Chapter 10: The Empty Reservations
By the time the lunch rush began, three regulars had canceled their reservations.
The first called herself. I recognized her voice before she gave her name: Mrs. Alvarez, who brought her sister to Lumina every month and always ordered the same lemon tart to take home.
“I’m sorry, Camille,” she said. “Someone sent me a message about the restaurant. I don’t want to get caught in the middle.”
“Did they tell you what we supposedly did?”
A pause.
“They said you charged people for meals they never agreed to pay for.”
I looked through the office window at the dining room—white linen, polished glasses, the small table by the front window where Mrs. Alvarez liked to sit.
“That isn’t true,” I said.
“I know. I just—I don’t want trouble.”
She hung up kindly, which somehow hurt worse.
The second cancellation came through the reservation system. The third arrived as a text with no explanation. I didn’t need one. The message was moving faster than the truth, and it didn’t have to be posted for everyone to see. It only had to reach the people who kept our tables full.
Grant stood beside my desk, reading the cancellation list.
“Those are Friday regulars,” he said.
“I know.”
“We can fill the seats.”
“Maybe.”
He glanced at me, then back at the screen. He didn’t offer the easy lie that everything would be fine. I appreciated him for that.
A knock sounded from the back entrance. Our seafood delivery had arrived. I headed for the loading area, where the driver stood beside a hand truck stacked with insulated boxes.
“Morning,” I said.
He didn’t move the hand truck.
“Camille, I need to call the office.”
“Why?”
“Your husband called us. Said ownership of Lumina is under dispute. Said payments might be frozen.”
“He isn’t an owner.”
“I’m not in a position to decide that.” His eyes shifted toward the boxes. “They told me not to release the order until they confirm the account.”
The restaurant’s prep cooks were waiting inside. One of them had already set out a tray of crushed ice, ready for the fish.
“What did Logan say exactly?”
“That I shouldn’t let the balance get ahead of us. That there could be trouble collecting.”
My first instinct was to call Logan and make him say it to my face. My second was to keep the kitchen supplied. The first instinct could wait.
I gave the driver the number for Priya, our accountant, and asked him to put his office on speaker. Priya confirmed that Lumina’s invoices were current and that the ownership question did not change the delivery terms. The supplier representative said they still needed to check with their manager.
The boxes stayed on the truck.
“Give me an hour,” the driver said.
He sounded apologetic. I believed he was. But believing him didn’t put dinner on the plates.
Inside, Grant had already started rearranging the prep list. He moved one dish off the evening menu and told the cooks what we could make with what was on hand.
“We’ll manage,” he said.
I looked at the empty patch of counter where the seafood should have gone.
“We’ll serve what we can stand behind.”
He nodded and went back to the kitchen.
I opened the payroll file in my office. The numbers were familiar; I had checked them every pay period since Lumina opened. Names, hours, deductions. People who had trusted me to turn their work into a paycheck on time.
The balance in the business account looked smaller than it had the last time I checked.
I ran the figures again.
Grant appeared in the doorway, still wearing his apron. There was a streak of flour near his wrist.
“I can cover Saturday’s floor shift,” he said. “If we need to cut labor.”
“No.”
“Camille, I can do it.”
“You already run this place every day.”
“I’m offering.”
“And I’m saying no.” I kept my voice quiet because the line cooks were within earshot. “You don’t give up your hours because Logan decided to scare a supplier.”
Grant’s jaw tightened. “It isn’t just my hours.”
“I know.” I turned the payroll screen toward him. “That’s why I’m not taking hours from anyone until we know what we’re dealing with.”
He studied the figures. His offer had been generous. It had also been the first step toward making my employees pay for a war they hadn’t chosen.
I shut the file.
“No one on this team is covering for my family,” I said. “If we have to change something, I’ll tell everyone directly.”
Grant gave a short nod. He reached for the towel at his waist, then stopped as if he wanted to say more. Instead, he went back to the kitchen.
My phone vibrated.
Nora had forwarded a message from Logan.
Camille is going to blame you for the whole scheme. If you keep repeating her story, you’ll be the one left holding it.
A second text came from Nora.
He sent this after I told him I wasn’t deleting my messages.
I read the warning again. Logan had turned her fear into an accusation, trying to make her feel alone before she could decide what to do.
I typed, You don’t have to answer him right now.
Then I erased it. It sounded like permission I had no right to give.
Instead, I wrote, I received it. I won’t put words in your mouth. Save what he sent.
The reply came after a minute.
I’m scared he’ll tell everyone I took the money.
I looked at the payroll file still open on my monitor, at the names of the people whose money I was trying to protect.
I wrote, I understand.
I wanted to promise I could protect her from whatever Logan might say. I couldn’t. All I could do was keep her message, keep the records, and avoid turning her fear into proof of anything it didn’t prove.
The seafood supplier called back and agreed to release part of the order. Not all of it. Enough to keep the dinner menu from collapsing, if we adjusted two plates and made the change carefully.
I went out to tell the cooks. The dinner reservation list was still thinner than it should have been, but the room was not empty. A couple who had been coming since our opening sat at their usual table. One of them raised a hand when she saw me.
“Don’t worry about us,” she called. “We know where we like to eat.”
I smiled and thanked her, then returned to the office before my face could betray how much those words mattered.
My phone chimed with a bank alert.
An outgoing transfer had been flagged for review.
I opened the account. The available balance was lower than the payroll total.
May you like
For a few seconds I couldn’t hear the kitchen, the dining room, or the phone ringing on Grant’s desk. I could only see the names on my payroll file and the shortfall beneath them.
Then another line appeared on the screen: Action required.
