Chapter 13 - A Visit from the Past
The evening rush at Clint’s was in full swing, the dining room humming with the cheerful clatter of silverware, low conversation, and the rich, savory aroma of roasting garlic and butter. Abby Kendrick moved through the floor with effortless grace, pausing at table four to ensure the guests were enjoying their halibut, adjusting a napkin here, offering a warm smile there.
Since her promotion to General Manager, Abby had transformed the restaurant’s culture. The staff operated with a new confidence, knowing that their voices were heard and their safety was a priority. The old anxiety that had plagued the kitchen under Harvey Barlow was entirely gone, replaced by a fierce, collective pride in what they were building.
Near the front entrance, the host welcomed a tall, distinguished-looking man in a tailored charcoal overcoat. The man stepped inside, shaking a few stray raindrops from his shoulders, and stood for a moment, taking in the warm, bustling atmosphere of the dining room.
Abby noticed him immediately. She excused herself from her table and walked over to greet him. "Good evening, welcome to Clint’s. Do you have a reservation?"
The man looked up, his sharp eyes softening as he smiled. "Actually, I was hoping to get the worst seat in the house. Table nine, if it's available."
Abby froze for a fraction of a second, her blue eyes widening slightly before a knowing smile touched her lips. She looked past the partition near the kitchen door, where table nine was currently occupied by an elderly couple sharing a bottle of wine.
"Table nine is taken at the moment," Abby said smoothly, her voice carrying a warm, playful edge. "But we do have a very nice booth near the front window open, Mr. Emerson. Or I can have table nine cleared for you in about ten minutes."
Barry chuckled, slipping his overcoat off and handing it to the host. "Let's wait for table nine. I want to see what the view looks like when you're actually sitting down as a guest instead of writing warnings on the back of order tickets."
Ten minutes later, the elderly couple at table nine paid their check and departed with glowing compliments for their server. Abby personally wiped down the wooden tabletop, reset the silverware, and gestured for Barry to take a seat.
Barry slid into the booth, looking around the intimate corner behind the partition. From here, the kitchen door was just feet away, exactly where he had sat in his Goodwill jacket two weeks ago, watching the world pass him by.
"You know," Barry said as Abby handed him a leather-bound menu, "every time I sit in this room, I realize how close we came to losing all of this."
"We didn't lose it," Abby replied, standing comfortably beside the table with her notepad ready. "We just cleared out the dead weight. Though I have to admit, when you handed me that plain white business card, I thought I was about to be fired for insubordination."
"If I had fired you that day, Margaret and I wouldn't have found the expense reports for another six months," Barry said, smiling warmly. "You saved Clint's, Abby. Never forget that."
"I was just doing my job," she said simply. "Though I expect a proper raise now that I'm officially managing the place."
Barry laughed, a rich, genuine sound that echoed softly against the wooden partition. "Name your figure. In fact, dinner is on the house tonight. Whatever you recommend."
May you like
Abby tapped her pen against her notepad. "The ribeye, medium-rare. And make sure the kitchen uses the new prep containers. I inspected them myself this afternoon."
"Consider it done," Barry said. As Abby turned and walked toward the kitchen, Barry leaned back in the booth, looking out over the vibrant, living restaurant. The past was behind them, the foundation was secure, and Clint’s was finally safe.
