Just One Taste Read online

  Pete blinked his long lashes as he peered up at her, clearly miserable he’d caused Lauren stress. After eight years of working together, he knew her moods better than his. Not that she was great at hiding her feelings. Lauren was one of those people who wore their moods like a costume, slipping in and out as easily as a quick-change artist. “I start on Tuesday.”

  Lauren huffed and blew her black bangs off her forehead. That gave them a week. Rats. It would be tough but not impossible.

  “This Tuesday.” Pete stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, edging his pants down to show the top of his smiley-face boxers.

  Lauren took a deep breath. “Tomorrow’s Tuesday.”

  Pete almost dived for cover. This was bad. “I didn’t want to see you mad. And it kept getting closer and closer, and I was like, ‘Pete, you need to tell her. You need to tell her.’ But…” He shook his head. “That look.” He pointed at her face. “I didn’t want to see that look. It gives me nightmares.”

  Lauren turned away, staring at the specials board. She couldn’t deal with this. Not today. Of all days, not today. Pete’s callused hand wrapped around her arm. She blinked a couple of times to make sure he couldn’t see the wetness pooling in her eyes. This was no time to cry. She needed to pull it together, especially before the lunch rush.

  “Couldn’t you miss the first few classes?” she asked, turning back to him. “Until we find someone?”

  He gave her a withering look. “After the money I spent on this course? Are you kidding me? I love you like a sister, but you know how expensive this shit is. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but you’ve got Ezra and Theo. Ezra’s a good cook.” They both shared a look that said, even if he is an ass sometimes. “You’ll find a replacement in no time. Everyone’s looking for work.”

  He was right. She could probably walk out onto Queen Street and shout they were hiring, and she’d have several people leaping over the counter into the kitchen. Finding someone wasn’t the problem. Replacing Pete was the problem. And by the look of contrition on his face, he knew it. Maybe she could ask Ramiro to pick up an extra shift or two until they at least hired another body.

  Cooking greasy diner food wasn’t hard. They served mostly burgers and breakfast foods. It was the speed and getting to know the orders. Greta had been a huge fan of fifties diners, the lingo in particular. Therefore, everything was routed to the kitchen in almost gibberish. For instance, chicks on a raft was eggs on toast, a blondie with sand was coffee with milk, and burn the British was a toasted English muffin. If you didn’t know what people were ordering, it slowed everything down. And Lauren prided her staff on serving the fastest breakfast in the west end.

  “Miss?”

  Lauren gazed up to see an older woman with tight, curly white hair waving a five in her direction. She swiped her hands down her crisp turquoise uniform, ridding herself of Pete’s betrayal, and stepped back into her role as server. “I’ll be right with you. You had the eggs Florentine with a tea, correct?” The woman nodded. Pete followed Lauren over to the register as she punched in the order.

  “At least wish me luck, huh?”

  She turned and smiled. She didn’t have to force being happy for Pete. She genuinely wanted him to succeed. She was just sorry to be losing him here.

  He squeezed her arm. “Maybe you should think about joining me. Not with woodworking. But maybe you should consider going back to school. Finishing your degree.”

  After Pete left and the lunch rush ended, Lauren sat at the end of the counter with a cup of coffee and her thoughts. She’d never imagined going back to school. Once she’d made up her mind to quit and Greta had taken her into her warm embrace, she’d closed that chapter of her life. But what if it wasn’t closed for good? Look at Pete. He was five years older than her. In a year he’d be forty, and if he could jump off the scary deep end of life, what was stopping her?

  * * *

  Lauren dropped onto her battered and sun-bleached chaise. She shifted her ass so it wouldn’t stick out the bottom where two straps were missing. She’d found it on the corner of Massey and Adelaide shoved between a recycling and compost bin. With a lot of Javex and scrubbing, it’d turned out perfect for her rooftop refuge.

  She pressed the cool beer to her forehead and closed her eyes. What a nightmare day. She’d been on her feet since five a.m. It was after nine in the evening now. Luna had called in “sick,” so Lauren had worked her shift, turning Lauren’s double into a triple. Aaron was going to flip. He hated paying overtime, but she didn’t have anyone else to call in. Vic had taken the long weekend off to spend with her kids before school started, and Lucy had worked a double yesterday.

  With school starting up again she’d be able to hire a few more part-time people, but until then she was short. And so it fell to her.

  Lauren took a long sip of her beer and leaned back, pillowing her head with her arm.

  September had descended on the city with another heat wave. It was still a balmy twenty-five degrees at this late hour. The sky was an azure blue tinted orange from the west, with just the hint of wispy clouds. The way the orange and blue blended reminded Lauren of a painting she’d done in school. She preferred abstract because then, as the viewer, you could choose what the painting meant to you instead of what the artist wanted you to think it meant.

  And that thought reminded her of Pete and the worst part of her day. On the one hand she was over-the-moon happy for Pete. He’d been talking about going back to school as far back as she could remember. And with his talent, he didn’t belong in a diner kitchen. Pete built furniture—artsy, abstract furniture. The kind that usually cost a gazillion dollars on Queen West, but that he gave to his friends and family for free.

  She had one of his nightstands next to her bed. He’d carved it out of a trunk he’d found on his uncle’s property. The sides were shellacked bark, but the drawers and cubby hole were hollowed out from the wood. On the bottom the hint of the roots was visible. It was beautiful, artsy, and brilliant.

  He’d wanted to go back to school to get formal training in woodworking for a long time. She wanted this for him. She did. But she also wanted things to stay the same. More than a competent cook, Pete made the diner fun. She noticed the difference when he was on the grill versus Ezra or even Theo. What was she going to do without him?

  Lauren sat up and walked to the edge of the roof. She’d changed out of her uniform into a loose tank top and cutoffs. Her bare feet soaked up the heat of the tar covering the flat roof. This was her favourite place to sit and people-watch.

  Lauren lived above the diner. She’d taken the two-bedroom apartment over from Greta when she’d moved into a home a year before she passed away. From here she could see into the park and all along Queen Street. Usually on summer nights like this one, street performers outside the iron gates of Trinity played or juggled or banged on overturned plastic tubs. Lauren preferred the drummers. It took imagination to make music from everyday objects. It was surprising and authentic.

  She placed her beer on the cement ledge, the condensation pool marking its territory. The notes of a lone banjo player drifted up from the street. She leaned over, watching as people passed on their way home or out with friends, taking advantage of the last few weeks of pleasant weather before winter.

  It was the same comforting view she watched every night, but for some reason tonight it didn’t calm her. After Pete’s announcement everything felt unsettled.

  Lauren turned toward the rustling noise behind her. A family of raccoons scooted along the edge of her roof, brazen as could be. She watched as the parents helped the babies bumble their way onto the fire escape and out of sight.

  The one thing that kept playing back in her head, the thing she’d tried to keep from swamping the rest of her day, wasn’t a simple what if. Lauren had made peace with her life long ago. If Pete thought she needed a degree to be happy, he didn’t know her that well. More than anything, that made her sad. If she’d finished school, she’
d have a meaningless business degree, because she had no interest in business whatsoever. It had been her mother’s dream, not hers. She liked her life at the diner. It was a reliable income, a predictable routine, and, most importantly, safe.

  The sun dipped behind the buildings and out of sight. As dusk fell, Lauren tilted her head back and finished the last dregs of her beer and went inside. Tomorrow was another double shift.

  * * *

  The morning sun spilled through the front window, casting a shadow of the diner’s logo on the floor. This was Lauren’s favourite time—an hour before the morning rush, when the day was still fresh and new and not enough people had come through to taint it with their stupidity.

  Only the diehards were in this early—a few regulars and a tourist couple from somewhere a few time zones to the east. They were the only animated thing in the place, planning their day over an open attraction map in one of the booths. They smiled at Lauren as she refilled their coffees.

  “Do you guys want to order anything to eat?” she asked, still holding the coffeepot.

  The husband, who was wearing a large sweater despite the humidity of the morning, blinked at her through thick glasses. He peered down at the menu to the right of the map and placed his finger on one of the items. “Please, what is this?” From the accent, Lauren pegged them as German.

  Lauren leaned forward. “Greta’s Benny. It’s eggs Benedict, but instead of pea-meal bacon, it’s tomato and cucumber on a crumpet instead of an English muffin and homemade hollandaise sauce.” Ramiro’s hollandaise sauce was so good, Lauren had dreams of bathing in it. “That’s one of our most popular breakfasts. I highly recommend it.”

  The man looked at his wife. Was he asking permission? Then he glanced back up at Lauren and nodded. “I will have this, and my wife will have the poached eggs on toast.”

  Lauren smiled, but the couple had already ducked back to their map. “Two chicks on a raft and Greta’s benny,” she called into the air.

  “Two chicks and a benny coming up” came Ramiro’s bass from the kitchen.

  Usually Pete opened with Lauren, but Ramiro had taken over a few of his shifts until they found someone. Lauren sighed as she replaced the coffeepot on its warming element. She watched Ramiro dance around the kitchen, his giant frame lumbering from flipping to stacking and stirring. He hummed along to the music playing from the battered radio duct-taped to the wall in back. With his black, curly hair squished beneath his beanie, he paraded around the kitchen. He caught her watching and winked, a dimple forming in his left cheek as he smiled.

  It was hard to stay sad around Ramiro. If he wasn’t laughing or grinning, he was humming or dancing. She’d never seen Ramiro in a bad mood. Ever. If anything went wrong, he’d just shrug and move on. More than once she’d wished she could be like that. Someone didn’t show up for their shift, shrug it off. One of her customers skipped out on the bill, shrug it off. Someone quit, shrug it off.

  When she’d told Ramiro about Pete, he’d grinned, slapped her on the back, and said, “Good for him.” When Lauren didn’t smile with him, he’d added, “Not to worry, sweetums. We’ll find someone else, and who knows. Maybe you’ll like them better than Pete.”

  She’d forced a smile for Ramiro’s sake but didn’t agree. Pete was Pete. She’d never had to talk him into a shift or deal with a tantrum when a customer sent something back. She’d never had to ask him to turn the radio down or watch his language. She’d never had to ask him to empty the dishwasher if Murphy hadn’t shown up, or to wear his hairnet or beanie a million times. Pete never argued with her; he made her job easy. He showed up, joked around, kept his head down, and got to work. He was unobtrusive and awesome, and now she’d have to break in a whole new person.

  Ramiro dinged the bell next to her head, and Lauren shook herself. “Benny and two chicks.” He placed the plates on the sill. She might be upset about Pete, but wallowing wasn’t going to solve the problem or make her life any easier.

  Chapter Three

  By the end of September, Hayley was getting desperate. She’d had to give notice with Jason and Kalini. No way could she afford October’s rent. She’d sent out what felt like a million resumes and heard nothing back. She’d applied everywhere she thought her skills would translate and even pushed it beyond those limits. But most offices didn’t want to hire a woman with blue hair. She’d thought about dying it but didn’t want to give them the satisfaction. It was discrimination. Kalini had mentioned on more than one occasion that pride might feel good in the moment but didn’t put food on the table. She’d heard a similar argument from her mom most of her life. But she didn’t have to admit they were right. Her options were getting low. Her optimism had lasted until the last box was taped shut.

  She sat on her bed, which would become Philipe’s bed tomorrow, watching the rain fall. The weather had finally turned, and a cold front had moved in. Perfect time to be homeless.

  A soft knock on the doorjamb pulled her attention. Kalini stood there, her expression mournful. “Let’s get out of here. Go for coffee. I know a place that has the most amazing almond croissants.”

  “It’s raining.”

  Kalini shrugged. “And? That’s what umbrellas are for.” She held out her hand, wiggling her fingers. “The croissants alone are worth it. My treat.”

  Hayley nodded. She needed to suck it up, or she’d bring everyone down.

  Grnds wasn’t much bigger than Hayley’s soon-to-be-former room. They’d snagged a table by the window where they could watch people rush from the streetcar to the nearest overhang in the pouring rain.

  Kalini was right. This was the best almond croissant she’d ever had. Not too much icing sugar on top, and just the right mix of sweet-almond and buttery-croissant goodness. She licked a little icing sugar off her thumb, which lifted her mood a tiny bit.

  “As I see it,” Kalini said, her mouth hovering above her overpriced cortado. “You’ve got three options. One,” she held up her index finger, her dark-red nail polish pristine. “You can give up and go home.”

  Hayley was shaking her head before Kalini had even finished her sentence. “Not an option. I’ve been here a month. I can’t crawl back to Casper Falls without anything to show for it.”

  Kalini took a sip, nodding. “Fair enough. Two. You can couch-surf until you find something of your own.” She held up her hand to stop Hayley from speaking. “I’d say our couch is your couch, and if it was only Jo and I, that would be fine, but Jason would kill me. He already thinks it’s too cramped.”

  Hayley turned away. She’d been saving that hope. But Kalini was right. It would be weird and awkward. Kalini and her fiancée Josephine lived in the attic bedroom of their house, while Jason and Hayley had the other two bedrooms on the main floor. With only one bathroom, the house felt overcrowded, especially since Jo was an artist and worked from home. More than a few times, Hayley had come home from job-searching to find the living room or dining room overtaken with canvases.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t know anyone here. She’d been so busy looking for a job and not spending her dwindling money that she hadn’t had the chance. God. This month had looked so different in her imagination. The weeks leading up to moving were full of scenarios, none of which included this one.

  “What’s option three?” she asked.

  “Get a temporary room at a youth hostel—there’s a decent one on Spadina—and find any job, doesn’t matter how awful, until you get back on your feet.”

  Hayley stared down at the foam in her vanilla latte. If that’s what sucking it up entailed, she could do that. “That’s probably my best option, huh?”

  Kalini reached across the table and squeezed Hayley’s arm. She was a very touchy-feely person, always connecting in some way. The gesture reminded Hayley a little of her mom. “So what skills do you have? What did you do back home? Besides manage an entire grocery store?”

  “It’s not as impressive as it sounds. It’s my parents’ store and not like the meg
astores here. It really is just a mom-and-pop type place.”

  “Still, that takes a lot of organization, which is why I can see you being good at executive assistant, even if those assholes in HR can’t.”

  “Well, I can type?”

  Kalini gave her a withering look. “Honey, everyone can type. I’m talking about blue-collar shit. You’re going to have to make up a new resume and cut out all the crap about running a grocery store.”

  “I’ve worked at that store my entire life.”

  “Yes, but you have something far more valuable than most people—common sense. Just lie—”

  “I don’t want to lie.”

  Kalini’s smile said, Oh, sweetie. I have so much to teach you. “Believe me. You want to lie. Everyone lies on their fall-back resume.”

  “Fall-back resume?”

  “Yes, see, you always make two resumes. Your real one, which you want to keep as honest as possible, because, hello? Skills. And your fall-back one, for in-the-meantime jobs. For instance, I used to work at this boutique store in Yorkville, and I’d padded my resume with a ton of retail experience, none of which I’d actually done. I mean, how hard is it to sell watches to rich assholes? But while I was working there, I was still applying for teaching jobs. And because I had shift work, it was easy to pick up teaching jobs on the side before I found an in. That’s what you’ve got to do.” Kalini wiped her mouth with her napkin, even though there wasn’t anything there to wipe away. “What about cooking?”

  “Cooking?”

  “You’re a great cook. I’ve never seen someone enter a kitchen with nothing in it and produce one of the best meals I’ve ever had.”