Tetris in the Dining Room

Surveying the mess around us, I sigh and think for a moment. "Well, we probably need to get everything off the tables before we move them around."

"Makes sense," Everett answers. "Where should we put it?"

"Ummmmm." I bite my lip as I think. I don't want to just make a big mess somewhere else that I'll have to clean up later. "We can put the tablecloths on the counter over there." I point to the bar area. "And the decorations and centerpiece stuff can go in the storage closet back there, I think."

"Perfect." He claps his hands together and heads for the nearest table, quickly clearing off an armful of white and silver patterned tablecloths and carrying them to the counter. I start at the other end of the room, taking loads of décor to the closet.

It takes far less time than I expected to clear off all the tables. I hurry to the kitchen for a wet rag to wipe them down and Everett follows.

Once the tables are clean, the real fun begins. "How do you want them arranged?" Everett asks, surveying the 6 large tables and 30 small tables around us.

"I think the large tables should all go against that wall," I say, pointing to the large stretch of wall next to the entrance area and opposite the bar.

"Makes sense to me," Everett agrees. Unfortunately, getting the tables there takes a while. First we have to clear paths large enough to carry them. Since all the large tables are randomly interspersed among the small, we have to clear 6 different paths.

"Why aren't these closer together?" He complains as we carry the second-to-last table to it's position.

"I wasn't really thinking clearly when they got dropped off and just told the delivery men to put them wherever." I feel tears well up in my eyes just remembering that awful day.

~~~~~~~~

I walked into the café early, ready to tackle menu planning with Jeff. Only, Jeff wasn't there. I waited for ten minutes before I called to see if he was close.

"Hey Lacy," he said in his very serious, something-is-wrong tone.

"What's wrong?" I asked, worried that he'd gotten into an accident or something.

"I don't think this is going to work out."

"Okay. We can just come in tomorrow to plan the menu instead. I'm flexible. Does that sound-"

"Lacy!" he interrupted. When I stopped, he explained. "I don't think the restaurant is going to work out." He sighed. "And I don't think we're going to work out. I'm coming in to get the ring back. You paid for the restaurant, so it's all yours."

Before I could protest, he hung up. True to his word, he stopped by the café long enough to demand that I return the beautiful diamond ring on my finger. Once he had it, he was gone, ignoring my tearful pleading. That was the last I saw of him or heard from him.

~~~~~~~~

"Fair enough." Everett's words jerk me out of memory lane. I look up and find him studying me with a concerned expression. I send him a half-hearted smile as we set the table in place. Moving chairs around the large tables is much easier than moving the tables themselves.

"Well, that's set. Now what about all these little ones?" He asks when we finish with the chairs.

I sigh. "I want a kind of romantic atmosphere. I thought we could set them around the walls."

The room is sort of a large, square horseshoe wrapped around the bar and kitchen areas. We place the tables against the walls and set two chairs at each.

When we finally finish, I look around and let out a sigh of relief. Everything looks even better than I expected. The tables are close enough to not be awkward, but spaced out enough to provide some privacy.

"What's next?" my seemingly tireless head chef asks, coming up next to me and surveying our work.

I check my watch. "I'm thinking lunch."

Everett smiles. "Sounds great to me! I'm starving."

Because I've been practically living at the restaurant and trying to come up with new dishes for the menu, the fridges are decently stocked. We decide to stay in for lunch.

"You can make sure you like my cooking, now that you've already hired me," Everett teases as he pulls ingredients from the fridge and shelves.

When I ask what I can do to help, he directs me to sit and rest for a bit.

"I promise I won't mess up your food," I say, a little hurt.

"What? Why on Earth would you mess up my food?" He pauses and seems to realize why I'm upset. "Oh! I'm not asking you to not help because I don't trust you. This is my first time cooking for you and I want to impress you. I'll let you help next time, I swear. I just- I want this time to be special," he says with a somewhat bashful smile.

"Oh. Okay." I sit on the chair I dragged in from the dining room last week and watch Everett work his magic in the kitchen.

Everett is an attractive man. With his short, dark hair and bright blue eyes, his firm jaw, his above-average height and broad shoulders, he reminds me a bit of Mr. Darcy. Watching him cook, seeing the graceful way he moves around the kitchen, I feel my pulse accelerate just a bit.

But I stop myself. I can't be attracted to him. There's no way I'm going to date my head chef after the disaster of my last break-up. Besides, I just lost my fiancé. Jeff and I were together for three years. No way am I ready for another relationship.

I find myself thinking through my relationship with Jeff (yet again), trying to figure out where we went wrong. We were so happy. I really loved him. And I thought he really loved me.

Again, I am jerked from memory lane by Everett's voice. "Are you ready to be amazed?" he asks with a grin.

I smile and nod as he sets a plate of steaming food in front of me. It looks incredible, smells heavenly, and tastes even better.

I'm so into my meal, I don't say a word. I just eat like a starving person. When I finish, Everett is still working on his meal. Peeking at him to make sure he's not looking, I quickly lift my plate and lick off the sauce and flavors that I was unable to soak up with my food.

At his bark of laughter, I slam my plate back on the table so hard, it's a miracle it doesn't shatter. I can feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment as I meet Everett's dancing blue eyes.

"In my defense," I say, "I don't usually lick my plates clean."

His smile widens. "Then I take that as a very high compliment." He laughs again. "And, if it doesn't offend you, I believe I'll follow your example." I watch, perplexed, as he lifts his plate and quickly cleans it off.

"Why did you do that?" I ask. I'm very used to being caught doing embarrassing things, but this might be the first time someone has caught me and then joined in.

"I hate to sound conceited, but that was some good sauce. I saw no reason to let it go to waste."

"It's like you stole the words right out of my head."

"I guess we're just tuned into the same wavelength. To be honest, though, I probably wouldn't have had the courage to do so if you hadn't done it first."

Courage? He thinks that my bad manners were an example of courage? What even is this man?

We sit in awkward silence for a moment before I jump up and grab his plate and utensils. "Since you cooked, I'll clean," I say.

"What should I do then?"

"Well, I mean, uh. . ." When I can't think of any tasks that I could use his help for, I say, "You could go home."

"Are you sending me away because I embarrassed you?" he asks, looking a little hurt and a little sheepish at the same time.

"No! Of course not! I just don't know what else we can really do today. And it's Saturday, after all. You shouldn't even be here until Monday, to help with the menu and interviews and stuff. I don't want to take advantage-"

He holds up a hand to cut off my rambling. "You're not taking advantage. I am perfectly happy to help. And I'm also willing to head home and relax for the rest of my Saturday on one condition."

"And that is?" I ask after a short lull.

"You have to go home and relax too."

"Oh. But I was going to-"

"Then I'm going to help you," he says before I can finish.

I sigh. Looks like I'll be spending the afternoon making table centerpieces with my new head chef. While I try to look frustrated, inside I just feel happy. It's nice to not be alone anymore.