious guy and his son."

"I'll take them. Watch that sauce; if you stop stirring, there won't be much left to salvage."

Marco nodded, getting back to his task.

Loading the dishes onto a tray, I left the kitchen and crossed the restaurant hall in a couple of strides, stopping at the table I needed.

"Here you are, gentlemen; I hope you didn't wait long."

I placed the dishes on the tablecloth-covered surface.

The man gave me a curt nod, without as much as lifting his eyes off the phone.

The boy next to him, on the other hand, smiled at me. "They look great, thank you, and we didn't wait long at all."

Even a couple of minutes next to them were enough to sense the tension. It was my cue to leave.

Pushing the door to the kitchen open, I ditched the suit jacket and washed my hands, getting ready to help Marco. Thankfully, it was late, meaning we wouldn't get too many orders before dinner unless someone stopped by for a late lunch like the pair I'd just served.

Half an hour passed until the frantic pace we established got replaced by an unhurried working routine. I made some coffee for Marco and me. We could use a break having one more person in the restaurant now, starting an afternoon shift.

I observed the content young man who was sipping his espresso leaning against the counter. Who would have thought that he was the guy living on the street five years ago?

"Have you seen her here before? Bellissima."

A huge grin on my assistant's face made me direct my eyes toward the source of his awe. A beautiful girl stood in the middle of the restaurant, shyly glancing around.

"Too young for you, Marco." I chuckled, seeing how he couldn't take his eyes off her.

"Maybe she's eighteen already." He shrugged.

"And you're twenty-five."

"Not precisely a grandpa."

"Nah, forget about it. You have competition." I nodded toward the table where the boy and his father sat. The look on the kid's face as he regarded Marco's new love interest could melt the ice-cream we stored away for dessert.

"I've been cursed, Thierry." Marco sighed. "Twenty-five and loveless."

"I'm not the one to talk."

What could I say? Thirty-seven years old, married to his bistro, observing his clueless customers who were unaware of the fact that we could see them through the tinted glass of the kitchen doors?

The glass idea wasn't random. Too many things could go wrong, and it was my responsibility to prevent disasters. We were a classy establishment, but no place was immune to heated arguments and fights. I'd learned that lesson in my first year as an apprentice in Jean's kitchen.

"Maybe she's already eighteen."

"Marco."

"Okay, okay. Point taken, but I'll go take their order in case they need help deciding."

"Their order?"

Marco chuckled. "Yes, look."

My assistant didn't even try to hide his grin as I stared at the blond beauty who was currently chatting to the girl we'd seen before.

"Fire!" Marco yelled, making me snap out of it and swat him with a kitchen towel I'd snatched from the table when I realized there wasn't anything burning in close proximity.

"Dumbass, "I muttered, shaking my head. "Offer today's specials to the two ladies, and don't you dare ask how old the girl is. I'm watching you." I gave the guy a stern look, hoping he would behave.

Marco exited the kitchen with an impish grin on his face. I watched him chat with our new customers, and it wasn't long before he was back.

"She's still at school." He groaned.

"Told you so. We don't need legal trouble on top of everything else."

"At least I had the guts to go out there. Leave it to you, and you wouldn't even try. Work isn't everything, boss."

I started to serve the dishes the girls had ordered, ignoring Marco's words. I knew he was right. There had been women, quite a few, but nothing serious. Maybe I didn't like anyone enough, or it was my way of staying focused on what really mattered. In a nutshell, I hadn't been in a relationship in a long time.

To make matters worse, my dad was hellbent on complaining about my bachelor status, saying he would grow old before I found myself a wife. I always played it down, saying I couldn't imagine him as an older man. Victor Fauber might be in his fifties, but it was hard to imagine someone more vital and open-minded.

Take my dad's company — the majority of the staff were young. His assistant was a twenty-something-year-old kid, straight from university. The top managers were younger than me. Dad always said every business needed fresh ideas and young people to be able to comply with the demands of the modern market, and I couldn't agree more.

I was given a chance to work when I wasn't even eighteen. Hadn't it been for that, I probably wouldn't be in the kitchen of my own restaurant today.

"They are starting with the main dish," Marco said. "If you like the blond girl, and judging by the way you've been staring, you do, go in there and introduce yourself."

He wasn't going to drop it, I realized.

I looked at their table again, and had to admit it — she was beautiful, indeed.

"Hurry, chef, unless you want to be left on the shelf."

I hurled an apple at the cheeky bastard and pushed the glass door, accompanied by the sound of his laughter.