Chapter 2 — A Towel Was Enough

“Bring me the check,” I said. “With the wine on it.”

Cassie shook her head.

“You shouldn’t have to pay for something you barely drank.”

“I ordered it. You served it. That part is straightforward.”

“It isn’t always straightforward here.”

“Then we’ll make sure there’s a receipt.”

Before she could answer, Gordon crossed the dining room.

He carried a check presenter and wore an expression intended to suggest that none of this had disturbed him.

“I’m sorry about your evening, Mr. Vale.”

I had given my surname when making the reservation. Hearing it from him now made me wish I hadn’t.

“The woman who left,” he continued, “won’t be welcome back.”

“What happens to Cassie?”

His eyes flicked toward her.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“She says you may deduct the wine from her wages.”

Cassie went still beside me.

Gordon opened the presenter.

“Our staff are responsible for managing their tables.”

“Did you expect her to tackle my date at the door?”

“That’s hardly what I meant.”

“Then explain what she should have done differently.”

His face tightened.

A chair scraped somewhere behind him. I realized my voice had carried farther than I intended.

Cassie touched my sleeve.

The contact was light. It stopped me anyway.

“Please,” she said.

Gordon noticed her hand. So did I.

I lowered my voice.

“I’m paying the bill. I want written confirmation that no part of it will be charged to her.”

“We don’t normally discuss payroll with customers.”

“You’ve made payroll part of my dinner.”

He looked at me for several seconds.

Then he took a pen from his pocket and wrote across the bottom of the itemized check.

Guest payment received. No server deduction.

He slid it toward me.

“Will that do?”

“It will when the payment goes through.”

I gave him a business card linked to a Bellacort holding account. It carried the company’s initials rather than my name.

He glanced at it.

For the first time, his expression lost its practiced annoyance.

“B.M.C.?”

“Is there a problem?”

“No.”

He went to the register.

Cassie removed her hand from my arm.

“I didn’t mean to tell you all that.”

“You answered a question.”

“He’ll remember who gave you the answer.”

I looked toward Gordon.

There were ways to make him remember something else.

I knew the sort of men who owned restaurant buildings in Manhattan. Before midnight, I could have found the landlord, the lenders, the person who approved the lease renewal.

None of those people would be here for Cassie’s next shift.

“You’re right,” I said.

She looked surprised.

“I should have asked what would help before deciding.”

Her shoulders eased a little.

“I just need to finish work and get home.”

“What time do you leave?”

“Eleven.”

The clock behind the bar read ten forty-three.

Gordon returned with the receipt. The payment was approved. I signed, added a tip, and kept my copy.

He looked at Cassie.

“The patio needs closing.”

“I’ve done the tables.”

“Then stack the chairs.”

“I’m leaving at eleven.”

“You’re leaving when the work’s finished.”

She took a breath.

“I’ve been here since noon. I stayed through the dinner shift because you asked me to. I’ll finish the chairs, but I have to leave at eleven.”

Something in Gordon’s expression shifted.

“Fine. Make sure the door’s locked.”

He walked away.

I looked at her.

“That was better than what I did.”

“He knows I don’t usually argue.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe you should try serving six tables while your manager’s annoyed with you.”

“I’ll concede that one.”

Her mouth curved.

I stayed while she finished.

She carried glasses to the bar, brought an elderly couple their leftovers, and checked the patio door twice. When a dishwasher came through carrying a crate, she moved a chair out of his path without interrupting her conversation with another server.

At eleven, she removed her apron.

Gordon was behind the register, studying something on his phone.

Cassie told him she was leaving.

He nodded without looking up.

Outside, rain had started.

I stood under the awning and pulled on my jacket. My jeans were still damp. The shirt stuck unpleasantly against my stomach.

Cassie came out carrying a canvas bag.

“You’re still here?”

“Getting used to the weather.”

She looked at my legs.

“That can’t be comfortable.”

“I’ve had worse evenings.”

“Were they also dates?”

“Unfortunately, some of them.”

She laughed.

It was a warmer sound than the cautious smile inside. I wanted to hear it again.

A pharmacy bag protruded from her canvas tote.

“You managed to get what you needed?” I asked.

She followed my glance.

“On my break. The pharmacist kept it aside for me.”

“For you?”

“My dad. Heart medication.”

“How is he?”

“Stubborn.”

“That wasn’t quite the question.”

“It’s usually the first answer.”

I liked her more with every sentence.

Behind us, the kitchen exhaust changed pitch. A low rattling sound carried through the service door.

I turned my head.

Cassie noticed.

“What?”

“Your freezer compressor’s struggling.”

She stared at me.

“You can hear that from here?”

“It shouldn’t be cycling like that.”

“So you really do fix refrigeration?”

“Yes.”

She looked relieved by the simplicity of the answer.

“Gordon says it has another month.”

“He should have someone inspect it sooner.”

“Last Tuesday, we lost two trays of produce.”

“Was it warm when the morning staff arrived?”

“How did you know?”

“The compressor may be cutting out overnight.”

She looked back at the door.

“My father would like you.”

“Because I distrust your freezer?”

“Because you listened before telling me what was wrong.”

I had no answer ready for that.

She shifted her bag higher on her shoulder.

“Which way are you going?”

I pointed toward the Corolla.

“Oh,” she said.

“You sound disappointed.”

“No. I’m just glad the car actually belongs to you. I was starting to think she’d picked a random one to insult.”

“It has a certain dignity.”

“The passenger door’s held shut with a different-colored panel.”

“It opens.”

“Does it?”

“With encouragement.”

She smiled fully this time, and I forgot how cold I was.

Her phone rang.

She looked at the screen.

“My brother.”

I stepped aside to give her privacy, but she answered before moving away.

“Hey, Noah. I’m leaving now.”

Her smile faded.

“What do you mean, dizzy?”

She turned toward the street.

“Is he sitting down?”

I watched her grip tighten around the phone.

“All right. Stay with him. If he gets worse, call for help. Don’t wait for me.”

She listened, nodded, then said, “I’m coming.”

When she ended the call, she was already searching in her bag.

“Your father?”

She nodded.

“I need my subway card.”

“I can drive you.”

Her hand stopped.

“That’s kind, but no.”

“It’s raining. My car’s right there.”

“I know.”

“I’m not asking you for anything.”

She looked up at me.

“People don’t usually ask at the beginning.”