Delectable (Sinclair Bryant)

One Week Later

"It's been a week, why don't you just let me slip you his number out of the reservations book?" Perry asked with her arms crossed as she watched Sian set up for the lunch shift. She was vexed at her friend's unwillingness to budge on the matter.

Sian was quickly beginning to regret telling her about the night she took Sinclair home because ever since, she hadn't stopped asking about him or watching the door for any gorgeous, floppy-haired, puppy-dog-looking man in his 40s.

"Because it's not a big deal," Sian replied, partly lying.

She had thought about him, not obsessively but she'd found him amusing and undeniably attractive. The kiss, though ridiculously brief, had felt good and she had shocked herself with her boldness; it had been a long time she had acted on any kind of attraction.

"You're a terrible liar," Perry informed her as she lifted a large tray of clean cutlery. She was a little over 5 foot but hunkered around heavy items all day, much to the shock of the male folk in the kitchen. Being the only 2 females was sometimes a bloody nightmare.

"Though she be little she is fierce," Sian mused and winked at her friend. She expertly sharpened her knives, filling the kitchen with the repetitive scraping sound.

"Don't think you can distract me from getting Birthday boy back into your flat and maybe something else, with your fine words," Perry chastised with a filthy grin on her face.

Sian was about to give her a scathing reply but Andre, the head chef at La Croix, burst into the kitchen; it was a good thing Sian was used to his turbulent arrivals otherwise she may have lost a finger to the now very sharp knife in her grasp.

"Gossiping women as usual?" the chef huffed in his diluted French accent. He was sounding a bit more English every year and hated when anyone mentioned it. Therefore, it was mentioned often. His greying hair looked a windswept mess, his face stubbled with the same shade, and his uniform trousers were creased. Another long night, Sian thought, as large dark circles framed his brown eyes.

Instead of engaging, Perry left the kitchen, giving Sian a sympathetic half-smile. The redhead had been in enough awkward and heated situations with Andre recently and wasn't looking for another.

"What? No one replies to a question now?" Andre asked as he watched the door close.

"No, Andre, we weren't gossiping," she replied with a cold unenthusiasm.

What she wanted to say was, 'Don't be such a miserable, stand-offish, misogynistic dick," but she refrained, for the sake of her job. Andre could be volatile and did not like to be talked down to in 'his kitchen' and whilst he couldn't actually sack her himself, he'd worked there far longer than she had and therefore the owner of the restaurant would likely pick him over her and he was definitely petty enough to threaten a choice.

The lunch shift was marred by his poor mood but it didn't affect the quality of his craft. That was the main thing, in Sian's eyes; a plate of food returning to the kitchen was always upsetting to her and always a headache. It, undoubtedly, wouldn't be Andre's fault and he'd rip all those in the kitchen to shreds for the rest of the shift.

It was a slower lunch than usual, so, as he often would, Andre left fifteen minutes before service was finished. Sian had learned to not get annoyed over this behaviour; in the beginning, she couldn't believe his attitude but over time she accepted that it just made her life easier. Jimmy, who had been hiding from him most of the afternoon was overjoyed and flitted around the kitchen much happier from thereon.

Sian wiped the sweat from her brow as she plated what she hoped would be the last dish of the day but customers were notorious for coming in 10 minutes before closing and wanting a 3-course meal. Perry rushed into the kitchen, a devilish grin on her freckled face, and took the two fresh plates from underneath the heater.