After hours of prep, the first thing I smelled when I pushed through the kitchen doors was burnt garlic. If he mixed it into the base sauce, he was so fucking dead. 

“Marco, tell me you didn’t just put that in the sauce…”

Marco looked away, scratching his neck. I didn’t even feel like repeating myself. My sigh already conveyed my disappointment.

“Marco… Please, man. Don’t do this to me.” 

I didn’t even know why I dipped the spoon in. I knew it was fucked before I put it in my mouth. I guess training never leaves you.

Bitter. 

“Cony! Cony!” I screamed toward the front. “86 the pork with the garlic sauce. We won’t be serving that tonight.”

“Alright, I’ll let the servers know,” Cony screamed back.

“Geonsu, I’m sorry.” Marco was holding his face in his palms. “I thought I caught it in time…” He burst out laughing.

“Yeah, I see how sorry you are. Next time, you’re peeling all of it. Here, smell my fingers. You like that?” 

“Get your nasty hands out of my face.” He shoved my arm away, still laughing. 

By eight, the worst of service was behind us. A few appetizers still came through, then desserts, but the printer had finally stopped. I checked the stations, found nobody in immediate need of me and slipped out the back with my cigarettes.

September had gotten cooler quickly. I noticed it the moment I stepped outside in short sleeves. I sat on the bench and lit a cigarette.

Toscana had shared the alley with Bella-Donna for as long as I had worked there. Ten years was enough time for the place to become part of the scenery.

The staff changed. Some stayed for years, others disappeared after a few months. We occasionally borrowed lighters or cigarettes from one another, exchanged a few words outside, complained when deliveries ended up where they shouldn’t.

I had even been inside once.

A friend had wanted to see the show years ago and convinced me to come along. I remembered enjoying it more than I expected. The performers were impressive, the drinks were decent, and that had been enough for me.

I never went back.

I heard footsteps farther down the alley and glanced toward the street. One of Bella-Donna’s employees was walking past.

I recognized him. I had seen him plenty of times over the past year, like the others, heading to work. He usually came on the weekends. Long black hair. Coffee in his hand more often than not.

I didn’t know his name.

A gust of wind caught his hair and blew most of it across his face.

He stopped and pushed it back with one hand. Several strands slipped loose immediately, catching against his mouth. His expression tightened before he brushed those away too.

For some reason, I kept watching.

Oh. Yeah, he was attractive. He certainly fit in next door. That wasn't exactly an important discovery, but apparently it had taken me the better part of a year to make it. 

He started walking again. Now that I had noticed his face, I noticed the rest of him too.

His coat was thin for the weather. Beneath it, a long velvet skirt opened high along either side as he walked, showing fishnets and most of his legs above heavy black boots. He wore something resembling gloves, although most of his fingers were uncovered.

Then there was the coffee. Naturally.

I had seen enough of Bella-Donna over the years to know the outfits changed with the shows and themes. Some people looked uncomfortable in them. Some seemed to forget what they were wearing the second they stepped outside.

He didn’t seem to do either. There was something amusingly committed about him.

Another gust caught his hair. His hand came up again. My attention followed it before I looked back at my cigarette.

He disappeared through Bella-Donna’s door a few seconds later. I finished smoking and went back inside.

That should have been the end of my interest for the evening.

Near closing, light from Bella-Donna’s back door spilled across the alley.

I glanced over. The same man walked toward the street with a coffee in his hand. A few minutes later, I looked again when the door opened.

There he was, coming back. With another coffee. I raised an eyebrow. Surely that one belonged to somebody else. It had to be for one of the ladies. He couldn’t consume so much coffee himself. That would be insane. 

It wasn't for one of the ladies.

I figured that out the next time I saw him leave with an empty cup and return with another one.

Then he did it again. By the third weekend, I had questions. Not important questions. Mostly how his heart was still functioning.

Sometimes it was two cups over the course of his shift. Once, I counted three, although in my defense, the third one had been difficult not to notice. He walked past the kitchen with it sometime after ten, looking perfectly content with himself.

I started calling him Coffee Guy in my head. It was better than the guy with the hair, which had unfortunately been my other option.

I still didn’t know his name. I started recognizing him anyway.

Sometimes it was the hair first. Sometimes the coffee. The clothes were less useful because those seemed to change every week.

Some nights I barely recognized what Bella-Donna had put him in until I saw the hair. One weekend he wore enough jewelry around his neck that I wondered how he could comfortably work an entire shift in it. Another time, he walked past in something sheer beneath his coat and I forgot what I had gone outside to do for several seconds.

That one was nice on him.

I found myself wondering what Bella-Donna was doing each weekend. Not enough to actually check their schedule. That would have been ridiculous. I preferred finding out when Coffee Guy walked past. 

“Geonsu, I have the veal. Plate?” Marco pulled me back to what I was supposed to do.

“Yeah. Did you plate yours?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Go, table 20!”

“Oh, Geonsu, your plating is amazing!” Ray said.

At first, I didn’t know what he was trying to achieve by saying that. The plates he complimented were Marco’s half the time. After a while, I understood that the plating probably wasn’t the point.

Ray liked me. Or at least he was interested enough to keep trying.

He was attractive, and I had nothing against him. There simply wasn’t anything there for me. It happened. Unfortunately, telling somebody I know what you’re doing and it isn’t working seemed unnecessarily cruel when we still had to see each other several nights a week.

So I had settled on not encouraging it.

“That one is Marco’s,” I said.

Ray looked at the plate, then at me. “Oh.”

“You should tell him.”

Marco immediately looked far too pleased with himself.

Ray sighed. “It looks amazing, Marco.”

“Thank you, Ray.”

I smiled and went back to managing the kitchen. 

My station was quiet enough that I wandered over to pastry. Amara had a line of glasses in front of her and was carefully spooning something into each one.

I reached toward the nearest.

“Don’t.”

My hand stopped. “I was only looking.”

“With your fingers?”

I withdrew my hand and leaned against the counter instead. “What is it?”

She told me while continuing to work, and I stayed there watching her for a while, occasionally moving something into her reach when she pointed at it.

The movement outside the window caught my attention.

Coffee Guy.

He was smoking with two of the ladies, one leg crossed loosely over the other as he leaned against the wall. A small cup rested in his hand.

Amara kept talking, but at some point I stopped following what she was saying. She noticed and a second later, she abandoned whatever she was doing and shoved herself into the space beside me.

“What are you looking at?”

I shifted slightly in front of her. “Nothing.”

“Then move.”

“No.”

That made her laugh. She tried looking around my shoulder instead.

I moved again.

“Geonsu…”

She shoved my shoulder with hers. I laughed and finally let her look. Coffee Guy lifted the cup to his mouth.

I lowered my voice as if this were remotely confidential. “How much coffee could you drink in one evening before you started worrying about yourself?”

Amara slowly turned her head toward me. “What?”

“That’s his fourth small cup by now,” I said.

She looked through the window again. Then at the cup in his hand. Then at me. “Oh.”

I looked outside again.

Coffee Guy was listening to one of the ladies talk now, cigarette between his fingers. Something she said made him laugh, his head tipping slightly as his hair slipped forward over his shoulder.

Amara was still beside me.

“He’s pretty,” she said.

I just nodded as I continued looking through the window.

There was no point pretending otherwise. I knew what this was. It had been a few weeks of noticing when he passed, wondering what ridiculous amount of coffee he would manage that night and, increasingly, looking forward to seeing him.

I had a crush. Nothing new. Nothing dramatic. Just a pleasant one.

A few weeks later, we were deep into service when the kitchen became unbearably hot. I left the back door open while I stepped outside for a cigarette, hoping some of the cold air would find its way inside.

I had barely lit it when Bella-Donna’s door slammed against the brick wall.

One of the ladies came outside crying.

She covered her face and leaned against the wall, trying unsuccessfully to catch her breath. I had seen her around before, but we had never spoken.

For a moment, I considered asking if she was alright. Then I stayed where I was.

A strange man approaching while she was already upset might have been the last thing she needed. If she looked my way or asked for something, fine. Otherwise, I figured giving her some privacy was kinder.

The door opened again. Coffee Guy came out and went straight to her.

I looked down at my cigarette, giving them what privacy an alley between two businesses could provide. I couldn’t hear most of what they were saying anyway, only enough to gather that something had gone wrong during her number. 

When I glanced over again, Coffee Guy was holding one of her hands while she spoke. He didn’t seem to be saying much. Mostly listening.

Then, without warning, he let go and went back inside. The door opened again less than a minute later.

He had water. And the coffee he had brought with him earlier. I watched him hand both to her.

The water made sense. The coffee made me smile.

She hugged him. He returned it, and after another minute they went back inside together.

I looked at the cigarette between my fingers. It had gone out. Apparently I had been standing there longer than I thought, so I went back inside.

By the end of October, I had accepted that Coffee Guy would rather freeze to death than dress appropriately for the weather.

Tonight, surprisingly, he had. At least somewhat.

I saw him arrive in black pants, boots and a coat that looked considerably more useful than some of the things he had worn through September. Coffee in hand, obviously.

The cup was different again. He must have changed coffee shops.

By the time the worst of the rush passed, we had a short window before several tables would be ready for their mains. I checked the tickets, made sure nobody needed me and leaned against the counter for what I hoped would be several uninterrupted minutes.

Something bright moved past the window.

One of the ladies from Bella-Donna walked through the alley wearing what appeared to be an extremely elaborate Superwoman costume.

I frowned. “Amara, what’s the date tod—”

Bella-Donna’s door opened again. I stopped talking. Coffee Guy stepped outside.

Apparently what he had arrived in was not the costume.

He had changed into black from neck to toe, with cat ears disappearing into his hair and a tail behind him. Right. Halloween.

I looked back at my station. Then outside again. Oh, shit. This was… a lot. I picked up the towel beside me and unnecessarily folded it once.

I had seen him dressed for Bella-Donna plenty of times by now. I knew what kind of place he worked at. None of this should have been particularly surprising.

Still. Wow. I glanced back at his face, trying to make out most of it. The ears really did suit him.

“Stop staring at the burlesque employee and plate.” Amara’s voice startled me.

“I wasn’t staring.”

“Who?” Marco asked.

“The guy next door,” Amara said. “Long black hair.”

Marco had already abandoned whatever he was doing to look through the window. Chris joined him a second later.

“I like the whole thing,” Marco said, nodding. “That’s a good costume.”

“Is that Coffee Guy?” Chris asked.

Ray wandered over from the front. “What are you all looking at?”

Nobody needed to answer that question. He looked outside.

Within less than a minute, several people were standing at the window looking at a man who didn’t even know we were discussing him. My amusement disappeared.

“Alright, guys…”

“I don’t think the costume suits him,” Ray said.

“What? Are we looking at the same thing?” Chris said, his voice sharp. “I don’t know what your problem is, he’s pretty.”

I looked outside and mumbled before I could stop myself.

“I like the ears. They have something—”

Silence stretched as I stopped myself, but it was too late. Fuck. I looked around.

Marco’s mouth was twitching. Amara had crossed her arms. Chris looked delighted.

I pointed toward the stations. “Table seven. Come on.”

Nobody moved immediately. And looking at all of them crowded around the window suddenly made my stomach turn a little.

This wasn’t what I meant to happen.

Coffee Guy didn’t know us. He wasn’t wearing that costume for a kitchen full of strangers next door to stand around assessing whether it suited him. And I was the reason they were interested in the first place.

“Seriously.” I stepped away from the window. “Enough. Start seven.”

Something in my voice must have made the difference. Marco returned to his station. Ray went back toward the front. Chris followed more slowly.

“Meow.” Chris was looking down at his station.

“Did you just fucking meow at me?”

“No.”

Marco made a strangled sound beside him. Amara turned away, shoulders shaking.

“One more sound out of you and you’re on dish duty.”

Chris nodded solemnly. “Yes, chef.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and went back to work. For approximately thirty seconds, there was peace. I reached for the handle of the pan.

“Ah, fuck!” I jerked my hand back. I had grabbed the stainless-steel handle without a towel.

Chris immediately looked over. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine—”

“Did you know cats lick themselves when they’re hurt?”

Marco folded over the counter. I stared at Chris. Even Amara lost whatever remained of her composure.

“Congratulations. You’re on dish.”

He walked away laughing. I wrapped my hand in a damp towel and checked the skin. Nothing serious. Just enough to sting and make me feel like an idiot.

When I looked toward the window again, Coffee Guy had gone back inside.