The place was called 'The Grill'. It was built up from the street corner out of bricks, and you could smell the fresh bread pouring out of every nook and pore that place had. It had a simple sign hanging above the door, the name in bold worn out letters from the harsh winters and dry summers.
Inside were locals, people who couldn't judge the awful diner and pub-style interior that clashed, but the owner had gotten on sale. The place wasn't full, never was, but it was comfortable - coffee always being served, their fried food always being devoured.
The shouting came from the back, and it was a welcoming sound to me. The music in that little restaurant was the sound of Kel shouting at someone else in the kitchen, likely about who took his smokes or where someone's food was immediately after he brought in the ticket.
I went to the source, nodding and giving a polite smile to the few older customers that had been there for an early dinner - before Kel would get whipped up and start cooking himself.
If Kel was the only cook in the place, it would have sunk ages ago.
Kels shouting over lost smokes ended quickly when he saw me from across the kitchen. The balding fucker slammed his food ticket on the aluminum counter as he grinned at me.
"Thank fucking goodness, took your sweet time," he chuckled as he came and gave me a smack on the shoulder.
"It's the salamander, it won't heat up," he nodded to the other side of the kitchen, where the broiling appliance was as his small kitchen staff moved about, making me chuckle. He had his mother, his brother, and their childhood best friend working the line. Every time I came to fix something for them, I always found it too funny how he'd never gotten better help.
Or at least get help that would whip him into shape. Even his wife who did the books couldn't get that man to pipe down for a minute.
"Kelce, I swear to fucking god," came from his mother who was focused on the pasta that she'd made since The Grill had opened. She was a short, Granny Smith woman that was the poisoned apple.
I loved her dearly.
Kelce began shouting again, him and his mother getting into a squabble about where he'd left his last ticket. He had a habit of not leaving them in the proper area, apparently. Or even remembering to bring them in the kitchen.
The kitchen was loud with the clatter of cooks churning out food like there was an army waiting at their tables, and Kelce's family getting whipped up over orders.
Mary smiled at the sight of me as she had been at the salamander, trying to clean it off so it would be easier for me to work on it. Mary was a saint to be married to Kelce.
"Hey, mar," I nodded to her, pulling my cap tighter onto my head, hating how she'd always made direct eye contact - looking in at my soft spots.
She talked to me, telling me the drama of her husband and her, how she can't stand to work with her brother and mother in law, even though she loved them. She told me of the past due bills and how they hired a new cook to try and make the place alive again, like it had been when Kel and Joes dad had opened it.
"Oh, Flo, meet Cole. Cole's the handyman. He's here about every other day fixing something," mar smiled sunnily, holding the shoulder of their new cook.
When Mary described the new cook as someone experienced, someone who had worked in high end restaurants and had been looking for something new, I thought she was talking about some older man who'd had a bad divorce from his dream restaurant and wife - looking for somewhere to pay his bills until he got a proper new life.
