The Not-Outcast(90)

Shutting the door, he extended his hand. “Take a seat.”

We still didn’t.

“Oh. Okay.” He’d been about to sit at his desk but remained standing. Smoothing a hand down his tie, he leaned forward and typed on his computer. “Mr. Sanderson, you’ve been here before, so you know the protocol.”

“Remind me.”

Yep. Hendrix thought this whole thing was hilarious.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” He moved back around, a slight laugh coming from him as we went back into the main area. We were led to a back kitchen section where we were told to wash our hands. Then we were given a hairnet, an apron, gloves. A big black guy came around, wearing a chef’s apron, and we were introduced to Boomer. We got the low-down from him, which was basically where to stand and when someone handed you a plate, put a scoop of food on it. That was it. It took me till later to realize Dean was planning on sending Hendrix out ahead of time, keeping me in? Sounded shady, but in our world, worse shit happened.

We met Reba, too, and she stared at me long enough, so I started putting two and two together. When I cut my gaze to Cheyenne once, and back to her, she had a small little smile there. My girl shared. I stifled a grin and focused back on what we were doing.

It was hard not to watch Cheyenne, though.

I could tell she was stressed. There were strain lines around her mouth and under her eyes, but her earbuds were in and she had her phone in her pocket. She’d close her eyes every now and then and she mouthed the words along with some of the songs, but she looked like a regular kitchen worker.

Boomer would watch her progress. When she would be three quarters of the way finished with whatever he had her doing, he’d start setting up her next task. When she’d finish, he’d go over and point her where to go. She’d go over and start up. She always knew what was needed, and he’d start collecting whatever she just chopped, diced, or peeled. Most of the product was put in containers and taken back into their walk-in fridge. He was having her help get ready for a future meal.

Hendrix and I stayed for an hour.

We were both asked if we wanted to stay. Note that it wasn’t Dean who asked. He’d been standing around, checking on the beverages, but that lasted twenty minutes. He’d been in his office since, and Reba asked if we wanted to stay. We both did.

I caught Hendrix glancing at Cheyenne a couple times, too, a slight frown. I didn’t tell him why she was doing what she was doing, but I could read my right-winger, and he knew something was up with her.

After another hour, some of the stress lines were fading. She was gulping down coffee like it was going out of business, but she kept working. We kept working. And Boomer kept going back and forth between all of us. Reba came and helped out, too.

I could see why Cheyenne loved this place so much, and why Hendrix wanted to come back.

The workers were cool. They were laidback. Funny too. The only guy who had an agenda was Dean, but he came out when we were in our third hour of working, and he seemed to have accepted he wasn’t going to get what he wanted, whatever it was. He picked up some of the dessert trays and took ’em around to the people eating. And all the people coming in, they were characters.

Some just wanted the food and wanted out of there.

Some had a story for each person. A few looked ready to collapse, but after being in Come Our Way for a few minutes, they relaxed. A lot of guys stuck around, sharing an extra cup of coffee, and one of the guys went over to the piano. He started playing, and most enjoyed. There were a couple who made cracks about the sound, but those were hushed or told to leave by the other patrons.

Thirty minutes into the piano concert, a guy sat down and started singing.

I glanced back, saw that Cheyenne had taken her earbuds out, and there was a small little grin on her face. Yeah. She seemed a lot better.

“All right, folks.” If Boomer wasn’t his given name, I heard why it was his nickname. He boomed out on our fourth hour there and held his hand up in the air, “We’re good to go. Time to close up shop.”

A few guys whined, but most picked up their items and headed for the door.

A couple lingered back, and I saw Reba handing out food in closed containers. When she caught me watching, she winked. Each guy stuffed the container under a coat or shirt before heading out the door. She came over when she was done, putting the empty pan on the counter where I was standing. “That’s not legal, but most everyone here’s done something not legal.”

“Not going to hear a word from me.”

She winked again, nodding to where Hendrix was sitting at a table talking to a few of the patrons who were the last to leave. “Enjoyed having you both here. Real nice of you, and even better that no press was called in.”

“That happens with some, but a lot of the guys on the team aren’t like that.”

“That’s why you guys will do real good this year. Can already see it.” Then, her gaze trailed past me, and I waited, expecting her next comment about Cheyenne. I was surprised when I heard instead, “Don’t let him know about you and her. He’ll use her, and it’ll wear on her after a bit, even if she thinks she can handle him. She can’t. None of us can when he’s got his mind set on something.”

“Noted.”

Her eyes moved back to mine. “Watching you watching her today, I can tell you feel a right sort of way with her. Take care of her. She deserves it.”