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“Order up!” Shane called out as he hit the bell and tucked the ticket under the plate.
Whoever had ordered the loaded fries was getting them before the cheese set, even if he had to throw them through the pass.
He’d worked at the Kingfisher for three months without anyone throwing a chair at him. It beat the fuck out of Waffle House. The money was better and the drinks were free after work. Scott and Eric took a reasonable amount of lip from a man who could run their kitchen alone. Shane’s shirts probably helped, especially in a gay bar. He didn’t do chest and arms three times a week to keep the results to himself.
“Chef.” Kyle stood on the other side of the pass with an empty tray against his hip. Shane stopped slicing tomatoes to look at him.
“Don’t fucking call me that. What?”
“Seventeen asked if you could rush their burger.”
Shane swapped his knife for a spatula. “Sure. Watch this.” He banged it beside the burger on the flat-top. “Cook faster. Cook faster.”
Kyle watched without blinking.
“Wanna join in? Might work if there’s two of us.”
“Should I bring the table back here? They could hold hands around it.”
“Only if they’ve washed them.” Shane lifted the edge of the patty, saw the crust he wanted and flipped it. “Two minutes.”
“I’ll tell them the prayer circle helped.”
Kyle took the loaded fries on his way out. Shane could forgive him quite a lot in those jeans, including being almost as much of an asshole as he was.
Kip appeared in his place, already smiling.
“What do you want?” Shane asked.
“Twenty-two has a problem with their burger.”
“Your husband’s table?”
“It’s a friend of his.” Kip reached into the fry bowl beside the pass and frowned when he found it empty. “Says it’s too big to fit in his mouth.”
Shane glanced up from laying cheese over seventeen’s patty. “You got any advice? Being married to Scott and all.”
“Cook me some fries and I might share.”
Kip poured doubles without being asked. Shane liked him enough to drop another basket of fries before pulling twenty-two’s ticket off the spike. Beyond Kip, somebody at twenty-two had tipped his chair onto its back legs to see through the pass. Shane had worked enough kitchens to know that staring into one never got anybody fed faster.
“He ordered a double cheeseburger.”
“I know.”
“It’s a big fucking burger. It says double.”
“Kyle explained that.”
“Kyle probably told him he could get it all in his mouth and offered to demonstrate.”
“I can hear you,” Kyle called from the bar.
“Good. Go tell seventeen we’re waiting for their pickle to stop being a cucumber.” Shane slid seventeen’s cheeseburger into its bun and added a scoop of fries. “What does twenty-two actually want?”
“A smaller burger.”
Shane put the plate on the pass and wiped a smear of sauce off the rim before Kip picked it up. “I’ll remake it.”
He reached for one patty. The man could have a single cheeseburger, exactly half as much opportunity to complain. Shane toasted the bun and melted the cheese right down the sides of the patty. Being a pain in his ass didn’t entitle anyone to a bad dinner.
He put a smaller pickle spear beside it, too.
“Twenty-two wants to talk to you.”
Shane looked up from the last ticket. “What the fuck about?”
“Apparently, that isn’t the burger he ordered.” Kip took the plate Shane pushed toward him. “They’re over by the wall.”
“I know where twenty-two is.”
He washed his hands and untied his apron. With the ticket rail empty, he could spare thirty seconds to explain the concept of smaller to someone. He went through the kitchen door and past the end of the bar to find his employers sitting opposite Ilya fucking Rozanov. Ilya’s chair was shoved back from the table so he had somewhere to put his legs.
Basketball was Shane’s sport, but he’d seen enough hockey on the bar’s televisions to recognise Ilya. The eyes were better in person, and the open collar gave Shane a view he’d never had from a hockey broadcast. Ilya’s shirt stretched across his chest as he rested an arm along the back of his chair. Shane looked for longer than the burger warranted.
Scott beckoned him over. “Shane, I told him you’d be happy to explain.”
“That was optimistic of you.” Shane stopped beside the table and returned his attention to the burger. “What’s wrong with this one?”
Ilya pointed at the plate. “I ordered double cheeseburger.”
“You got one and sent it back.”
“I asked for smaller burger. Not less burger.”
Across the table, Eric put his glass down. “He’s been explaining the difference to us.”
“Would you like a break?” Shane asked. “I could bring him a mirror so he can explain it to himself.”
Scott laughed into his drink. Ilya pointed at the plate. “Same amount of food, in better shape. Is reasonable request.”
“You want it wider? I can put it on a fucking pizza.”
Ilya laughed and leaned back in his chair. His eyes dropped from Shane’s face to the black shirt stretched across his chest. Shane had come out here to argue about his cooking, and the asshole was checking him out in front of both his bosses.
“We could put that on the menu,” Scott said.
“Please don’t encourage him,” Eric told him, although he was smiling too.
Ilya looked back up. “Why you stack them so high?”
“It’s a double. You want one in each hand?”
“Could press it down a little.”
“You’ve got hands.” Shane glanced at the one beside the plate. “Pretty big ones. I have every confidence in you.”
Ilya’s smile widened. “You speak to all customers this way?”
“Most of them figure out how to eat before they get here.”
Eric picked up his drink and turned back to Scott while Ilya took another look at Shane’s shirt. Shane hadn’t shaved before work, and his hair was slicked back under his backward cap. He’d been in that kitchen since four. If Ilya liked what he saw now, he should see him when he’d made an effort.
Shane rested a hand on the empty chair beside him. He could stay another thirty seconds.
“You done inspecting the staff, or do you need to send me back too?”
“No. You can stay.”
“Yeah? Well, if you want something off-menu, you could try asking me—”
Ilya picked up the burger and took a bite.
Ilya chewed with his eyes on Shane, who stood there beside a chair he hadn’t been invited to sit in.
“Is okay,” Ilya said.
It was a fucking good burger. The crust was right and the bun hadn’t gone soggy. Ilya had cheese on his thumb that he was apparently going to lick off while Shane watched.
“Enjoy your dinner.”
Shane left before Ilya could answer. Behind the bar, Kyle looked from him to the table and opened his mouth.
“Don’t,” Shane told him, and went back to his kitchen.
Shane pushed through the back door with his cigarettes and phone in one hand. Out here, he could stand still without getting progressively hotter. He pushed his cap back from his forehead and lit up beside the wall.
His phone buzzed while he was looking for the Knicks score.
[Rose | 9:25pm]
Rose: Roomieeee. Are you bringing home dinner?
Me: Yeah, finish at ten. Wings?
Rose: Burgers?
Me: Not tonight.
Rose: :(
Me: I’ll explain when I get home.
Rose: Bring ranch. We’re out.
“Chef.”
Ilya had stepped through the back door with a cigarette between his lips. Despite the whole stretch of empty wall beyond the ashtray, he stopped right beside Shane and cupped his hands around his lighter.
Shane put his phone away. “Fucking double cheese.”
Their shoulders touched as Ilya lowered his hands. Shane took half a step sideways, and Ilya stayed where he was, smoking and looking down the alley.
Shane gave him five seconds to explain why he’d followed him out. Ilya seemed prepared to stand there all night.
“Didn’t think hockey players were allowed to smoke.”
“Didn’t think chef would fuck up burger twice.”
“Cook.”
“Yes. Is what chefs do.”
“No, I’m a cook. There’s a difference.” Shane tapped his ash into the tray between them. “You were very interested in differences ten minutes ago.”
“You prefer Cook?”
“I prefer Shane.”
Ilya took the cigarette out of his mouth. “Ilya.”
“Yeah, I got that.” Up close, Shane could see the little dent beside Ilya’s mouth. Ilya caught him looking and smiled, deepening it.
“You are very grumpy. Everyone else here is so friendly.”
Shane laughed. “That’s why they keep me in the back. You had to specifically request this.”
“Was worth it.”
Shane lowered his cigarette while Ilya watched him. “You come out here to tell me that?”
“Only smoking area.”
“Sure.” Shane took the last drag and crushed the butt in the ashtray. He still had half an hour of work to do, including the wings he’d promised Rose. He reached for the door.
Ilya offered his open pack. Shane looked from the cigarettes to Ilya before taking one.
“Thanks.” Shane lit the cigarette with his own lighter. Ilya watched him pocket it, and Shane stayed beside the wall to smoke.
“What time do you finish?” Ilya asked.
“Ten. Unless somebody decides his wings are the wrong shape.”
“Will tell Scott kitchen is closed.”
Shane should probably get back before Kip came looking for him. He took another drag and asked how long Ilya was in New York.
By the time he stubbed out the second cigarette, he knew Ilya was staying nearby and had nowhere to be in the morning.
“Burger was fine, by the way,” Ilya said as Shane opened the door.
“Didn’t ask.”
Shane got inside before Ilya could see the grin.
Shane had changed into a clean black shirt and claimed a stool at the end of the bar. Kip set a staff beer down in front of him as Shane checked the time on his phone: 10:06pm. He’d boxed Rose’s wings before shutting off the fryer. They could wait in the kitchen until he finished his drink.
“One Scott Hunter, and whatever Chef wants.”
Shane looked up from his phone as Ilya’s hand closed on his shoulder. “I’ve got a drink.”
“Next one, then.” Ilya kept his hand on Shane’s shoulder as he took the stool beside him. “Was waiting to talk to my favourite employee.”
“You don’t own this place.”
“Scott lets me make suggestions.”
“How’s that working out for your burger?” Shane put his phone facedown and turned toward him. “I’m off the clock. You’ll have to find someone else to complain to.”
“So what do you do now?”
“Now? I return to my apartment, where the laundry waits and the groceries dwindle. I have sacrificed the daylight. My circadian rhythms have been irrevocably altered.”
Ilya stopped with his new cocktail halfway to his mouth. “Your what?”
Shane had heard enough of Rose’s rehearsals through their shared wall to remember most of the monologue. He was pretty sure the groceries were his contribution.
“My circadian rhythms.”
“Cicada? You mean loud bug?”
“It means I’m fucking with you, double cheese.”
“Ah.” Ilya drank. “Loud bug. Is very you.”
Shane laughed and reached for his beer. “You’ve been waiting all this time to insult me?”
“Wanted to see if you are nicer after work.”
“You should’ve seen me at Waffle House. Minimum wage doesn’t buy manners.” He rested his forearm on the bar beside Ilya’s. “At least these guys pay enough for me to put up with you.”
“You are doing this for free now.”
“Don’t fucking remind me.”
Ilya looked down at their forearms where they touched on the bar. Shane left his there as he drank.
“Let me make you dinner.”
Shane laughed into his beer. Foam spilled over his fingers and onto the bar, catching the edge of Ilya’s cuff.
“The fuck?” Ilya lifted his wrist. “All cooks do this? Swear at you, pour beer on you?”
“Sorry.” Shane coughed into his shoulder and put his beer down before he spilled any more. “You’re going to cook for me? Tonight?”
“Yes.”
Shane took a napkin from the dispenser and caught Ilya’s wrist to blot the few drops off his cuff. He folded the napkin over and kept hold of him.
“You called over Kip because your burger was too tall.”
“You are still talking about this.”
“It’s relevant to the invitation.” Shane set the napkin down and kept his thumb against the inside of Ilya’s wrist. “You got a little apron at your hotel?”
Ilya put his cocktail down. “You have thought about this?”
“I’m thinking about it now.”
“Even with apron?”
“Depends what else you’re wearing. Or not wearing.”
Ilya was looking at Shane’s mouth when a couple squeezed past behind the stool, one man with his hand in the other’s back pocket. Shane tucked his foot onto the rung to let them through and turned farther toward Ilya. He could have kissed Ilya from here, but he wanted Ilya to be the one to move.
“You talk like this to everybody?” Ilya asked.
“You already asked me that.” Shane let go of Ilya’s wrist and rested his hand on Ilya’s knee. “It’s working on you, isn’t it?”
Ilya’s crooked grin showed a canine, and Shane wanted another look at it from a lot closer.
“Well?” he asked. “What are you going to cook for me?”
“Tuna melt.”
Shane laughed. “You’re fucking with me.”
“No, Shane. I make good tuna melt.” Ilya rested his arm along the back of Shane’s stool. Shane could feel Ilya’s fingers through his shirt as he leaned back.
“In your hotel room?”
“Suite has kitchen.”
“Is there tuna?”
Ilya glanced at the ceiling, and Shane started laughing again.
“You haven’t got any fucking tuna.”
“We can order food.”
“I’ve got wings in the back.”
“Good. You bring dinner.”
Shane picked up his phone with his free hand. He could get the wings, collect his bag and be out of here in two minutes. Ilya watched over the rim of his glass while Shane opened Venmo.
Venmo
Rose L. → $30Message: Sorry, getting laid. DoorDash is on me.
Shane put his phone in his pocket and moved his hand from Ilya’s knee to pick up his beer.
“I’m going to need a shower.”
Ilya knocked his knee against Shane’s. “So do I.”
“Yeah? Well, if you’re offering—”
Ilya slid his hand from the back of the stool to Shane’s neck and kissed him before Shane could finish. His mouth was cold from the cocktail. Shane kissed him back and caught the edge of that canine as Ilya started to grin.