The Namesake

"I don't think he's the one," Everett says, frowning at me as he reviews his notes from our last interview. We spent all day Monday and Tuesday interviewing for his staff and we've got the cooking covered. Now we just need a pastry chef to handle the desserts. Unfortunately, none of the candidates we've interviewed today have worked.

"Why not?" I ask. While I'm glad Everett is helping, he's really picky.

"I just. . . think that he might be the wrong kind of guy to invite into a restaurant with a lot of female coworkers."

"Oh." I sigh. I don't want that type either. "Who's next?" I pull our schedule back across the large table in the dining area that we've made into our unofficial base and look at the next name. Sifting through a stack of applications and resumes, I find the one that matches. Alexia Handel. She seems perfect on paper. Let's hope the interview doesn't change my mind.

I pass the application to Everett when I find him watching me intently. He quickly scans through and smiles. "I know Alexia. I think she'll be a much better fit."

I feel a little bit of annoyance flare up at his smile. Just how well does he know Alexia? Are they friends? More than friends? Is she super hot and funny and the kind of woman who can hold onto a man?

When I realize that a) I'm feeling jealous and b) I'm comparing myself to a woman I've never even met, I let my head fall to my hands, which are resting on the table. Closing my eyes, I take deep breaths and try to calm these unexpected emotions. Well, comparing myself isn't too unexpected. I find myself doing that a lot since Jeff left, wondering if I were more like her or her or her, would he have stayed?

The jealousy though. . . what am I even jealous of? I'm probably jealous of the possibility of him being in a happy relationship. I've noticed a lot lately that I feel that way. Not that I want to dive into a rebound with some rando, but I miss the stability of having someone who is my person. I'm a little lonely.

We have fifteen minutes before Alexia arrives, so I decide to take a quick bathroom break. I only take a few minutes, but apparently she decided to show up early. I find her sitting in the seat at the table where our previous applicants have sat. I try not to wince as she and Everett turn and watch my slow progress across the dining area (stupid pencil skirt). I'm trying not to think about how my black skirt might be showing my curves too well. Or how my professional, conservative, green blouse might come across as dowdy. Or that I might look as clumsy as I feel in these cursed 4-inch black heels.

Instead I focus on Alexia. I can't tell much about her height, but she is just as beautiful as I was worried she would be. With blond hair pulled into a loose bun, wide blue eyes, and a genuine smile, she's attractive in a very wholesome way.

Everett is chatting casually with her as they watch my approach. I feel a brief flash of gratitude, as I do every time I walk through, that it looks so nice and put together. The tables and chairs are arranged along the light blue walls. The focused canned lighting that will provide a romantic atmosphere at night is currently drowned out by the sunlight streaming in through the windows that line all three outer walls.

The gauzy white curtains and flowy white tablecloths with delicate silver floral designs help create (I hope) the "air castle" look I'm going for. The floor tiles that look like a stone floor help complete the look, along with small, simple centerpieces made up of floral arrangements in glass bowls next to miniature, delicately sculpted castles.

When I arrive at the table, Everett stands and pulls out my chair. He helps me get settled before reclaiming his own seat.

"Alexia, this is the owner, Lacy Linden. Lacy, this is Alexia Handel."

"Ms. Handel," I say, extending a hand.

"Ms. Linden," she answers, giving me a firm handshake and a warm smile. We start the interview. I ask the few questions I always ask (about experience, qualifications, ability to work as a team) and then Everett starts up with his more specific questions.

Once he finishes, we ask Ms. Handel if she has any questions. She smiles thoughtfully for a moment (seriously, does she have any facial expressions that don't involve a smile?) before looking at us.

"So, are you two the namesake?"

Everett and I share a confused look before looking back at her and saying, nearly in unison, "Namesake?"

"Yeah. You know, Lovebird Cafe. Are y'all the lovebirds?"

My cheeks go from room temp to warm enough to fry eggs in .1 seconds. Everett makes a weird kind of strangled sound. Ms. Handel just looks at us, still smiling, but now looking a little confused.

"I'm sorry," I finally manage to say. "That was unexpected. I just- there is no namesake."

"Oh." For the first time, her smile drops and she looks purely disappointed. "I heard this restaurant was being started by an engaged couple and I thought that was such a cute idea!"

I sputter for a second before Everett comes to the rescue. "Nope. Lacy and I are just coworkers. No namesake lovebirds here." His voice sounds a little tight, almost like he's choking.

"Well, that's too bad. Still, I love what you've done with the place." She looks right at me, as though she knows that the design and decor were all my idea.

"Thank you."

After a few beats of awkward silence, we stand and dismiss Ms. Handel with handshakes and smiles. She leaves looking a little unsure of herself.

"Well?" I ask, turning to Everett.

"Well? I think she's a good fit," he answers. "What do you think?"

"I like her." It's true. In spite of all the insecurities she sends raging through me, Alexia seems kind and intelligent. I think she'll do really well in our restaurant. She also is the first pastry chef who actually seemed excited and not put out by my request to include some of my great-grandmother's desserts on the menu. "I think we should hire her."

"I agree."

With that decision set, we both slump back in our seats. "Is there even anyone else to interview?" Everett asks.

I look at our schedule. "Julian Edwards is the only one left."

Everett sends me a fierce scowl. "Julian Freaking Edwards!?" he all but yells. "How did he even get an interview?"

I flinch away from Everett's anger and feel tears well up in my eyes. I've never dealt well with confrontation or anger. "I-I- His name was on your list," I murmur.

"Yeah, my 'absolutely not' list," he says, his voice quieter, but still angry.

"It just said 'absolutely' at the top," I say quietly, pulling his list out and setting it on the table in front of him. He stares at it for a long moment before his shoulders slump and he looks back at me.

His anger is gone, replaced with a very sheepish and apologetic expression. "I'm sorry Lacy." He hesitates, then grabs my hand, holding it in both of his. "I wasn't angry at you as much as I was that you might have to meet Julian. He's. . . not the kind of man I would ever intentionally put in close proximity with any woman."

"That bad?"

"Yeah."

I feel my tears dry up as I squeeze Everett's hands. "I'll call and cancel his interview."

Everett growls as he reaches up to dry the last tear trailing down my cheek. "No, I'll call him. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."

"I don't do well with anger or confrontation," I admit. "In fight or flight situations, I'm definitely a flight kind of gal."

He laughs. "Well, thank you for at least not running. I'll try to keep my temper under better control."

"And I'll try not to turn into a watering pot when you get frustrated," I reply.

He stands and pulls out his phone, but stops before he makes the call. "Lacy?"

"Hmmmm?" I look up at him, diverting my attention from the paperwork I'm about to start.

"Why did you call it the Lovebird Cafe?"

I pause and force my rising emotions back down before I answer very carefully. "There was a namesake couple," I say softly. He just raises one of his dark eyebrows and motions for me to continue. "I was engaged when I bought the building and started planning. My-" I have to stop and clear my throat before I can continue. "My, uh, fiance was the previous head chef."

I can't look at Everett anymore, so I'm not sure how he takes this news until he puts a large, warm hand on my shoulder. His other hand gently tips my chin up so I can meet his sympathetic gaze.

"I'm sorry that happened to you." He pauses, then smiles a half shy, half amused smile and says, "But I'm not sorry that he left, because I'm really excited for the chance to work here."

With that, he gives my shoulder a squeeze, drops his hands, and walks away.