Operation sunshine, p.3
Operation Sunshine, page 3
And just like that, a staff meeting loomed in his future.
Dear God, I hope I can survive it.
He slipped his notebook back into his pocket and stood.
Willow noticed his movement and came over to him. “Seen enough?”
He nodded. “Tomorrow morning, before we open, I want everyone here for a staff meeting. And I mean everyone, not just those scheduled to work that day. Can you round them all up?”
Willow smiled. “Sure. I’m used to herding this lot. Except most of the time, they’re more like cats than sheep.” She tilted her head. “I’d expected nothing less, to be honest. A staff meeting is essential if you’re gonna survive this madhouse. You need to get the lay of the land.”
Survive. The word struck him like a jolt of caffeine.
Was this really what I signed up for?
Watching the restaurant in full swing had been an experience he could have summed up in five words: Lunch rush: disaster management plan. The place was pure chaos. Okay, so it was a different kind of chaos compared to the corporate world he’d left behind, but he could already tell that running Sage & Thyme was less about precision and more about surviving.
The prospect both terrified and exhilarated him.
He couldn’t wait to get started.
Franco leaned against the prep counter, idly slicing a leftover lemon into thin wheels. The post-lunch lull had settled over the kitchen, that brief, precious hour when the din receded and everyone snatched a moment to breathe.
Raj stood across from him, wiping down the pass, while Lexie perched on a milk crate nearby, scrawling menu notes in a battered sketchbook. Mina lingered near the pastry fridge, munching on a broken piece of tart shell she’d salvaged.
Franco flicked a lemon slice at her, and she caught it midair with a deftness he admired, rolling her eyes.
“Any more culinary assault and I’m quitting to become a potter.” She shoved the lemon in her mouth regardless.
Franco smirked but his mind drifted past the empty dining room, the disarray of plates and smudged glassware, to the corner where Ben had sat moments before: tall, too neatly pressed even in casual clothes, his pen clicking like a metronome for his internal panic.
Franco’s fingers itched, remembering the way Ben’s eyes had darted up every time Franco came near, as though he couldn’t help himself. The way he’d pressed a palm to the wall, as though he might collapse from sheer overstimulation.
Franco recognised that I-don’t-know-how-to-breathe-in-here look. He’d seen it on first-time cooks dropped onto the line, or on kids during their first solo shift. But on Ben, a man who looked as if he could dismantle a hedge fund with a single email, it was endearing.
Devastatingly endearing.
“Earth to Franco,” Raj snapped, dragging Franco’s mind back to the kitchen. “You gonna keep slicing lemons all day or help me with the prep list?”
Franco sliced another lemon so thin it was nearly transparent. “I’m multitasking,” he said with a shrug.
Lexie snorted. “Multitasking, or daydreaming about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Spreadsheet?”
Franco’s knife slipped, nicking his thumb. He set it down too forcefully and turned to face her.
“I wasn’t—”
“Oh my God, you totally were,” Mina cut in, her tone and expression gleeful. She leaned forward, her eyes bright. “You’ve got that ridiculous glazed look. Like when you found that heirloom tomato stall last summer.” She tossed him the First Aid box. “Get that cut covered up.”
Franco’s cheeks grew hot as he reached into the box for a Band-Aid. His thumb protected, he swiped a lemon pip off the counter with more force than was necessary.
“Ben is… interesting,” he muttered, glaring at the pip.
“Interesting,” Raj echoed dryly. Franco jerked his head up to find Raj quirking one of his bushy eyebrows. “I call that Franco code for ‘I want to lick his jawline and ruin his entire life.’”
Lexie shrieked with laughter, nearly dropping her sketchbook. Mina leaned against the fridge, howling. Even Raj’s usually stern mouth twitched at the corners.
Franco lifted his hands in surrender. “He’s just so… precise. Controlled. You know, like those little bonsais? You want to shake ’em loose.”
Raj snorted. “You don’t want to prune him, Franco. You want to climb him like a tree.”
Franco opened his mouth to argue, but no words came out. His cheeks burned.
Busted.
Maybe he did want to climb Ben. Maybe he wanted to feel that tight coil of control unravel under his hands, wanted to press him against a counter and watch that polished corporate mask crack wide open.
He shook himself. Jesus. Either I need a cold shower or an exorcism.
Before he could come up with a suitably witty or scathing riposte, Willow pushed through the kitchen doors, her cheeks flushed, her hair escaping her bun the way it always did. She looked ready for battle.
“All right, listen up, children.” She clapped her hands sharply. “New sheriff in town wants a staff meeting tomorrow morning before service. Everyone. No exceptions.”
Lexie groaned and flopped dramatically onto her crate, arms thrown wide. “I have to babysit my niece in the morning. She’s going to learn new curse words if I’m here.”
Raj frowned but gave a curt nod, as if already mentally blocking time in his prep schedule. Mina scrunched her nose.
Franco straightened, doing his damnedest not to look too eager. “What time?”
Willow squinted at him, her eyes narrowing as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. “Nine sharp. Wear clean shirts. And if any of you are late, Ben will probably make you write an essay on time management.”
Lexie kicked her legs in the air, muttering, “I didn’t leave corporate life to do essays…”
Franco only half-heard them. He was already picturing Ben standing at the front of the dining room, his spine rod-straight, his jaw clenched, that cool gaze flicking over them like a general surveying an undisciplined troop.
He bit his lip, his mind wandering to the way Ben’s throat had flexed when he swallowed earlier. The faint, involuntary shiver whenever Franco got too close.
There was something under all that stiffness, some hidden softness or heat that Franco wanted to uncover like a pearl in an oyster.
He realised too late that he was smiling.
Willow squinted at him. “Why are you grinning like that?”
Franco cleared his throat and grabbed the lemon slices, shoving them into a container. “No reason,” he said quickly.
Raj made a disgusted noise. “God help us. The last thing we need is you making heart eyes at the boss. Don’t we have enough chaos around here?”
Franco ignored him, closing the container and turning to the sink. His heart thudded, giddy and reckless.
Tomorrow. A staff meeting. An actual chance to see Ben try to wrangle them all.
Franco couldn’t wait.
Chapter Three
Ben stood in front of the mirror in the restaurant’s toilet, holding a comb as though any second now it might attack him. His hair refused to cooperate. One stubborn piece kept sticking up at an angle that screamed I have no idea what I’m doing.
He smoothed it down repeatedly, each attempt only making it worse.
“Christ,” he muttered. “It’s just a meeting. You’ve pitched billion-dollar mergers. You’ve survived boardroom bloodbaths. You can handle a handful of servers and cooks.”
One glance told him his reflection didn’t buy it.
He scanned the tiny room, looking for anything to subdue his unruly hair. There was only a small bottle of hand soap. Outside, he could already hear muffled voices, the clatter of pans, someone shrieking about a missing oat milk.
The restaurant’s heartbeat had started early.
He took one last look at himself, noting the pressed shirt, the sleeves rolled exactly two turns, the clean but slightly scuffed white sneakers, and the notebook peeking from his pocket.
Ready, he lied to himself.
Franco stood by the espresso machine, fiddling with the steam wand as if it was an electric guitar solo.
Lexie slumped over the counter next to him, her head buried in her arms. Mina was sprawled on a barstool, chewing on a croissant she’d half-stolen from the morning pastry prep. Raj stood by the pass, sharpening a knife at a speed that suggested he might be imagining someone’s head instead of an onion.
Raj glanced at the others. “I was talking to Arun this morning about possible changes Ben might want to implement.”
Franco smirked. “And what did the hubby say?”
“He’s going to introduce a biometric fingerprint clock-in system,” Lexie blurted.
Mina brushed croissant crumbs from her blouse. “Nah, he’s going to ban staff meals and make us meal-prep quinoa salads.”
Raj snorted. “Arun said he’s going to install a second floor just for spreadsheets.”
Franco snickered. “My money is on him assigning KPIs to the basil and rosemary plants on the windowsill.”
Mina nearly choked on her croissant, Lexie gave Franco a thumbs-up, and Raj howled with laughter.
Franco felt as if he’d been hooked up to an espresso IV all night. His skin practically buzzed with anticipation.
He’s going to stand in front of us, all stiff posture and crisis energy, trying to wrangle us into shape.
Franco couldn’t decide if he wanted to watch or derail the whole thing.
Possibly both.
Willow burst through the door carrying a stack of clipboards she’d scavenged from God knows where. “Look alive, people. Chloe and Ollie just arrived, so that’s all of us.”
Raj peered at her. “Can Ollie walk in a straight line?”
Willow snorted. “Almost, but don’t sit too close to him. The alcohol fumes might knock you out. Now, before Ben comes out of the toilet, we need to agree on something.”
“Is he still in there?” Franco asked. He snickered. “Maybe we need to decide if we’re all going to hide from him.”
Willow raised her gaze heavenward. “Yeah, great idea. How old are you, six? What I mean is, he’s Mr. Corporate. Do we think he has any experience in the hospitality industry? No, we do not. So I think it’s important we don’t sugarcoat anything. Drop him in at the deep end.”
Raj snorted. “Meeting all of us is going to be a defining moment, you know that, right? If he can cope with us, he can cope with anything.”
“Hold that thought.” Willow ducked out of the kitchen for a minute, then returned. “Okay. I just heard the toilet flush, so—”
Mina gaped. “You were hovering outside the toilet, listening to him pee?”
Willow rolled her eyes. “I wanted to give you a heads-up. So let’s go out there and pretend we aren’t barn animals for once.”
Lexie groaned. “I like being a barn animal. Less paperwork.”
“I mean, show him what he has to work with. Move it, troop.”
Ollie and Chloe came into the kitchen, and Franco winced at Ollie’s bloodshot eyes. Why does he do this to himself? He reached into his pocket, removed his pack of mints, and tossed them to Ollie. “You might want these.”
Ollie mumbled his thanks.
Chloe tied her hair back with a scrunchie. “So? What’s he like?”
Franco grinned. “You’re about to find out.” He resisted the urge to check his reflection.
Ben’s gonna be too focused on his precious agenda to notice me anyway.
Except Franco kind of wanted Ben to notice, to look at him and forget his bullet points, if only for a second.
To really see him.
Ben grasped the door handle, doing his best to force air into his lungs. Voices rose and fell: laughter, a shriek of protest, a loud metallic clang.
He counted down from five.
Five: You’re in control.
Four: They’re just people.
Three: You’re not in a skyscraper.
Two: You chose this.
One: Oh God.
He opened the door and stepped into the dining room.
The empty dining room.
Ben groaned internally. Yeah, right, let’s put the boss off balance. As if his nerves weren’t shredded already.
He pulled out a chair at the nearest table and sat, placing his notebook in front of him. His fingers tapped an uneven beat against the polished surface. He tried to regulate his breathing. The air felt heavy, saturated with coffee, croissant crumbs, and the wild energy of too many personalities hiding out in the kitchen.
Franco was first out, which was no surprise at all, striding in as if he owned the place, or at least had just returned from winning a city-wide charisma contest. His grin alone could have powered the espresso machine.
“Good morning, Mr. Manager.” Franco held his arms wide as if he meant to hug Ben from across the room. “Ready to meet your new, vibrant, dysfunctional family?”
Ben opened his mouth, closed it again. He’d prepared for logistical pushback, but Franco’s gaze felt like a spotlight, and that grin?
Bewitching enough to make Ben forget half his carefully worded notes.
Raj entered next, silent and solid, his dark eyes sweeping the room with military precision. He gave Ben a curt nod that managed to convey both respect and a threat, before sliding into a seat next to Franco.
Mina bounded in behind him, a tornado in human form, clasping a half-eaten croissant. “Have I missed anything?” She nearly tripped over Franco’s foot and squeaked.
“Relax, goblin,” Lexie drawled as she took an empty chair. “Drama hasn’t started yet.” She folded her arms, her colourful tattoos covering every inch of skin from her wrists upwards, disappearing under the sleeves.
Drama? Okay, that didn’t bode well.
Willow ushered out the last two, Ollie and a girl Ben hadn’t seen before, although he knew from his notes this had to be Chloe who worked a couple of days a week. Ollie held a glass filled with what looked like water.
At least, Ben hoped it was water.
“Hey, Ollie, why don’t you break the ice for us?” Franco suggested. “Maybe lead us in a rousing rendition of ‘I Will Survive’ again?”
“Only if you do the choreography this time,” Ollie shot back, resting his head on Lexie’s shoulder like an exhausted child.
Franco groaned dramatically. “My hips still haven’t recovered from the last staff party.”
“Just don’t let Franco choose the playlist,” Raj muttered. “Last time, we had three hours of French electro-pop and crying waiters.”
Ben rubbed his temples. He felt as though he’d been dropped into a travelling circus mid-performance.
Then he caught Franco’s gaze flicking to him, amused but searching.
What are you like when you’re not performing? Because it had to be a performance. No one could be this… electric all the time.
Willow cleared her throat and sat up straight, suddenly all faux-authority. “Okay, remember we’re pretending to be civilised humans today. Let’s all be nice to Mr. Business Man so he doesn’t combust.” She stared at him. “Ben, the floor is yours.”
Ben swallowed hard, glancing at his notes. His throat tightened.
Here we go.
Franco’s stomach flipped like a pancake on a too-hot griddle.
Ben looked painfully clean, so crisp he might shatter if someone threw a tomato at him. His eyes scanned the room, wary, determined, maybe a little wild. Franco’s fingers twitched with the urge to loosen him up, to muss that perfectly combed hair, to kiss away that frown.
He settled for leaning back in his chair, watching.
Like a cat with a mouse, but hotter.
Ben coughed. “Good morning, everyone.”
The staff chorused back an unconvincing, “Morning,” as if they were in detention.
“Thank you for coming early. I know it’s not easy. I… I’ve been observing the restaurant these past few days, and I wanted to share some thoughts and get on the same page.” He paused, and Franco took advantage of the lull to fix his gaze on Ben, locked onto him like a tractor beam. He watched the blush creep up Ben’s neck, impossibly pink against his collar.
God, he’s adorable.
He also looked as if he might bolt if someone so much as clapped too loudly.
Franco changed position, his elbows on the table, his chin resting on his clasped hands. Enough movement to make Ben’s gaze snap to him again.
Toying with the mouse was fun.
“Boss,” Franco drawled, keeping his voice low and smooth as caramel. “Are there going to be PowerPoint slides? Because I might need to caffeinate more aggressively if so.”
Ben made a strangled sound, half laugh, half gasp, and everyone burst into laughter. Even Raj cracked a reluctant grin.
Ben looked around, finally exhaling, his shoulders dropping a little.
Franco watched him carefully, warmth pooling in his chest.
This man. He might be made of spreadsheets and corporate ghosts, but there’s a pulse under there, a real person.
And Franco wanted to coax him out, inch by inch.
Ben took another breath.
“No slides,” he said, his voice steadier now, despite the ringing in his ears.
“Shame.” Franco pouted. “I was hoping for a laser pointer.”
Another wave of laughter swept through the dining room.
Ben shook his head, unable to rein back his smile.
Maybe this won’t be a bloodbath after all.
Franco’s gaze met his once more, and for a split second, everything else fell away: the murmurs, the stares, Mina sounding as if she was a hyperactive hamster…
It was just the two of them. Franco’s eyes glittered with mischief and something deeper, dangerous, and inviting.
Ben swallowed, hard.
“Okay. We need to talk about efficiency. Streamlining workflows, clarifying roles, tracking inventory so no one is improvising a menu from air and leftover radishes.”
Franco’s eyes lit up. “A-ha. The Corporate Efficiency Bible makes an entrance.” His voice was a purr. “Is there a holy scripture? A sacred spreadsheet you consult before bed?”
