Page 2 of New Year (Reconstruction #3)

CHAPTER ONE

Zack Matteson never wanted to accuse an employee of theft without solid proof. False allegations could haunt someone for years, if not the rest of their lives. But the results of ignoring something, of not being vigilant, could result in the same. So, he paid attention to Shelton, his server handling the French Garden room, from his spot at the pass. He couldn’t be certain, but all the food brought back from the dining room didn’t seem to be making it into the trash can.

A new ticket slid across the pass, and Zack picked it up. Their last table. “Order in, table eleven, three-top. Apps, two spanakopita and one bacon scallops.”

His cooks repeated the order, never stopping their somewhat awkward dance around the slightly re-organized kitchen.

Tonight’s dinner service at River Bistro II was winding down. Their last reservation had been seated at nine-thirty, and they closed doors to guests at ten. The restaurant only had nineteen tables, and on a Wednesday night in June, they hadn’t been completely booked. That didn’t worry Zack at all. He had two new servers and three new line cooks on tonight, all of them less than a week at the Bistro, training to Zack’s more exacting standards of service.

Zack hadn’t opened and sold nine restaurants because he was a slouch on standards.

And he hadn’t taken over as general manager of both River Bistro locations because the previous manager was incompetent or failing at his duties. He’d done it as a favor to a very dear friend who’d asked in his time of need. Accepting the job offer and moving across three states to Reynolds, North Carolina, hadn’t even been a question.

He checked the time on his next expected entrée order. “Table four’s steak frites, time?”

“One minute, chef!” the lead cook replied.

It still tickled him when others called him “chef.” Zack wasn’t formally trained, and the restaurant’s actual head chef was off tonight, so Zack had taken over expediting. Which worked out fine, because Chase had been feeling up to handling front of house tonight, chatting with guests and being his usual, charming self.

One day, Chase wouldn’t be able to do that anymore.

“Two steak frites, chef, one rare, one medium,” the cook said as he delivered the plates to the pass.

Zack wiped the edges of the plates, spotted the server and handed them over. She took the plates with a nervous smile. His other new hire, Phoebe, was young, soft-spoken, and a student at Reynolds College who was staying in town for the summer taking extra credits. But she was also smart, had memorized the menu before starting her first shift, and seemed eager to learn.

Shelton, on the other hand…Zack wasn’t as sure about him. But Shelton had come with eleven years of server experience in various restaurants, including fine dining. River Bistro was no Le Bernardin, but they had recently received one Michelin star, which had been Chase’s lifelong dream.

God knew if he’d survive long enough to earn another one.

Shelton returned to the floor. Zack strode over to the wash line where Shelton had taken the bussed entrée plates. Zack made it his priority to check returning plates, so he knew what guests were eating or not eating, as it helped with menu and portion planning. He’d seen a dinner roll on one plate and pasta aglio e olio on another. The pasta was on top of the trash heap in the can, but the roll was not.

Shelton hadn’t gone near the garnish station, though, so he hadn’t returned the bread for reuse, which was absolutely against safety standards. You didn’t serve one guest a roll, and then try to sell it to someone else if it went uneaten. Not in Zack Matteson’s kitchen.

If the roll wasn’t in the garbage, then it was in Shelton’s apron or pocket. But why steal a bread roll? They were made in-house with Chase’s own developed recipe, and were absolutely delicious, but why steal when they were also served at family meal? He’d almost expect that from someone who’d never worked in a kitchen before, nipping off the leftovers, but not someone with Shelton’s experience.

Zack wasn’t going to interrupt service over one roll, so he watched. And made a mental note to talk to Chase about his own food policies. While Chase had given Zack free rein to run the restaurant his own way, Chase was still his oldest friend. His first love. And River Bistro was Chase’s baby. Zack still wanted Chase’s input.

Shelton returned to the kitchen with more plates. Zack watched Shelton scrape both and place them in the sink. Then he approached Zack. “My last table just left. Can I take a smoke break before I start clean-up?”

“Yes,” Zack replied. His fingers twitched, reaching for a pack that wasn’t there anymore. He’d smoked for a long time, thanks to his extended work in the restaurant industry, but he’d quit three years ago as part of starting over and becoming a new man. Cigarettes, pot, alcohol binges, and party drugs, all out of his life.

Along with a lot of other things that used to define who he was as a man.

Smoke breaks occurred in the alley behind the restaurant, in a designated area six feet down, so the smell stayed out of the kitchen. Zack considered following Shelton to see if he went outside to eat the missing roll that he had no proof was stolen, but Phoebe came over with a question about a customer complaint. Zack went out to the floor to handle the customer, which was as simple as reassuring the elderly woman that her grilled whitefish was the correct fish. According to her it was “too white.” Hearing from the manager that yes, it was local whitefish—exactly what she’d ordered—delighted her.

After more than twenty years in the industry, the dumb things no longer aggravated him. It was almost adorable.

River Bistro II was in a renovated Victorian-style home, and it had three main dining rooms, each with a unique theme, with the kitchen in the back. Their offices were upstairs, as well as a studio apartment with a private entrance that Chase typically rented to staff. The Saloon Room, which housed the bar and had rustic wood features reminiscent of old-time saloons, was empty of diners, but as he passed on his way back to the kitchen, Zack spotted Chase seated alone at the bar with his tablet.

Even though Zack had been in town for several weeks now, it still hurt his heart when he looked at Chase. The last time they’d seen each other in person, almost twenty years ago, Chase had been fit, confident, intense in the kitchen, and even more intense in the bedroom. He took no shit from anyone, especially not from Zack, and he faced challenges head-on.

Seeing Chase hunched over a barstool, his cane leaning against the bar, exhaustion creasing his pale face, brown hair streaked with early gray, hurt Zack deep down where a part of him would always love this man. The same part that loathed knowing Chase only had a few good years left, if he was lucky.

Chase picked up his rocks glass with his new trademark seltzer and lime twist (in the old days, it would have had gin in it) with a shaking hand. He grunted, then used his left hand to steady his right and raise the drink. Take a sip. Put it down. Chase seemed to sense he was being watched, because his shoulders stiffened, and his head whipped to the side.

His irritation melted into a gentler frown. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me.” Zack jacked his thumb over his shoulder. “Guest had a question about the fish she ordered.”

“I could have handled it.”

“It’s fine. Tickets are almost done, anyway, so I had a few minutes. I used to be front of house, remember? I know what I’m doing.”

“I know, I know.” A fond smile brightened Chase’s whole face. “With me busting my ass in the kitchen.”

“And me kissing ass in the dining room.” They’d been a fantastic team for a long time, but like anything too intense to last, they’d burned out. And gone their separate ways on very bad terms. So, Zack had been shocked when Chase called him in tears, begging for help after not speaking to each other for ages.

The man Zack rediscovered in Reynolds was completely different from the man he’d known in Wilmington. And also, somehow very much the same.

“We made a fantastic team then,” Chase said, “and we’re making a fantastic team again. For however long we can.”

Grief squeezed Zack’s throat, and he bit hard on the tip of his tongue to keep his emotions at bay. “That’s why I’m here. To keep River Bistro running on the days you can’t.”

Chase’s eyes watered, and he coughed. “Go finish your tickets. I’ll be here when it’s time to go home.”

“All right.”

Zack returned to the kitchen and was immediately annoyed at himself when he spotted Shelton back from his break. No chance to check on him tonight, and since he had no actual proof Shelton had pocketed the roll, Zack filed the incident away as something to investigate another night.

After the final entrée went out, the kitchen began to break down and clean. No one ordered dessert, which were simple preps anyway, so they were going to finish the night a bit early. Which they did. Chase was waiting at the kitchen door, and after the last of the staff left, Chase locked up.

Zack kept pace with Chase as they walked down the alley to the street. The restaurant had a small, private parking lot, but Chase refused to reserve himself a spot in it, even now, so they parked wherever possible. Chase wasn’t struggling for breath, was barely limping along with his cane, so Zack just watched. When they arrived at the car, he opened the passenger door for Chase, and then got into the driver’s side.

Chase didn’t drive anymore.

Home was a mid-century, single-story brick home in the kind of neighborhood Zack used to avoid after dark. But he’d also grown up in rich, gated communities, and he thought anything that didn’t have high security systems and a pool was poor. Chase’s life here had been comfortable, manageable. Kind. Everything Zack was trying to find for himself now.

They walked together to the small side porch facing the driveway, the June heat a thick blanket all around them, even at this time of night. Zack rearranged his keys so his door key was in his hand. Chase reached into his slacks pocket and produced his own front door key.

“Thanks for the ride,” Chase said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They unlocked their separate front doors, which stood opposite each other. Zack waited until Chase had gone inside the main house before going inside the in-law suite Chase had offered to him. The suite was basically a single-bedroom apartment with its own bathroom and galley kitchen, physically connected to the main house but with a private entrance via the side porch. Chase had rented it out when he first bought the house, as a secondary income source while he opened his restaurant, but it had been empty for about a year before Zack moved in.

Chase had told him to make it his home, to decorate however he wanted, add his own personality, but Zack wasn’t entirely sure who he was anymore. He’d been searching for himself ever since selling his tricked-out apartment in Wilmington, Delaware, giving up his life in the BDSM world, and divesting his interests in his old restaurants.

So far, his newest home was as unfinished as Zack himself: livable but colorless.

He passed through his simple living area to his bedroom so he could strip and take a shower. He couldn’t sleep with kitchen odors clinging to his skin. Or most odors, for that matter. For all he could work up a good sweat and enjoy all sorts of bodily fluids on his skin (and occasionally inside his body), he needed to clean up before he could rest. Mess and imperfection were not tolerated, not even if you were exhausted.

Stop, that’s your father’s voice. Shut it up.

He’d been telling himself to do that for twenty years, and it still hadn’t stuck. Alfred Matteson’s voice was imbedded in his head, dug in like a sliver of broken glass beneath his skin, a constant irritation he’d never been able to remove. He’d tried to extract that sliver his entire adult life, using every method he could think of, even going to extremes with his own body and the bodies of others, and nothing had worked.

Zack was forty-two-years-old, and he hadn’t seen his father in more than two decades, but he still couldn’t shake the man’s influence on his life.

Hot water sluiced over his skin. He grabbed his bar soap and went to work washing his body, starting with his face and working his way down. Methodically. Washed his hair last. Dried off and wrapped himself up in his summer robe, a red silk one he’d had for years. It wasn’t the first red silk robe he’d bought himself, but a red silk robe had been the first truly indulgent thing he’d purchased when he finally had a steady income. When his life was bigger than hot dogs, and rice and beans, and working himself to exhaustion. The robe had been a staple of his private wardrobe ever since.

Physically exhausted but mentally wide-awake, Zack fetched a bottle of sparkling water to sip while he settled in bed to read. He kept a small stack of library books on his side table, different genres to match his reading mood. Tonight, he continued reading the memoir of a young woman’s battle with chronic Lyme disease. He hadn’t given much thought to the disease until Chase filled him in on some gossip in the local restauranteur community, involving a renowned chef-owner whose son was dating a man with chronic Lyme, and the pair was trying to run a successful food truck.

Or something

Chase had told him about it while Zack was cooking them dinner one night, and when Zack was cooking, his attention was laser focused on what his hands were doing. He’d only half-listened to the story, but he’d filed away the name Neighborhood Shindig as something to investigate later.

Sleep avoided him for a long time, and when he did finally nod off, his alarm woke him far too soon to feel rested. Didn’t matter. He had a schedule to keep, and his preferred meeting began at eight o’clock. Skipping was not an option.

* * *

Friday night was always busy at both River Bistro locations, and River Bistro II’s reservation book was full. With Chef at the pass, Zack worked the floor, greeting guests, chatting with tables, answering questions, and being the face of the restaurant. The fast-pace of the weekends were too much for Chase now, and he’d had a spell that afternoon, so even if it had been a scheduled weeknight, Zack would have insisted Chase stay home and rest.

Shelton was on, working the Italian Veranda room, and Zack did his best to watch plates, but he couldn’t be in the kitchen as often. Sometimes, he wondered if he’d imagined that missing roll from the other night. But his gut insisted something was off, and he’d survived this long by trusting his instincts.

A little after nine, Zack took a brief break in the rear of the kitchen to drink a fountain Coke and eat a protein bar to get him through the night. He wasn’t spying, and he hadn’t chosen a quiet corner on purpose, but he had a good view of the kitchen door, so he saw Shelton slip outside with something tucked up in his left hand and nearly hidden by his apron.

Zack’s spine snapped straight. He put his Coke down on the nearest flat surface and followed. The security door stood open, just the screen door in place to keep out bugs and allow air flow. He slowly pushed the screen door forward so it didn’t squeal and poked his head outside. Down the alley, toward the designated smoking area, he spotted two figures standing close together in the shadows.

Shelton’s back was to him, his tall, bulky body hiding most of the other person. All he could see was the dark outline of what might be a sweatshirt (strange for the summer heat), and light jeans with a dark stain on the left shin. Curiosity and alarm clashed in Zack’s head. He didn’t like rushing to judgement, but Shelton was clearly meeting his person, in the dark, for some sort of trade. Shelton untucked the thing under his apron and his arm moved forward, giving whatever it was to this person.

Zack’s right hand jerked, reaching for his phone so he could record whatever this was. He jostled the door, which squeaked loud enough to startle both people. The stranger, face hidden by a dark hoodie, seemed to look right at Zack before turning and running to the end of the alley. Temper tweaking, Zack stepped fully into the alley and crossed his arms.

Shelton walked toward him, hands in his apron pockets, expression reserved. “Something you need, boss?” Perfectly casual, as if he’d been standing there alone, smoking.

“What did you give him?” Zack asked.

“Who?”

“Don’t play dumb, Shelton. It won’t save your job if you’ve been stealing from Chase.”

Shelton’s face hardened. “Look, it was gonna get tossed anyway. No harm in making sure it’s kind of clean, so he doesn’t have to dig it out of the garbage can later.”

“He’s homeless.” Not a question, because Zack wasn’t a fool. And he’d spent enough time being food insecure that his sympathy went out to anyone facing the same crisis.

“Yeah.”

“How do you know him?”

“I don’t really. We, um, met two weekends ago, and at one point, uh, got some food, and the way he ate, it made me wonder, so I asked, and he told me he usually eats out of dumpsters. Didn’t get hot meals a lot.”

“That’s a truly terrible situation.”

“Yeah, I’ve been there, you know? So, I told him where I work and that I’d try to take a smoke break around nine every night, and I’d try to bring him something. I never took food off the line, I swear, just off returned plates. It was garbage anyway.”

“So, you only gave him food scraps?”

“Yes. He’s just a kid. I mean, he’s not like a real kid, he’s probably in his early twenties, but he needed food, and I wanted to try and help. Reminds me of someone I knew once. Someone I couldn’t help.”

Zack’s heart squeezed with sympathy. He was still irritated with Shelton for the theft, but Shelton’s heart had been in the right place. He’d tried helping someone in need. But he’d also invited someone potentially dangerous onto the restaurant’s private property. What if this homeless person had hurt one of his staff?

Stop it. Homeless doesn’t mean criminal or addict.

More early-life prejudices he was still working to exorcise.

“What’s his name?” Zack asked.

“Why? So, you can call the cops?”

“No. I’m not calling the police over a few dollars of table scraps.”

“Am I fired?”

“No, but consider this a verbal reprimand. You cannot do that anymore, Shelton, and it’s not because I’m cold-hearted, or think the unhoused deserve to starve. But I have to think first of the people who work here and their safety. I can’t have word getting around that folks can get free food, or we’ll end up with a problem that could drive away business.”

Shelton scowled. “Sounds cold to me.”

“My job is to protect Chase’s investment, and turning his restaurant into a back-alley soup kitchen won’t solve anything. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now, do you think this young man will come back tomorrow? Or did I scare him off for good?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t seem dangerous, just real slow to trust. I wanted to help him.”

“I understand. Truly.” Zack desperately wanted to help Chase, to fix everything ailing him, but there was no fixing it. There was just easing Chase through it to the end. He couldn’t save his friend and former lover, but maybe he could save someone else. Even if it was as simple as giving him a free hot meal.

“If he comes back tomorrow during your break, I want to meet him,” Zack said. “Maybe there’s something bigger we can do to help.”

Shelton’s eyebrows crept up. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The question did not insult Zack in the least. He’d only been at River Bistro for a month, and the staff knew little about him, aside from what an internet search might turn up about his business ventures. He’d kept his private life off social media. “I want to help because I am able to help. You saw someone worth helping, and you did what you could. It’s my turn.”

“Natty.”

Zack blinked dumbly. “What?”

“He said his name is Natty.”

“Thank you.” He swept his hand toward the kitchen door. “We’d better get back before Chef starts screaming for us both.”

“Yeah. Thanks, boss.”

“No more table scraps out the back door?”

“No more, swear.”

“Then let’s go back to work.”