《Feast and Famine》


 C1 - So it begins

    ¡®It¡¯s not you, it¡¯s me.¡¯


    Of all the lazy, clich¨¦, bullshit excuses he could have come up with, he''d come up with the laziest, the most clich¨¦, the most bullshit excuse of all. Did he even think about it, or did his phone just auto-populate this text? And then there''s the text itself: a fucking text?! OK, maybe if you''ve been dating for a month and you hardly know each other, but they''d been together for three years.


    Not to mention the fact that WE¡¯RE OPENING A FUCKING BUSINESS TODAY!


    I choke off a scream and go for a deep sigh instead, wishing I had video game strength and could crush my phone in my first. Instead, I set it on the counter of the smoothie bar and turn to the large mirror behind it to straighten up.


    Yep, that¡¯s me, Samantha; with skin as pale pink as peeled lychee and purple hair pulled up into two kitchen-appropriate buns. On the advice of the gym-bro from the council¡¯s business support team, whom I just think of as Biz-bro, I¡¯ve swapped out my preferred black lipstick for a light red and the charcoal eyeshadow for a Baby Butt Pink and I feel gross just for owning that colour.


    Yes, that¡¯s a pale blue polo shirt. No, it¡¯s not my style at all. It was another of Biz-bro¡¯s suggestions. The logo¡ªan offensively narrow woman¡¯s waist circled by the words Slim Pickings¡ªwasn¡¯t his idea, though, it was Brann¡¯s. Brann who is my very much dead-to-me ex-boyfriend.


    Slim Pickings was Brann''s idea¡ªnot just the name, but the entire diner. Reflecting on it now, everything about this venture was his brainchild. I was simply thrilled to see him finally excited about something. Brann''s clich¨¦ stoner-white-guy-with-dreads persona had, much to my shame, been enough to captivate me when I was three years younger and three years less wise. However, the allure of weed and patchouli quickly faded. Over the years, he became increasingly dependent on me, and I grew wearier of his antics. So, when he proposed the idea of running a health-food diner, I was so caught up in his rare enthusiasm that I agreed and invested all I had, just to keep that spark alive. I attended meetings with the local business bureau, set up the social media accounts, and helped choose the uniforms, which were supposed to be a nice wine red¡ªnot the sky blue he changed them to without informing me.


    Then he dumped me. By text. Ten minutes before opening day. Leaving me staring at myself in the mirror and trying not to ruin my mascara as my eyes decide between sadness tears and absolute fucking RAGE tears! Dabbing carefully at my eyes, I take a very deep breath, ask myself why I¡¯d agreed to incense in a place that serves food, and put my phone in the pocket of my grey apron.


    I guess this place is mine now. All the money has come from me and the loan is in my name, too. So, he may have dumped me into this¡ªpun very much intended¡ªbut at least it¡¯s all mine. With that in mind, I stub out the incense, open a window, and stride out into the diner to do one final set of checks before opening.


    ***


    I¡¯d prepared myself for the rush of customers. I was as ready as I¡¯d ever be to handle a diner full of people all alone. What I was not ready for was the crushing silence of an empty diner. It¡¯s been hours and the door hasn¡¯t opened once. I had so many sign-ups on our socials, what the hell?


    I take another experimental sip of the "smoothie of the day" Brann had designed, mango and wheatgrass. I grimace at the taste of it and the gritty texture, before putting the glass on the counter with a soft clink and pulling out my phone. I start angrily tapping at the already cracked screen of the overpriced smartphone when the perky little bell over the door rings, startling me so badly that I drop my phone on the counter. There¡¯s a reason it''s cracked!


    ¡®Oh hey, you''re open already?¡¯ a soft, masculine voice asks, as its owner pushes the door all the way open and steps into the diner. He¡¯s tall, or at least taller than my five foot four, with the makings of a solid dad-bod stretching his plain grey V-neck. Short, cropped hair is going grey at the temples and receding from his sweat-dampened brow. He¡¯s the living embodiment of ¡°The Dad¡±, like he''d chosen the Dad character class and gone all the way with it. In fact, I glance down as he takes another step into the empty diner. Yep, socks with sandals. Although, that look is in right now for some reason.


    Finally deciding on something, Dad-bod walks up to the bar and plonks down a toy shop carrier bag with a heavy thunk. He grabs a napkin, wipes the sweat from his brow, and with a surprisingly charming grin says, ¡®I''ve been following your socials since you started, but the opening event was moved to tomorrow, right?¡¯


    I stiffen, retrieving my phone from the counter with stilted movements as I fight to contain my rage. What. Did. He. Do?!


    Sure enough, the event on Slim Pickings'' business page is set for tomorrow. I know with absolute certainty that hadn''t been the case when I¡¯d set the event up, because I¡¯d added it to my calendar via a link on the event page. So, he moved the date. He probably did it to make it easier on himself to dump me yesterday, the absolute fuck-nugget.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡®So, is it like a soft-opening kinda thing?¡¯ Dad-bod asks, sweat somehow already glazing his forehead again, sparkling in the light streaming through the diner''s window.


    ¡®Uh... Yeah!¡¯ I reply, doing my best to appear confident and happy and not like I¡¯m busy thinking about garrotting Brann with his own dreads. ¡®Yeah... Welcome to Slim Pickings! You''re our... Well,¡¯ I deflate a little, somehow feeling both a little grossed out by him and a lot comforted by his presence, ¡®¡­you''re our first customer.¡¯ Yep, I am a failure. I opened the diner hours ago and you''re my first and only customer. Please just laugh and leave, get it over with.


    But he doesn¡¯t laugh or leave. Instead, he flashes me another oddly disarming smile, his teeth bright against his Mediterranean skin, and says, ¡®Oh heck yeah!¡¯ before easing himself onto a bar stool with a poorly suppressed grunt. ¡®You''re gonna have a regular in me, kid!¡¯


    Kid? Ew.


    ¡®So, what''s good?¡¯ he asks, grabbing a laminated menu from the bar and scanning it while smiling like he''d won a prize.


    I lean over the bar slightly and his sweating kicks up a notch as I point a black-nailed finger at an item halfway down. ¡®The meatless burger and sweet potato fries?¡¯ I say uncertainly. Brann designed the menu, but I prepared everything on it while helping him test it. The burger isn''t great but it¡¯s probably the only thing I¡¯d choose to eat here. I should probably start caring about this kind of food.


    Dad-bod glances up at me with an awkward smile. ¡®One of those then, please. And a smoothie of the day?¡¯


    I give the smoothie on the counter a sidelong glare. ¡®I have to make a change to that one, sorry. Is mango and pineapple okay?¡¯


    ¡®Even better!¡¯ He grins but turns to his phone as soon as I disengage. At least I don¡¯t have to worry about him watching me while I work.


    The skillet hisses and spits, the air fryer roars away in the corner, and the noise of it all fills the diner. For a moment I could almost imagine it full of people, hanging out while chill music takes the edge off the chatter... Shit, music!


    I grab my phone from my pinny and quickly connect to the speakers, putting on some LoFi music to add to the ambience from the kitchen. The music is too plinky for my tastes but it¡¯s another recommendation from Biz-bro. Something about creating a recognisable ambience to put customers at ease, if I remember rightly.


    The downside of the plinky music, however, is that it masks the sound of the bell on the front door. Something I realise only as I turn back to Dad-bod, plate in hand, only to stop in shock at the ten people who have appeared and taken tables throughout the diner. I gawp at the two couples taking tables by the window and a group of six students sitting in the back booth.


    ¡®I-I''ll be right with you!¡¯ I call out before placing Dad-bod¡¯s food in front of him and giving him cutlery and a rack of sauces. ¡®How...?¡¯


    ¡®I put a post up on MyLocal to let folks know you were open early. I hope you don''t mind.¡¯ Dad-bod is smiling at me again. The smile is the bashful and cute smile, not the disarmingly bright smile from earlier.


    ¡®No... No, I don''t mind,¡¯ I breathe, returning his smile with one of my own, an honestly happy one. ¡®Thank you! Here,¡¯ I say, sliding the glass of thick orange pureed fruit across the counter, ¡®the smoothie is on the house!¡¯


    ¡®Score!¡¯ He says, making a little fist pump motion before taking a big pull of the drink through the thick paper straw. ¡®Hey, that¡¯s great!¡¯


    I¡¯m staring at the new customers, but after a moment I realise he¡¯s looking at me and turn back to him. He says quietly, ¡®You should go take their orders,¡¯ giving me another nervous smile and turning his attention to his burger.


    I snap out of it and take my new customers'' orders before getting to work in the kitchen. It¡¯s an open space to the side of the smoothie bar because, according to Brann, ¡°it''s cool when people can watch you cooking¡±. Thankfully, their orders are simple because I had been more interested in making opening day easy and had insisted on a cut-down menu.


    I turn from my work at the clatter of cutlery on ceramic to find Dad-bod standing, wiping his mouth and forehead with a napkin. ¡®That was lovely, kid, thanks!¡¯ He beams at me as he adds, ¡®And so much healthier than a regular burger!¡¯


    I smile back at him, kind of glad and kind of sad that he seems to be about to leave. ¡®I''m glad you liked it,¡¯ I say, before offering him a payment device, feeling awkward as hell about it defaulting to a tip screen. He selects twenty per cent, and I ratchet up my smile a notch, thanking him as sweetly as I can.


    ¡®Well, gotta head,¡¯ he says, swiping his card against the reader. ¡®I''ll be back, though. Maybe your food will help me finally lose the dad-body, eh?¡¯ He pats his belly with one hand while he grabs the bag of toys with the other.


    How the fuck am I supposed to respond to that?! I just smile and offer something between a giggle and a stifled laugh. It seems to do the trick as he¡¯s still smiling as he walks past the window once he¡¯s outside.


    I turn back to the kitchen and plate up the new orders, distributing them to my remaining customers before heading over to the door and flipping the open/closed sign to "closed." Look, I know this is a really bad business decision, but I¡¯m exhausted already, and I need to focus on figuring out how the hell this is supposed to work without Brann''s help. Not that he would have been much help, I guess. But I need to be able to decompress, maybe scream a little. And I need to call Divya, and vent over the phone to my best friend. I can¡¯t do any of that in a diner full of customers.


    I clean off Dad-bod¡¯s plate and leave it in the sink, turning to lean against the counter and take a moment to try and settle my roiling mind. My hand brushes against something stiff and slimy and I recoil, turning to find the empty package from the burger; the hard plastic covered in a bright pink slime. Grimacing I lift the package and turn it over. As I read the list of ingredients my hair stands on end. This is... Not even slightly healthy.


    OK, I really need to start caring about this kind of food!

 C2 - Day one, take two

    ¡®We don''t need to talk about him,¡¯ Divya says as she wraps her slender arms around my tummy, hugging me tight from behind. ¡®This is your diner, now.¡¯


    ¡®Yeah, it is!¡¯ I smile and squeeze Divya''s hands gently before stepping out of her arms and turning to look at the best bestie in the whole world. I¡¯ve known Divya since college, sharing a dorm and then a house together. Divya has always known how to put a smile on my face.


    ¡®Good girl,¡¯ Divya sings with a broad wink, sweeping off towards the kitchen, bangles on her wrists and beads in her hair tinkling as she moves.


    After a text exchange involving no shortage of cursing Brann, Divya told her boss she was sick and arrived first thing on the diner¡¯s second day. She came armed with coffee I didn¡¯t have to make and a fiery determination I desperately needed. She¡¯d been planning on helping on the weekend anyway but refused to do anything less than help run the place today since I was on my own. Something that I am eternally grateful for.


    It also helps that Divya is a lot more into the kind of food the diner serves than I am. With Divya getting the kitchen ready, I take the opportunity to check the tables, neaten the furnishings, and update the smoothie menu. No more of that awful mango and wheatgrass! Now the mango and pineapple smoothie that Dad-bod enjoyed so much is the smoothie of the day, and a few other simple blends have been added to the chalkboard. Oh, and music! Today the place will be filled with plinky LoFi, just like Biz-bro decreed.


    With everything in place, and the scent of baking making the whole place smell like heaven, I finally look at the front door. After yesterday¡¯s ugly surprises, I was worried, but through the lightly frosted glass of the front door I can see people. People are standing around doing their doomscrolling and selfie-taking, just waiting for me to open the door!


    I start doing some box breathing and remind myself that I planned this; it will work out, it will be okay. I never envisioned doing this by myself but I¡¯m here, Divya is helping, and I¡¯ve got customers.


    With a shout to Divya and a quick tug to tighten my pinny, I stride to the door to officially open¡­ again. With a big smile on my face, I use my by best hostess voice to say, ¡®Thank you all for coming! Please, come on in.¡¯


    As people start shuffling in, I welcome each of them individually, doing my best to sound happy and confident even though I¡¯m already dying inside a little each time I say ¡°Slim Pickings¡±. If I own the place, I could change the name. Let¡¯s think on that later, right now us for turning these people into paying customers.


    Once they¡¯re inside my first customers are taking even more selfies, exclaiming about how the d¨¦cor and the smell of pastries¡ªare pastries health-food?¡ªis to die for and then discussing which hashtags to use. It¡¯s a good thing I wanted social media buzz right?


    With the music plinking away in a mostly tolerable combination with the chattering crowd, I wander around and thank everyone again for coming along, taking their orders on my mobile using the app I downloaded last night. No bugs so far, thankfully.


    I head over to the kitchen, where Divya is humming to herself as she swishes and sashays around the little space completely out of time with the LoFi. She transfers the first pastries to a cooling rack as I open my mouth to make sure orders are coming through on the app.


    ¡®Excuse me.¡¯


    I freeze, because yet again I did not hear the bell and whilst I don¡¯t recognise the voice, I sure as fuck recognise the tone. It¡¯s kind of impressive how much entitlement can be communicated with just two words, and how rude such a polite phrase can sound. I breathe, force a smile, and turn on my heels to face this new horror, saying, ¡®Yes, love?¡¯


    The man grimaces, a poor choice for someone who likely wore a permanent scowl already. He¡¯s one of the ¡°influencer¡± types, like those taking most of the selfies in the diner, and has this ¡°other people gifted me my clothes¡± aesthetic that has me even more on edge. He¡¯s no more than an inch taller than me, a little husky, and his dark hair is carefully styled to look as messy and effortless as possible.


    ¡®I was appalled at your terrible soft launch yesterday. I¡¯ve been following this opening for a while now and first you move the opening day at the last minute, then you have some stooge post on MyLocal to drive some in-the-know hype but then when I get here determined to cover your amazing new place I found you were closed!¡¯ He says in what seems to be a single breath. I¡¯m honestly impressed.


    ¡®I¡¯m sorry sir, that you were disappointed to miss our soft launch yesterday. I do appreciate your commitment to the diner. As a thank you, how about I get you a Smoothie of the Day? On the house of course.¡¯ I grind out in my best customer service voice as I try to de-escalate this Karen in hipster fleek¡ªdo people still say fleek? Eh, it fits.


    ¡®A smoothie?! You think a smoothie is enough for wasting my time? Don¡¯t you know who I am?¡¯ He starts picking up steam again, clearly liking the sound of his own outrage. ¡®I have one hundred and sixty two thousand followers who love to hear about my food adventures and I had to let them all down yesterday because of you!¡¯


    I gulp a little at how much this guy could probably tank all the hard work on the diner¡¯s social media presence with a single message, and struggle to think my way through this.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Divya, goddess of all things amazing that she is, steps up next to me and says, ¡®Oh my gosh! Are you @foodBeast on Nowsta? I loved your coverage of The Little Hole In The Wall last year. You captured the mood and experience so well!¡¯


    He starts preening, like literally preening, under this gushing praise from Divya, his blue eyes widening just a little. I take a slow breath, thankful she¡¯s given me some breathing room. It¡¯s going to hurt my soul, but I must do this for my livelihood. I lean over, and with a conspiratorial stage-whisper say, ¡®How could I have not recognised you? I¡¯m incredibly sorry, obviously you¡¯re better than all these other influencers here right now. How¡¯s about I give you a full meal on the house, and we do a live stream where we talk about how awesome your efforts are and give you the chance to ask me anything about this place?¡¯


    He''d continued puffing up as I said my painfully obsequious words and though he pauses as he pretends to think it over, I know he¡¯ll say yes.


    ¡®Well, that sounds like it could work. After all, my fans do need to hear about how I find such potential diamonds in the rough.¡¯ He says with a very unwelcome wink¡­ Ew.


    ¡®Amazeballs!¡¯ I almost gag on my own pep. ¡®Let me get you seated and I¡¯ll take your order.¡¯ I say as I try to hold in the world¡¯s biggest eye roll. I wave my phone at Divya and mouth ¡®orders¡¯ as I gently start shooing Food-zilla back to his seat, knowing Divya would handle the kitchen.


    After following him back to his table I find that Food-zilla is sharing with another influencer-looking guy in a bargain-bin version of Food-zilla¡¯s outfit. The man looks bored, repeatedly swiping left on his phone. He¡¯s blonde and pale and has a sneer on his narrow face that could be for his friend as much as for me; I¡¯m going to call him Bin-fluencer.


    ¡®Scott, did you really just harass the owner?!¡¯ Bin-fluencer hisses, flicking me a somewhat apologetic smile before looking back to his friend. ¡®I thought we talked about this!¡¯ OK, I guess the sneer was for Food-zilla.


    I try to ignore them as politely as I can, hoping to not to get in the middle of these two when I¡¯ve only just managed to diffuse the aggro bomb, but resigning myself to probably having to comp both their meals. When it seems like the back and forth has finished I ask brightly, ¡®So, what can I get you both?¡¯ Bin-fluencer asks for the burger, nake, and a kombucha. Food-zilla, of course, orders the vegan tempeh pad thai, the most expensive and awkward meal on my menu, plus a side¡ªthe gall of this man!¡ªof tempura vegetables to make everything even harder. For a drink he requests a half-steamed brown sugar oat milk iced latte even though I don¡¯t have iced coffees on the menu!


    FFS Jen! I scream in my head for a while, using the phrase I picked up years ago for when things get way out of control unnecessarily. I add as much as I can to the order app and then head over to the kitchen for the rest.


    I manically start getting all the drinks from the different orders put together and out to the different tables; Food-zilla took up nearly five minutes with his uppity schtick and people are looking a bit miffed. Smoothies, kambucha, flat whites, juices, fizzy waters, cortados, cordials and more all get whipped up. When did people stop wanting colas? Whilst I¡¯m rushing about getting drinks on every table, I¡¯m trying to work out how the fuck I¡¯m going to make this coffee order. How does one even half-steam something that should be served iced?


    By now, Divya has started plating some of the simpler some-assembly-required meals like vegan pasties and salads so I can also start actually feeding people. I gratefully grab some plates and ask her about the steamed milk thing. I¡¯m thankful this place is more her style than mine because, without batting an eyelid she covers how you can steam a small amount of the oat milk and part mix it in for a bit of a sweeter drink.


    After dropping the plates off, I take on this Mt. Everest of barista challenges. I get the imposing, chrome machine hissing away on the espresso¡ªreally wish I was already used to the noise and not expecting it to blow up any second¡ª whilst I start frothing some of the oat milk. I then mix some brown sugar in a bit of hot water, staring at it with mortification as the sugar just won¡¯t dissolve. Time to assemble this monstrosity. I put some ice in one of my never-before-used coffee glasses, pour in a generous amount of oat milk, layer in the expresso, the brown sugar ¡°syrup¡±, and finally the frothed oat milk. The damn open kitchen and barista area means I¡¯ve not been able to bingle on how to make this like a professional so I really hope this is close enough. It looks nice anyway.


    Cautiously proud of the concoction now in my hand, I put the iced coffee on a tray with a kambucha and take them over to the pesky duo. I tell them that I hope they enjoy their drinks as I¡¯m already heading back to the kitchen to get the next batch of meals; no sense letting them hold me up.


    More burgers, pasties, and a few bowls of pad thai start making their way to customers. Now that more people have been getting their food, everyone looks to be relaxing with only a few antsy people left. I try to studiously ignore Bin-fluencer shushing Food-zilla when he¡¯s says his coffee was only a quarter steamed. I definitely need to keep ignoring him because murders on the official opening day is usually frowned upon.


    A few more folks come in so I get them situated whilst starting to take payments from people who have finished their meals. Balancing all these people is hard whilst also glancing anxiously over to the kitchen every half a second to see when the burger and pad thai are ready for serving. Diya¡¯s got this but the sooner I can get them eating, the better!


    I scoot over and grab them almost before she¡¯s finished in my eagerness to get the worst customer in the world gone. I bring the food over to Bin-fluencer, who is once again swiping away, and Food-zilla, who is muttering about lighting and angles. As I put the food in front of them, they both perk up and immediately start fiddling with their phones to take pictures of their food.


    Another couple rounds of drinks, order taking, and delivering food to tables, and I see they¡¯ve finally finished their meals after at least five minutes of photo taking. I do a quick review to see if I¡¯m going to need to give anyone their bill just yet, and head once more into that super annoying breach.


    As I approach, Food-zilla has cleared his plate and is talking animatedly with his friend. Bin-fluencer is sitting with his head in his hands, fingers clenching his short blond hair. Why are these two even friends? Spotting my approach he releases his head and turns a tired smile my way and Food-zilla does the same.


    ¡®That was lit! My comps to the chef,¡¯ Food-zilla says, pushing his plate towards me.


    ¡®Anything else I can get you both?¡¯ I ask as I clear their plates.


    ¡®Only that livestream you promised!¡¯ He replies with a vile smirk.


    Fuck. My. Life.

 C3 - Am I a bad person?

    For all that he¡¯s a sneering, preening, ginormous shit, Food-zilla surprises me right out of the gate. I¡¯m ready to suppress a cringe at the inevitable ¡°What up, fam,¡± and ¡°It¡¯s ya boy,¡± but instead he calmly says to his phone¡¯s camera, ¡®Food friends, greetings. I¡¯m Food Beast and today I¡¯m livestreaming from the hottest new spot for the health-conscious foodie; Slim Pickings.¡¯


    I smile as he angles the phone to include me¡­ Oh god, is that how I look when I smile?!


    ¡®Here with me is the co-owner of Slim Pickings, Sam,¡¯ he says with a smile and a gentle wave of the hand towards me.


    A moment of painful silence stretches into eternity as I stare at my wonky face.


    Divya nudges me and I jump slightly but manage to pull myself together. ¡®Sole owner, actually.¡¯


    ¡®Oh? I thought you owned the place with your boyfriend.¡¯


    I glare at him for a moment. ¡®No, not anymore.¡¯ There¡¯s no need to share my whole story with the internet.


    Divya, however, has other ideas. ¡®In fact,¡¯ she says, voice solemn as she steps into view and Food-zilla¡¯s phone practically moves itself to let her beauty fill the screen, ¡®her boyfriend dumped her by text on opening day and left her to run Slim Pickings all alone.¡¯


    Whhhhhhyyyyy?!


    I prod her in the ribs, but she just gives me a sad smile and gently tilts that damn phone back to me. I do cringe this time, but then I see the hearts and cryfaces flooding the screen. Oh¡­ you clever bitch!


    ¡®Uh, yeah¡­ He did. But I have you,¡¯ I say, turning my apparently awful smile on her, And shouldn¡¯t you be keeping a low profile, if you¡¯re pretending to be off sick?


    The phone turns back to Food-zilla as he runs a hand through his carefully maintained messy mop of hair like he¡¯s using the phone as a mirror. ¡®Oh damn, folks did you hear that? Slim Pickings isn¡¯t just a seriously lit place to eat,¡¯ oh, that¡¯s nice, I guess, ¡®it¡¯s also a tragedy and a redemption tale! Our girl Sam and her best friend making this the hottest new joint in town, all while having been left high-and-dry by a douche of an ex-boyfriend.¡¯


    The reacts keep flooding the screen, along with so many comments praising me and threatening Brann that I can barely keep up. Other customers are watching now too, whispering to each other and looking at me with a strange mix of pity and admiration. Could this actually work out having been a good thing?


    Blessed Divya takes the lead from there, showing the viewers around the diner, even showing them the kitchen, while I follow along dumbly. She keeps up a steady patter so well that even Food-zilla doesn¡¯t interrupt her; this is her show now. She praises me often, bigs herself up a little too which is totally fair and remembers to name the diner and say its location repeatedly¡ªsomething I hadn¡¯t even considered.


    By the time Food-zilla is done with his livestream my phone is blowing up with new followers and likes, my head is swimming, and Divya is practically glowing.


    Food-zilla thanks me, and honestly seems almost human while doing it. Binfluencer gives me a small smile and a curt nod and the two of them finally leave. The other customers return to their meals, once more filling the diner with the buzz of conversation.


    I give Divya a huge hug, squeeing an adorable squeak out of her.


    ¡®Oh my God thank you!¡¯ I blurt. ¡®You were amazing, you¡¯re a natural.¡¯


    She blushes and pushes me back enough to see my face, keeping her hands on my arms. ¡®Let¡¯s just say I have some experience in front of a camera.¡¯ She winks and releases me, sashaying dramatically as she heads back to the kitchen. ¡®But this place is all you, babes,¡¯ she adds over her shoulder.


    No, it¡¯s us. I wouldn¡¯t have made it this far without her.


    ***


    Come on, I can do this.


    It¡¯s been five days: one more day and then we close for a day, and I can breathe. Because fuck me has it been a time! Things only got crazier after the livestream. From the very next day we were taking bookings because we didn¡¯t have enough table space for walk-ins, and Divya extended her sick leave to stay by my side.


    On Wednesday, the air frier immolated. A cool word for a very un-cool event.


    On Thursday, the blender started screaming when in use, and we found rats in the chiller.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    On Friday, we had to close for a few hours so an exterminator could take care of the rats. They mean to show up before opening but, of course, they decided to show up like the Ghostbusters just before the lunch rush.


    And throughout I¡¯ve continued to worry about something: how healthy is this food, really?


    The gluten-free breads have so many ingredients in them I got wrist-cramp trying to Google them all. The burgers have more random fats in them than the cheapest beef. The pre-made smoothie mixes I¡¯d had to buy because chopping fruit was taking too long have more sugar in them than the fizzy drinks. And for all that this was supposed to be a health food diner, I still don¡¯t know shit about health food.


    Yet again I find myself cursing Brann¡¯s very existence.


    But the pastries are good, I think to myself as I pop the last of a Danish into my mouth on the way to the door. One more day and then I can breathe. I turn the sign and open the door, stepping back to let the one constant in my week into the diner.


    ¡®Heya, kid.¡¯


    I smile at Dad-bod as he passes. ¡®My name¡¯s Sam,¡¯ I say, mirroring the wink he gives me in passing.


    ¡®Oh, I know. Sorry, calling youngsters ¡°kid¡± is an occupational hazard of fatherhood.¡¯


    Dude, I¡¯m only like ten years younger than you¡­ I think.


    But I just give him my best ¡°no worries¡± smile and walk with him back to the smoothie bar to s on his Smoothie-of-the-Day. ¡®Cherry and Cacao today, sound good?¡¯


    His face lights up and he plonks himself on a barstool. ¡®Hell yeah it does! You¡¯re like a health food goddess, ki- ah, Sam.¡¯ He cringes a bit at the slip but I just grin at him and turn to start adding the prepared and portioned smoothie mix to the blender.


    ¡®Not really, to be honest I just grabbed a selection of mixes and I¡¯m calling a different one the Smoothie-of-the-Day each day.¡¯


    ¡®Don¡¯t go letting everyone peek behind the curtain, Sam.¡¯ He says behind me, his voice suddenly serious. ¡®Your reputation is a big part of your success so far.¡¯


    I freeze, finger hovering over the ¡°make way too much fucking noise¡± button on the damned blender. I turn back to Dad-bod, who¡¯s staring at me intently.


    I glance around the diner before saying, ¡®I¡­ I¡¯m feeling out of my depth, honestly.¡¯ I can¡¯t seem to bring myself to look him in the eye.


    Am I worried about disappointing him?!


    He places a hand on mine for just a moment, long enough for the warm solidity of him wrapping my hand up to draw my eyes to his. He seems less sweaty every day.


    ¡®You¡¯ve got this, Sam. I don¡¯t come here every day because of your sunny demeanour.¡¯ He jolts for a moment and he¡¯s right back to being that cute, nervous mess. ¡®I mean, I do, but I also come here because your food is fantastic, and I feel so much better eating here instead of a burger place or something. You¡¯re helping.¡¯


    I give him a bashful smile of my own and he leans back in his barstool, the synthetic leather squeaking.


    ¡®Look, Sam, I know a lot of your customers right now are just trend seekers, looking to take part in the new hotness.¡¯ He sighs, glancing out the window at the rain-soaked streets, his face scrunching at the temples where his curly hair is going the greyest. ¡®But what you¡¯re offering here is more valuable than just another social media trend. You¡¯re doing something good.¡¯


    He seems so intense like this, with none of the usual man-child energy and nerves. I just watch him, staring at the lines in his tanned face that make him look so serious, despite how playful he usually is.


    ¡®I¡­¡¯ He turns back to me, looks me in the eye for just a moment, then glances away again as if afraid I¡¯d judge him for the tears I see there. ¡®I¡¯m sick, Sam. I¡¯ve got liver disease, the fatty kind. My liver¡¯s all covered in fat deposits, making it harder for it to do its thing.¡¯


    I exhale slowly, afraid to move, like I¡¯m alone in the woods with a wild deer.


    ¡®Joan left us a year ago¡­ left me and the kids. She didn¡¯t even bother trying to get custody. I¡¯ve been trying to do it all myself ever since, but now this? I swear I can feel it sometimes, too; like my liver¡¯s overheating, spreading warmth across my body.¡¯ He traces a hand over his belly and up his chest, then stops and looks back up at me, face somehow even more serious. ¡®You are helping me beat this, Sam. You are helping me survive it. You are helping make sure my kids always have a dad.¡¯


    Fuck. I¡¯m crying. And not the internet ¡°I¡¯m crying¡± bullshit, I¡¯m actually crying. His hand moves slowly, wrapping mine up again, and he says with a bright smile, ¡®So how about that smoothie?¡¯


    ***


    Once Dad-bod has finished his smoothie¡ªleaving me with a racing mind and an obscene tip¡ªI spend the rest of the day online, learning everything I can about health food. And about fatty liver disease.


    The rain keeps away most of the customers, which makes my study easier but is probably not great for business.


    Turns out I was right to worry; most of the stuff I¡¯m serving is so full of junk that it¡¯s actually worse than if I was just selling greasy cheeseburgers. I scroll through article after article on Ultra Processed Foods with mounting horror, and the amount of bizarre chemicals in the foods I¡¯m selling is a serious issue. For every social post about the virtues of a given ¡°superfood¡± there are a slew of blog posts warning of the product¡¯s dangers. It seems the health food industry is moving faster than the process of verifying the stuff it¡¯s churning out, and as much as some of it really is healthy, more yet seems to be snake oil¡­ at best.


    On the bright side, if Dad-bod keeps trying to keep eating healthy he should make a full recovery. But if he keeps eating here? Probably not.


    So what I¡¯m doing is good, but it¡¯s also bad? My head is spinning as I close up for the day, thanking the last customer as I hold the door open for them. It¡¯s enough that even the linger smell of pastries is making me nauseous.


    I walk back to the kitchen, where Divya is cleaning up, and lean against a counter.


    ¡®Hey, Divya?¡¯


    She turns to face me, a faint sheen of sweat only serving to make her even more beautiful.


    ¡®What¡¯s up, babes?¡¯ She¡¯s got that wrinkle of concern on her brow again, I guess I look as bad as I feel.


    ¡®Is this all a scam?¡¯ I ask, choking on the words. ¡®Am¡­ Am I a bad person?¡¯


    She steps up to me and wraps me up in toned arms and the smell of vanilla and cardamom.


    ¡®Babes, no,¡¯ she whispers as I lean in and press my face into her shoulder. ¡®Why would you think that?!¡¯


    And so, I tell her. I keep talking until I¡¯m babbling and shaking and literally crying on her shoulder.


    ¡®Fuck. OK, we¡¯re gonna fix this.¡¯ She squeezes me, wrapping me up in her arms and her confidence.


    And I know she¡¯s right. We¡¯re going to fix this.


    <hr>

 C4 - Is the situation really that desperate?

    So much for my weekend off, because ¡°we¡¯re going to fix this¡± turns out to mean Divya showing up at my door Saturday morning, armed with a huge stack of binders and a laptop.


    ¡®Put the kettle on, Babes,¡¯ she says as she breezes past me, the scent of flowers trailing behind her.


    ¡®How are you so perky?¡¯ I groan as I shut the door and trudge down the narrow hall after her. ¡®And will you pick a single fragrance, please? You¡¯re confusing my sensitive little brain.¡¯


    I can hear the smile in her voice as she yells, ¡®Noooope.¡¯ And I step into the kitchenette of my shitty flat to find her already spreading things out over the little table.


    ¡®How did you ever manage to share this place with him?¡¯ She asks as she tries to open multiple binders at once and finds nowhere near enough room for them.


    ¡®I ask myself the same question, all the damn time,¡¯ I reply as I squeeze past her and put the kettle on the hob. Divya settles herself at the table, a shaft of morning light hitting her hair and making it shimmer like oil. Giving up on the binders completely, she dumps them on the floor and opens the little laptop; it chimes as it wakes, showing a background of the two of us¡­ A still from the livestream; her looking like a goddess and me a gurning idiot.


    ¡®Why would you take a screenshot of that, let alone make it your background?!¡¯


    ¡®This?¡¯ She innocently asks, a delicately painted nail flicking to the screen.


    ¡®Yes, that!¡¯


    She smiles at me, a look of affection and sincerity. ¡®You look adorable, don¡¯t you think?¡¯


    ¡®No I don¡¯t!¡¯ I cry, stepping away from the counter towards her. ¡®I look like a fool!¡¯


    She looks back at the screen, her brow creasing slightly. ¡®I don¡¯t see it, Babes. You look good.¡¯


    I stare at the screen for a long time. I look stupid¡­ Don¡¯t I? Is it just me? Divya¡¯s not the type to lie to me.


    ¡®Babes, the kettle.¡¯


    I jump. I hadn¡¯t even noticed it was whistling.


    ¡®Sorry,¡¯ I say as I pull it from the hob and get the mugs ready. ¡®It¡¯s too early for me.¡¯


    ¡®It¡¯s nine-thirty,¡¯ she laughs and I shudder.


    ¡®Definitely too early.¡¯


    Moments later our drinks are steaming away, precariously perched on the table, and Divya unlocks her laptop and opens an intimidating but (as far as I can tell) perfectly constructed spreadsheet.


    ¡®So, I stayed up late last night running numbers. I put in everything you¡¯ve given me, added some projections and expectations based on things like location and the new, actually healthy product ranges you want to include.¡¯ She pauses, a deep red lower lip held between her teeth.


    ¡®And?¡¯ I ask, still far too tired for this shit.


    She sighs, then scrolls down the sheet a bit. ¡®And it¡¯s not looking good.¡¯


    ***


    I¡¯ve showered and dressed, leaving my hair to dry naturally. We¡¯re on our third cup each, and the sun is well past the point where it can be seen from the kitchenette¡¯s tiny window. We¡¯ve talked for hours, but it still doesn¡¯t look good.


    The plan had been solid enough to get us a small business loan, but it involved two people running the place full time and, as it turns out, pretty shoddy ¡°healthy¡± food supplies.


    The reality is that Divya can¡¯t keep helping me run the place, and the better food is seriously damn expensive. Something like eighty percent of small businesses fail in the first year regardless, but the way things are looking the chances for Slim Pickings are more like a hundred percent. We need staff, I need training, and we need better food.


    ¡®It¡¯s gonna be a little while before this really hits you, what with the loan and all,¡¯ Divya says, paging through a binder she¡¯s now resting in her lap. It¡¯s something to do with business financing. ¡®Still,¡¯ she says, face scrunched in concentration, ¡®the sooner you get more money coming in the better.¡¯


    I sigh and sit back. My back aches, but I¡¯m not about to complain when Divya¡¯s been working so hard.


    Suddenly she sits up and smiles, pointing at a section labelled ¡°Employment Grants.¡±


    ¡®OK, so we can get you some support towards hiring someone. But we¡¯re still going to need a bit more income to cover the improved supplies.¡¯


    She hasn¡¯t once suggested I don¡¯t try getting healthier ¡°health food¡± for Slim Pickings, and I love her for that. Although, damn do I still hate that name!


    ¡®You don¡¯t have any passive income, right?¡¯ She asks, glancing up at me.


    I just shrug.


    Leaning back in her chair, Divya takes a big swig of her now cold tea, pulls a face, puts it down, then turns to look me straight in the eyes.


    ¡®OK, I have an idea, but I need you to hear me out.¡¯


    I frown, but say, ¡®OK, but I¡¯m not selling a kidney.¡¯If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    She chuckles but gets serious again fast. ¡®So, you know about cam sites and stuff?¡¯


    My brain goes blank for a moment, that was not what I was expecting.


    ¡®Uh¡­ Like, online sex work?¡¯ I finally manage, failing to keep the incredulity out of my voice.


    ¡®I said you had to hear me out, so curb the judgment,¡¯ she says, and though she¡¯s using her teasing voice, I can see a flash of something real in her eyes. ¡®Yes, I mean like online sex work. It¡¯s a safe and reliable way to make money, both on the side and full-time.¡¯


    ¡®Shit Divya, is the situation really that desperate?¡¯ I regret my words at once, as her face goes flat.


    ¡®I¡¯m not desperate, and I do it.¡¯


    Whoops.


    ¡®Sorry,¡¯ is all I manage.


    Divya sighs, leaning forward to rest a hand on my knee. ¡®It¡¯s not just tits and fuck machines, Babes. I just do foot stuff.¡¯


    I guess I look as confused as I feel because she smiles and continues. ¡®Like I sell pics of my feet, artful shots mainly, though some people prefer a more ¡°raw¡± look. Sometimes I just stream footage of my feet. I¡¯ve even sold worn socks a few times,¡¯ she finishes with a laugh and a cringe.


    ¡®Socks?!¡¯


    ¡®Hey, guys will pay for all kinds of things! I get lots of different kinds of folks on my streams, but so far it¡¯s always been men who¡¯ve bought stuff. You don¡¯t have to sell things, though; plenty can be made through the tips on streams alone.¡¯


    ¡®Why did you never tell me about this?¡¯ I ask, honestly feeling kind of hurt.


    Her face falls and seeing her looking sad breaks my heart. ¡®I thought you¡¯d judge me for it.¡¯


    ¡®I¡¯m so sorry, Divya,¡¯ I reply, taking her hand in mine. I stare at her for a long moment. Divya¡¯s always been more open, ¡°freer¡± than me, but I¡¯d never have suspected she¡¯d do something like this. I can¡¯t imagine myself doing it either, not least of all because who the hell would want to look at me for something like that? But she¡¯s right, guys will pay for all sorts of things, and I know Divya wouldn¡¯t even suggest I try something like this if she didn¡¯t think I could do it.


    Squeezing her hand and turning towards her laptop, I say, ¡®Show me.¡¯


    ***


    I don¡¯t do this! I don¡¯t dive headlong into things. I mean sure, I left the actual food part of Slim Pickings to Brann, but that¡¯s because I apparently do trust people when I shouldn¡¯t. But I spent so much time on the business side of the diner; I studied online, I went to seminars, I attended everything BizBro said I should attend. I went in prepared.


    But now I¡¯m sitting on my cracked navy leather sofa in nothing but a black thong and my best skull-covered bra, with my phone in a ring light across the coffee table from me. My phone¡¯s hooked up to my laptop and I¡¯m logged into an account on PourFanatiques I¡¯ve literally just created. I¡¯m staring at myself on my laptop screen and I can¡¯t help but cringe; Divya assured me that there¡¯s always a market on sites like this, but I can¡¯t see how anyone would be into me. My face is flushed, my chest too, but the rest of me is deathly pale. I¡¯ve managed to open a live cam room and I have no fucking idea what I¡¯m doing, like how am I supposed to sit? Why didn¡¯t I at least watch some othe-


    DING-DING


    Oh shit! Someone¡¯s here, in my cam room, this is real. I try and smile, doing my best attempt at a sexy voice as I croon, ¡®Hey baaaaby.¡¯


    Silence. I try and hold the smile in place as I stare at the name on the screen; StuckStepSisSlayer. The fuck does that mean?


    Then suddenly there are ellipses; they¡¯re typing something. I suck in my belly, trying to lean sexily (I assume that¡¯s a thing I can do,) and do my best to ignore the creaking of my old sofa. The ellipses stop, then start again, and then suddenly there are words on my screen.


    ¡®Fuck ur ass btch.¡¯


    Wow, can¡¯t even spell bitch. I clamp my eyes in place to stop them from rolling.


    ¡®I¡­ uh, sorry babes, I¡¯m not doing that.¡¯ To be fair, I made that clear in my bio. People read those things first, right?


    Oh, they¡¯re gone. I¡¯m staring at an empty room again.


    I deflate, letting my belly out and slumping back on the sofa. Not an ideal start. But then the laptop dings again, and again, and again, and suddenly there¡¯s a whole bunch of people in my room and I¡¯m scrambling to sit up and lean forwards and try and look sexy and not like I hate myself and I hate this and I hate Divya for suggesting it! Ok, I could never hate Divya, but still.


    Ellipses again, and then PoonPounder69 comments, ¡®Ass.¡¯


    Classy, Poon, classy.


    ¡®Sorry, babes,¡¯ I say again, trying to sound sweet and like I actually am sorry that I won¡¯t- Annnnd Poon is gone.


    I feel my smile slip and yank it back into place as I shift on the sofa. The glow from the ring light is so bright my eyes are watering, my stomach is rumbling, and I don¡¯t see how anyone would want to pay for this.


    ¡®Ignore them, sweetness,¡¯ says DIYDaddy. ¡®Boys don¡¯t deserve your time anyway.¡¯ I know I¡¯m blushing, and I hate myself for it. It should not be this easy to woo me. ¡®But we¡¯re here to see you in all your beautiful glory, so perhaps you could start by just losing the bra?¡¯


    I want to refuse, on some kind of principle I guess, but this is why I¡¯m here. I reach behind me, and with a practised movement, unhook my bra. I¡¯m about to just shuck it off and toss it away, and I do have to suppress a sigh of pleasure as it releases from my back, but I remember what I¡¯ve seen on TV and take my time peeling it away. After a moment of attempted teasing, I lower my bra and yep, those are my tits, on a webcam.


    I drop my bra and cup my breasts awkwardly. ¡°Better, baby?¡± I ask as I lean towards the camera again. Stop saying Baby, you sound like an idiot, you idiot!


    Silence. I feel myself turning red again, but this time from shame. Then DIYDaddy says, ¡°Done. Thanks, slut.¡± And then they¡¯re gone. I stare at the screen in shock. Done? Does that mean what I think it means? Divya said it¡¯s about tips here, yet he left me with nothing but the feeling of being all sticky and ashamed.


    I want to cry, but the room isn¡¯t empty. Three people are just watching me, and it makes my skin crawl. 2BackBeast, EatMeEatU, and FootFetFem¡­


    ¡°Divya?!¡±


    And FootFetFem is gone. We are gonna have words!


    I sit back with a huff, my tits still on show and my belly rolls now on show too. Fuck this. I reach over and grab my post-cam treat; a chocolate muffin Divya left for me, not even slightly healthy and all the way decadent. Screw these people, let them watch, I need a make-feel-good. I take a bite and just lose myself, damn that woman can bake. The chocolate is rich and deep, close to dark chocolate with a hint of berries to it. The cake is moist and soft and crumbed with sugar crystals and in the middle? Soft chocolate fondant!


    I let out an entirely unsexy and unintentional moan as I lean back, a blob of the chocolate fondant falling from the open end of the muffin to land on my left tit with a wet plop. I freeze, feeling suddenly even more exposed, even more humiliated.


    CHA-CHING


    My eyes widen and I lean forward, the fondant rolling off my tit to land in my lap.


    CHA-CHING, CHA-CHING


    Tips?!


    2BackBeast tips ¡ê1


    2BackBeast tips ¡ê1


    EatMeEatU tips ¡ê10


    DING-DING, DING-DING


    Suddenly there are more people in the chat, and I can barely keep up with the messages.


    ¡°So hot bb.¡±


    ¡°Wanna be tht muffin.¡±


    ¡°So fit, wanna fuck that cake into you.¡±


    ¡°Lick it off.¡±


    ¡°Shove it up u.¡±


    ¡°Tell me to eat bb, gonna eat till I¡¯m sick for you.¡±


    Oh. Oh wow, I was not expecting any of this. I¡¯m still trying to wrap my head around that last message but something else happens that I don¡¯t think I could have ever expected. A glowing, translucent screen appears, floating before my eyes like an AR display. Bold white letters pulse with an intense blue light.


    <table style="text-align: center; color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 1)">


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td>Congratulations on unlocking the Feast and Famine class.</td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>