Episode 3: Hot Mess
Sugar sat at her messy office desk, scrutinizing a draft menu as she gingerly gnawed her red pen’s butt. She had been working on it for nearly two hours and marked the paper to high heavens with strikeouts, carets, sloppily scribed fresh ideas and corrections.
What had started as a dull pressure inside her forehead had evolved into a throbbing headache from intense concentration. Exasperated, she plucked the pen from her mouth, flinging it onto the desk.
Leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nostrils, massaging her temples.
She knew owning and managing a restaurant wasn’t easy, but some days, she loved her job, and other days, she wanted to jump into oncoming traffic. There was too much to do, but she considered it a blessing.
There was never a slow day at the restaurant, and she had enough to do to postpone going to her empty rental house until four in the morning. Her hectic schedule had been the only constant in her life for the last five months since the restaurant opened.
Before that, it was six months of working with a construction company to restore the brick building and transform it into the restaurant she dreamed of.
Her office door flew open, and she cracked open her right eye just enough to see who was invading her little hell.
She groaned inwardly at the sight of her younger brother, Mallory. He swaggered into the office and collapsed into one of the two chairs before her desk. He slumped lazily back in his seat and folded his hands over his stomach, stretching out his long legs.
Sugar peeled back her eyelids, her attention immediately drifting beyond Mallory’s shoulder to the open office door he hadn’t bothered to shut.
Down the short hallway, she witnessed an energetic kitchen swarming with her waiting and kitchen staff doing their proper jobs in a well-oiled chaos that could only be observed during the evening rush. Though the sight pleased her, she hated that Mallory didn’t close the door behind him.
He never did.
She winced as a sharp pulse from her headache struck her like a lightning bolt.
“Why don’t you ever shut the door?” she asked in a weary, defeated tone.
Mallory twiddled his thumbs, ignoring her question as he always did. “Is this how it’s always going to be? You cooped up in this office stressing yourself out?”
Sugar frowned and said defensively, “I’m not stressed out.”
Mallory pursed his lips and gave her an unimpressed, knowing look that spoke volumes.
She cast her eyes to the ceiling and corrected herself: “I’m not as stressed as you think.”
“This place is your dream, Sugar. You’re the face of this restaurant that the customers need to see, but every night, you’re toiling at that desk,” Mallory said as he untangled his fingers and spread his arms wide. “You should enjoy yourself, not stress yourself out.”
The restaurant was her brainchild. She had nursed the idea for years and years, cradling and feeding it. She watched it grow and grow into something wonderful and grand inside her mind.
Every dessert each patron tasted was birthed, inked, and concocted by her hands first as experiments. Every selected bottle of wine uncorked, and every signature drink sipped was thanks to the genius mind of her annoying yet endearing little brother.
Their partnership married well sometimes, but they had varying visions for management and menus, which was why she was editing a draft menu containing his new alcoholic ‘masterpieces,’ as he called them.
She wanted to ensure his new cocktails complemented her desserts well.
Sugar gestured to the mess of paperwork on her desk.
“None of this is going to finish itself, Lory. Someone has to do it,” she said, flicking her wrist impatiently. “I give you permission to be the pretty face of Sugar Mama. Go enjoy yourself. Mix and mingle with the customers. Just don’t sleep with anyone.”
Mallory grinned, smoothing his hand over the deep waves of his fresh, low Caesar cut. “As much as I appreciate your acknowledgment of my pretty face, I’m not a sugar mama. I’m a sugar daddy; therefore, I would be a terrible marketing tool.”
Sugar snorted a laugh before she could stop herself. Her little brother always thought quite highly of himself in the attractiveness department, and it didn’t help that women flocked to him, further fueling his ego.
By societal standards, he was eye candy, but in her eyes, he was still the lanky twelve-year-old scrawny Lory and not the tall, lean twenty-eight-year-old Mallory.
“Sugar daddy,” she repeated with a burst of a giggle. “More like Sweet’N Low daddy, don’t you think?”
Placing a hand over his hair, he feigned a wounded expression. “Damn, Shug. You skipped right over Splenda and went straight for Sweet’N Low? Tell me how you really feel.”
Sugar pointed to the open office door and the hallway beyond it.
“Lory, go make yourself useful somewhere,” she ordered. “Now.”
He put his hands up in self-defense.
“Alright, alright,” he agreed as he rose from his seat and went to the doorway. On his way out, he gave Sugar a mock salute, leaving the door wide open.
She let out a frustrated groan. “Lory, the door!”
He looked over his shoulder as he walked away, shooting her a wink and a smile. She rolled her eyes sharply as she pushed back her office chair and shot up, marching to the door. She went to grab the knob but stopped herself.
Maybe, taking a slight break and doing a walkthrough wouldn’t hurt.
Sighing heavily, she exited the office, closing the door behind her. She made her way down the hallway, stepping into the bustling kitchen. Waiters situated plated desserts on trays and hoisted them high. Cooks stood at their designated stations around the kitchen, diligently preparing and cooking her recipes.
She loved the sweet aromas of caramel, chocolate, cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla that wafted around her. Sugar crossed her arms over her chest as she watched in admirable awe, as if she were a stranger on the outside looking in and not the key that made this possible.
She took her time wandering about the kitchen, peeking curiously over shoulders and exchanging impressed smiles and praises with her staff as they did their jobs impeccably.
Eventually, she strolled out of the kitchen through swinging double doors and stepped into the server’s station, gazing out into the restaurant.
The soft, dim amber lights from a sea of dangling lightbulbs overhead. Tables housed six mason jars of various sizes with lit candles as centerpieces. A jazz song fluttered in the air. The restaurant’s red-bricked walls showcased framed pictures of her family’s old bakery. Customers indulged in wine, cocktails, desserts, lively chatter, and laughter.
Everything was just...perfect.
“I knew you’d come,” Mallory said with a wide grin as he entered the server’s station.
Sugar rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Lory.”
He found a spot beside her and joined her side, nodding approvingly at what he saw. But Sugar still had a surreal sensation she couldn’t shake, as if she feared this was all nothing but a dream and she would soon wake up to a duller world.
No, this was real.
This was very real.
Teagan, one of Sugar’s waitresses, approached her nervously. “Um, Mrs. Wallace?”
Sugar focused on the pale-skinned brunette, concern splashing onto her face at the girl’s visible anxiousness. “Is something wrong, Teagan?”
“There’s a customer who wants to speak with you,” her employee said after clearing her throat, glancing over her shoulder into the dining area.
“Is it a complaint?” Sugar asked, arching an eyebrow.
Teagan shook her head slowly. “Um, no. He said he’s...your ex-husband.”
