SNEAK PEEK:

The restaurant had hit its peak—a symphony of stress, heat, and barely contained disaster.

Calling the kitchen “slammed” was like calling a hurricane “breezy.”

The ticket printer chattered nonstop, a relentless stream of orders that sounded like a fax machine having a panic attack.

Autumn stood frozen in front of the expo line, twisting her ponytail around her index finger like she was trying to braid anxiety. A long hair looped off and hovered dangerously close to a plate of pancakes.

“Autumn,” I snapped, “this is a restaurant. Not a Garnier commercial. Hands off the hair or go home.”

She let go, blinking. “Sorry. I do it when I’m stressed.”

“You work here. That’s like saying you breathe when there’s air.”

She started again. I handed her a hairnet. “New dress code. Enjoy.”

Servers weaved through the chaos like caffeinated ballerinas in a high-stakes obstacle course, dodging each other, dodging trays, dodging sanity itself. The fryer, meanwhile, hissed like a pissed-off demon, spitting grease in warning.

And yet—despite the sheer volume of work that needed doing—Bubbles and Smitty ducked into the pantry, pretending to grab supplies but actually just escaping.

Chris, genetically incapable of resisting gossip, followed like a raccoon who just spotted an unguarded slice of pizza.

Bubbles, all bright eyes and zero self-restraint, grabbed a box of sugar packets like she had just remembered sugar existed. “Okay, so you know that guy at Table Twelve?”

Smitty, leaning against the counter like she had no intention of moving, flicked a straw wrapper at the trash. “The one who looks like he’s cheating on his wife?”

“Oh, he definitely is,” Chris confirmed, leaning against the shelves like he had all the time in the world.

Bubbles gasped, clutching the sugar packets like a scandalized debutante, her laugh lines deepening with pure joy. “Exactly! And guess who he’s here with?”

Smitty’s eyes widened. “The same ‘co-worker’ from last time?”

Chris took a slow sip of his soda, one hand casually fishing a crouton from a bucket like he lived there. “If you’re gonna cheat, at least don’t be a regular.”

They all snickered and kept going, loud enough to be useful to absolutely nobody, secure in the belief the pantry was soundproof.

It wasn’t.

Because standing directly outside the pantry, waiting for the bathroom… was Table 12’s wife.

“Excuse me?”

Bubbles froze mid-sip like somebody had hit pause on her life. “Ohhh, fuck.”

Smitty didn’t bother pretending. “Damn.”

Chris turned, polite as a hostage negotiator. “Ma’am—”

“Stop,” she said, arms crossed. “Just stop.”

I walked up on it like I’d stumbled into a car wreck I was somehow responsible for.

I took one look at her face and knew we’d earned whatever came next.

“What happened,” I asked, already tired.

She pointed a finger toward the pantry like she was identifying a murder weapon. “Your staff just accused my husband of cheating.”

I turned to them. “Did you?”

Bubbles lifted her shoulders an inch. “It sounded… accurate.”

Smitty nodded once. “Strong indications.”

Chris shrugged. “Patterns are patterns.”

I closed my eyes. Opened them. Regretted it. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. I’ll talk to them about professionalism and—”

“Oh, don’t,” she cut in, calm as ice. “You just saved me time.”

She took two steps, then stopped and looked back like she’d remembered something.

“Actually—come do one of those little manager table touch-ins at my table,” she said, sweet as poison. “Make it memorable.”

I blinked. “A what?”

“A touch-in,” she said. “I want you to look my husband in the eye and ask if everything’s elevated.”

And then she walked back toward Table 12 with the steady pace of a woman about to ruin a man’s week.

The second she was gone, Bubbles leaned forward, hungry.

“Okay,” she whispered. “That’s either divorce or homicide.”

“Can we pretend to have morals for five minutes?” I muttered.

Chris tapped his notepad once like he was clocking in. “I’m writing ‘touch-in’ on my résumé.”

I stared at them. “If anybody follows me to that table, I’m firing you.”

Smitty held up both hands. “Oh, we’re not following.”

Bubbles nodded. “We’re observing.”

“Same difference.”

I kept walking because apparently I’d decided this was my life.

In reality, I was just so damn tired.