Not Today

Caleb

I should have been more prepared for that question. Ever since Hannah started at Hibiscus, I’ve scheduled her on a variety of shifts. I need to see how everyone operates in different situations so I know who to assign where. Since my confrontation with Todd, I’ve put her on earlier shifts to minimize our time together. Though not for the reason she thinks.

So I lie. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

She scoffs and turns her head to look out the passenger window. “Yeah, okay.”

“Would I have insisted on driving you home if I was avoiding you?” I challenge, knowing full well I offered because I care about her more than I’ll admit. Knowing I stayed in my office, organizing that cesspool until I thought Hannah would be ready to go.

She doesn’t have a response for that. I just feel her eyes burning into the side of my head.

I don’t want to confess the real reason I’ve been keeping her at a distance. It’s not fair for me to show her special treatment because of our past, but trying to stay objective around her is impossible. That became more obvious the day I committed assault. And by the realization I’d punch anyone else to protect her too.

Instead of focusing on our personal quandary, I shift back to work. “Thank you for all the work you’ve done for this promotion. It wouldn’t have been half as successful without you.”

She scoffs again. “You know me. Just doing my job.”

I turn onto Hannah’s street, then pull up along the curb in front of her parents’ house. “I really mean that. You’ve been a great asset to my kitchen.” Even I wince as I say those words, because that simple statement doesn’t encompass everything she is to me. It’s just all she can be to me.

“Sure. You’re welcome, I guess. Thanks for the ride.” Without waiting for a response, she hops out of the car and walks through the snow across the yard, into her home.

Watching her walk away floods me with disappointment all over again.

As teenagers, I never would have let her walk to her door alone, because I wanted to spend every possible minute with her. Sometimes we’d freeze on the doorstep, trying to keep each other warm, refusing to say goodbye. Because I lived two hours north and my school schedule kept me busy all week, we’d only get to see each other one day on the weekends. We made the distance work then—with a lot of miles on Grandma’s Volvo—which is probably part of the reason Hannah was so confused when I said we couldn’t make it work between here and France.

I drive home, dwelling on my mistakes, and wishing I could fix things. If I could turn back time and spare her from the pain she went through with Todd, I would in a heartbeat. I’d take on all of it myself.

But it’s too late for that.

Few things irritate me more than running late. Especially when it’s no fault of my own. If people didn’t drive like complete idiots, it wouldn’t have taken me fifty minutes for a seventeen minute commute.

By the time I reach my office, I’m already in a sour mood. Running late only compounded the issue since I stayed up all night dwelling on what could have been with Hannah. Like a pathetic fool.

“I said back off. Okay?” Hannah shouts.

Either that was really loud, or my ears are finely tuned to her voice. Whatever the reason, I exit my office and speed walk to the fridge, resisting the impulse to jog. When I round the corner past the open stainless steel shelving holding our prep equipment, I find Hannah with her arms full of produce and Ivan pinning her to the open cooler door with an arm on either side of her.

Rage. I feel pure rage, and my career is no longer my primary concern. After what happened with Todd, I’m not going to allow anyone to intimidate her or not take no for an answer—not that I would have tolerated that before I knew what she had dealt with.

My anger appears to only be a fraction of Hannah’s because before I can react, she handles the situation. With her arms full of produce, she steps forward, shoving Ivan away from her, making him crash into a temporary prep table full of stainless steel mixing bowls. The clanging of the metal makes the encounter sound more dramatic.

I want to cheer or high five her, but as soon as she notices me, her face drops.

She steps forward to drop the potatoes and green beans into a prep bin as Ivan glowers at her back.

“Is there a problem here?” I ask, directing my words at Ivan.

Hannah answers, “You don’t have to say it, Chef. I know the deal.” Then she walks past me, toward the hooks by the service elevator.

What? I’m focused on processing her words as I stare at Ivan, who’s muttering profanities with a look of hatred on his face. Hannah is twenty feet away, hanging her apron, by the time I clue in and stop daydreaming about delivering a clearer message to Ivan.

“Hannah, wait.” I jog after her and stop a couple of metres away.

She won’t lift her head to meet my eyes. Her expression isn’t upset, though; it’s indignant. “I know drama isn’t acceptable, and that was one of the terms of my employment, so you don’t need to say anything. It is what it is. Give me a minute to gather my things and I’ll be gone.”

“You’re not leaving over this.” No way am I allowing this situation to derail her life again. “I heard you tell him to back off.”

“Maybe so, but I overreacted, and I know you can’t fire him. I can’t work with him, Caleb. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Her using my first name inside the kitchen tells me she’s resigning herself as well as her position. In this situation, the right thing to do is not the easy thing. Firing Ivan won’t be an easy sell, and technically, he’s not even under my authority to fire. Letting Hannah quit isn’t a suitable option, either. She deserves this job, and she’s worked harder than anyone in the short time she’s been here. She’s the type of worker who I can leave in charge when I need a day off, or at the very least, operate as my right hand. I don’t have to micromanage her, and that frees up my time to do other important tasks to ensure this kitchen runs smoothly. I need her here. I want her here. Just as much personally as professionally.

Even though I shouldn’t.

Can’t.

Her walking out on her own could be the answer to this dilemma I’ve found myself in, but I won’t allow her to give up this chance because it’s the easy out for me. If I were the type to take the easy way out, I never would have defied my father and pursued my dreams. I certainly wouldn’t have hired my ex-girlfriend that I never got over.

“Hannah, I’m not mad. Not at you, anyway. I told Ivan to keep his distance. You told him to back off. It’s not your fault.” I resist the pull I feel drawing me closer to her. As much as I want to offer a bit of comfort, I have to be pragmatic here. “You can get back to work. Ivan is going home for the day.”

“We’ll be short staffed.”

A surprising laugh flies out of me. “You think we’ll be in a better spot if you leave?” I hold her gaze, studying her hazel eyes flashing a hundred unspoken things. “If the choice is between you or him, I’ll choose you every time.” That’s all I say before I turn around to go find Ivan.

He’s still standing where I left him, which is no surprise.

“Ivan, clock out. You’re taking the rest of the day off and won’t be returning until I write up an incident report.”

“Good. She should be fired. If my uncle hears about this—”

“Your uncle will hear about this. I’ll make sure he knows every detail. He can even pull the security cameras so we can get a full picture.”

Ivan’s jaw goes slack for an instant before tensing. He mutters through gritted teeth, “Cameras?”

“Yeah. Your uncle was worried about people stealing, so he had a few hidden cameras installed.”

He didn’t, but it’s fun to watch Ivan squirm.

Apparently, it angers him a little more because he gets in my face. “I’m not coming back to work until she’s fired.” Ivan standing mere inches away, attempting to intimidate me, gives me flashbacks of Todd.

I only ever agreed to workout with Oscar because I needed something other than long shifts to keep me active. I never dreamed I’d turn into Hannah’s personal vigilante. Yet here I am, fighting the growing desire to give Ivan a broken nose, too. The scarier realization is how my inherent need to defend Hannah is becoming a major liability.

I wasn’t lying when I told her I’d choose her every time. Not just as a talented chef, but as someone I want—need—in my life, for a whole host of reasons.

“Talk to your uncle, Ivan. I’ll be sure Hannah speaks with him, too.”

“Why? He’s not going to take anyone else’s word over mine.”

I clench my teeth, using Herculean effort to bite my tongue. “Take the day off and we’ll get the situation dealt with. I promise.” Too bad it won’t be the resolution he’s expecting.