written by Shan R.K

Lyle waited until the hallway swallowed my brother before he spoke again. “Four grand. You’ll earn it. The ‘system’ is going to be your main focus. Inventory, menu costing, prep lists that make sense to ten-year-olds, scheduling that doesn’t look like someone just put random people together. Got it.”

I toed a stack of invoices with my sneaker. “Ambitious for a man that obviously doesn’t know his way around a pc.”

“I know my way just fine.” His frown didn’t match his face at all.

“You want a database, or a system.”

“I want order, I don’t care which. And again I know how to use a pc.”

I snorted. “Then why does your office look like a garbage truck?”

He smiled with half his mouth. “Because I was here most of the time making sure people didn’t set themselves on fire. The mess was the tax.”

I pulled my hair into a knot and planted my hands on my hips.

“Okay. Ground rules. I don’t babysit cats, dogs, kids, or unliving items including your restaurant. I can barely look after myself. You want a system, you give me the keys—POS access, vendor contacts, cost sheets that aren’t scribbled on napkins, recipes with actual weights, and staff buy-in. And if someone tells me their heart says the prawns are four ounces, I would expect a bonus.”

“Elana won’t weigh prawns.”

“Elana will weigh prawns if you explained it to her.”

He almost laughed. “You haven’t met Elana.”

“Then introduce me and watch.”

He tipped his head toward the hall. “You’ll meet everyone on the floor first. Lunch rush first.”

“Fine, but I’m not here to waiter if it gets too busy.”

“You were until the system existed. Your brother told me you build computer things, so I promoted you from waiter to order filler, it’s the quickest promotion to ever exist, won’t you agree?.”

“Yes, boss. My brother talks too much, but he’s right, and because of it I’m not a waiter. Looks like there is a bit of salvation in this world after all.”

“Well, yes, and it costed me an extra two grand.” He gestured to a wooden drawer, “You’ll find everything you want in there, and there’s a laptop in the drawer underneath it, my passwords are under my google account. I’ll sign you in once we’re done with the introductions.

“Copy,” I said, because I didn’t need to make this harder than it was.

He took one step like he was leaving, stopped, and glanced back. His eyes skimmed me—fast, guilty, not that guilty. “You got taller,” he said.

“I got bigger, and swapped my converse for heels.” I winked at him.

He nodded at my shoes. “Better tread. Less chance of dying on wet tile.”

I pointed at his glasses. “The round frames make you look older.”

“I am older.”

“Old Man.”

He pretended it didn’t land. “Don’t call me that around the staff.”

“Why? They’d think you were fragile.”

“Because I’m their boss.”

I grinned. “You loved that word, boss.”

“I hate it,” he said, so fast it was reflex. “Don’t forget to sign your employee papers.”

He was halfway down the hall when his phone buzzed. He checked it, cursed quietly, and disappeared toward the kitchen with the long stride of a man who knew something was already on fire.

I stayed in the office and sat in a worn out rolling chair and read the first form like it didn’t make me want to gorge my eyes out. When I studied computer science, I did it to hopefully land a job in google, or oracle or some awesome company that would abuse my expertise, not supress my brain, kill my ambition and age me at the same time.

Contract with Seafood plaze, as in Plaze, and not plaza. I read through it quickly, before I grabbed the next one, and started stacking them together for scanning.

The framed boat on the wall looked like it was judging me as I hummed under my breath, already counting the hours I had to sit here and do this shitty job. I looked back at the boat until it blinked first. After three hours, Lyle still wasn’t back and I was halfway through sorting out the mess into a bit more organized chaos. His printing machine was huge, and must have costed a mint. Something to look forward to using.

Feeling hungry, I left the room and headed downstairs.

Downstairs, ‘the rush’ he spoke about greeted me like we were long last cousins. Mernie stood there with her neat bun and her laser sharp eyes, handing a menu to a woman who wanted a table by the window.

“Did you fill out your job form?” she asked me without looking.

“Done.” I knew Mernie from early days when my brother started hanging out with Lyle. She was their house keepers daughter.

I was about to leave her alone, when I spotted Lyle, he was staring at me. I titled my head, holding his gaze, waiting to see what he’d do.

His gaze flicked down, quick as a mistake. Heat crawled up the back of my neck because I felt it, because he wasn’t subtle and I liked the lack of subtlety more than I should have.

My strides wee deliberate as they shimmied up to him.

He clears his throat, eyes on the ticket rail like it had the ability to rewind the last thirty seconds as heat crawled up his face, or maybe he hoped I’d become invisible.

Who knew with Lyle?!

“I’m hungry.” I dart my tongue out, licking the top of my lip and hold the laugh bubbling up from my throat as his face flushes.

“I can…” he clears his throat, “Ah, get you something to eat when I’m done.”

“Should I wait here?” I smile, giving him a sultry flutter of my eyes.

“Yes.”

I move before I reach for him. It’s muscle memory—the leaving part. The room swells and recedes around us.

Derrick makes quick work of emptying the seafood shells in the bin and stacking up the dirty dishes as Elana stalks through with a clipboard, shouting out numbers whilst making sure the kitchen is in an organized array, if that was even a way to describe it.

As I watched them work, I had to admit, they were all really good at what they did.

The office smelled like fried garlic and lemon. A tray of prawns and grilled fish sits between us on the desk, half gone.

My stomach is heavy but satisfied. I lean back in the chair, licking the oil off my fingers before wiping them on a napkin.

Lyle pushes another plate toward me like he’s trying to bribe me into silence. I shove it back.

“I’m done,” I say.

He nods once, chewing slowly, watching me like he’s trying to work something out.

Then he says it. “You always did piss me off.”

I raise my brows. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He tosses his fork onto the plate, leans back, and folds his arms. “Sixteen and impossible. You knew it too. Always picking fights with me, calling me old man, trying to get a rise.”

“You deserved it.”

“You liked it.”

I lean forward on my elbows. “You sure about that?”

His eyes don’t move off me. Brown, sharp, too steady for comfort. “Yeah. You liked it.”

I let out a laugh, short and pointed. “You think because I annoyed you when I was a kid it means I liked you?”

“You wouldn’t have bothered otherwise.”

“Entertainment doesn’t make your face go red.”

My throat goes tight. Heat climbs but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. “You remember way too much for a guy who claims he hated it.”

“I didn’t hate it.”

The words drop heavy between us. His jaw twitches once, then he grabs the water bottle and drinks like it’ll erase what he just said.

I stare at him, daring him to backpedal. He doesn’t.

“What do you want me to say?” I ask.

“Nothing.” His tone is clipped, like he regrets opening his mouth. “Just thought I’d mention it.”

“You mentioned it. Now what?”

He looks at the mess of shells and lemon rinds, then back at me. “Now you get to work. We’ve got six months to turn this place into something that doesn’t eat me alive.”

I push my chair back, stand, and stack the plates. My pulse hammers, but my voice stays even. “Fine. But next time you want to confess, maybe skip the seafood. Smells like you’re proposing over a funeral.”

His mouth twitches. Not a smile, but close. “Get used to it. I’m not good at this.”

“Good at what?”

“Talking to you.”

I stop in the doorway, plates in my hands, and look back at him. He’s watching me again, steady and quiet, like he isn’t supposed to be saying any of it.

“Then don’t,” I say. And I walk out before I do something stupid, like admit I’ve been waiting twelve years to hear him say exactly that.

I have to admit, I have never written a short story after I finished high-school. It’s a first time for me. So please do let me know if I conk it up. And for those waiting for the Satan Sniper’s new release, I will have a date as soon as I get the book cover done.