Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 21

Karl

I cross my arms and take a glance around the kitchen. The tiles sparkle like they’re brand new, and the entire place smells like lemon cleaning solution; I’ve just finished mopping the floor, and although I would never admit it to anyone, it’s… the first time I’ve ever used a mop.

“Maybe I’m a bit out of my depth here,” I think to myself as I look around. “But I want to do a good job. For Abby.”

I might not know a great deal about mopping floors, but I do know a lot about running a business. I just hope that Abby will let me help more in the future. She said she doesn’t need another leader, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t give her ideas, right?

“Karl,” Abby shouts from across the kitchen, her voice commanding over the din of kitchen noises. “Put the mop away. We need you over here cleaning dishes.”

She points to the growing pile of dishes on the far counter, then the dishwasher beside it. Ethan had given me a long-winded tutorial on how the machine worked earlier, but I was really hoping to avoid that particular job. The idea of touching soggy food and getting hot water all over myself isn’t the most appealing of ideas, but I know that it needs to be done.

I nod and return the mop to the place I found it. The current dishwasher meets me at the back sink, where the dirty plates are overflowing.

“Excess food goes in there,” he says, pointing to a nearby garbage bin. “You scrape that off and I’ll rinse.” Until now, he’s been doing all three jobs himself. It’s clear he's struggling to keep up with the never-ending piles of dirty plates that the busboys keep bringing in.

“Geez,” I think to myself. If Abby was worried about losing business and having to close down, she needn’t have bothered. Now that the place is up and running again, the dinner rush has been nonstop.

Without a word, the dishwasher hands me one of the plates. There’s a half-eaten steak on top, gravy everywhere, what looks like mashed potatoes that someone swirled around with their fork before deciding that they didn’t want them. I can’t help but scrunch up my nose at the mess; who orders a steak and then only eats half of it? It feels like a waste.

“What’s your name again?” I ask the dishwasher, wanting to fill the silence as we work.

“Never said it. It’s Jack.”

I nod, taking Jack’s name to memory. I’ve always been good with names, and I’ve already got most of the names in the kitchen down. “Here, Jack,” I say, handing him the plate.

Jack shakes his head at me and points at the garbage again. “What’s wrong with it?” I ask, taking a look at the plate. I’ve already scraped it.

With a huff, Jack shoots me an annoyed look. “There’s still mashed potatoes on the plate. Are you trying to gum up my dishwasher or something? Scrape stuff properly.”

I’m not thrilled by the dishwasher’s attitude, but I decide not to argue. “Erm, sorry,” I say, before giving the plate another good scrape over the trash can. When I’m satisfied, I turn to hand it back to Jack—but he just makes another face, snatches it out of my hand, and scrapes it himself.

I can’t help but let out a small sigh of annoyance at Jack’s attitude. But I’m determined to get through this; I’ve never lost a bet in my life, and there’s too much on the line for me to screw up now. Abby has to go to that party with me.

“You know, it would be faster if you spent less time rinsing off each plate,” I say, noticing the growing pile of dishes on the counter. If we don’t start moving faster, the dirty plates are going to start to tower over us.

Jack gives me a look that makes me bristle. “You have to rinse them well, or there will be food bits crusted to the plates.”

“I’m just saying. I’m getting the plates ready for you a lot faster than you’re able to rinse them. Maybe I should rinse them.”

“That wouldn’t make sense.”

I scrape off another plate and stack it next to the sink. “It makes a lot of sense.”

“Well, I’m in charge here, and I say we do it this way.” Jack shoots me an angry look, his cold eyes filled with annoyance.

I open my mouth again to say more, but before I can, Abby’s voice cuts through the kitchen once more. Jack smirks and turns back to his work, and I brace myself for more orders or a solid scolding.

“What’s up?” I say, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.

“Stop starting arguments with Jack,” she says. “He’s busy and you’re not helping.”