The line at the door had dispersed and his staff were in the process of tidying the restaurant before the hectic dinner patrons arrived. For the last two weeks Bellerin had been his life. His business was the one thing keeping his head above water and the heartache at bay. He’d worked every day. Every shift. And last Tuesday he’d even spent the night on the couch in the office upstairs, but that was because he’d been too drunk and exhausted to get home. “Time for a break, boss.” He gave a half-hearted smile to his favourite waitress, Sonya, who stood at the swinging door into the kitchen. “I’m serious. Go get a table and I’ll make you something for lunch.” “I’m fine–” “It’s true,” Antonio interrupted from his place in front of the stove, his Spanish accent thick and uncompromising. “You look like shit and if you faint I sure as hell won’t be dragging you out of here. Go sit down for fifteen minutes.” He raised his eyebrows at the other chef and tried not to laugh.
