“Rose!” a voice cut through the loud bustle of the crowd, allowing her to return to her senses. She locked eyes with Richmand, who motioned for her to come to the kitchen door. She sighed, knowing what was coming. Pushing her way past the crowd, she offered a quick apology to the girl who had to clean up after her. Soon enough, she was through the door, with Lewis snickering at her like some overgrown child.

She ignored him as best as she could, though her gaze lingered on the simmering soup for a moment. The thought crossed her mind to nudge the handle and let it spill over, but she pushed it aside and made her way to the back room, where Richmand was waiting to reprimand her. He was already there with Seria, the two of them sitting behind a desk, gesturing to a flimsy chair.

Rose stifled a sigh as she sat down. Richmand’s face was flushed, his voice already rising to that grating pitch she knew all too well. “Again? Another plate, Rose?” He scoffed, glaring at her with clear irritation. “You’ve been here long enough—what’s the problem? You think plates are cheap? You think they come out of thin air? They don’t!” He leaned back, crossing his arms as he looked her over with a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

She didn’t offer him an answer, didn’t try to speak up in her defense or explain what had happened. It was easier to let him run out of steam, apologize, and move on.

“You’re still acting like a skittish little girl!” he continued, shaking his head. “How long have you been here now, hmm? Four, five years? Come on, even the new girls haven’t lost a plate yet.” He let out a dry sigh. “Look, I know it’s crowded in there, but seriously, you’ve been dropping a tray a week. It’s adding up, Rose.”

That’s unfair! Rose thought bitterly. It was more like once every three weeks, and how was it her fault that the men were… men? It was why she’d made padded shorts in the first place!

Richmand rubbed his forehead. “The boss is seriously pissed off at the losses. Plates aren’t cheap, you know.” They were, but Rose held her tongue. The café used hard clay plates, easily made by anyone. They ordered them from a village not far from the city; the shipping probably cost more than the whole batch. In fact she was sure they made that change off her suggestion. “Seriously, Rose, what the hell, if you could just hold a damn tray…” He sighed, shaking his head.

“I…” She opened her mouth to defend herself, but caught herself. She’d complained before, only to get told to shut up and do her job. It was hard to swallow, but the alternative was losing her job just because she couldn’t hack it. She wasn’t about to let some man’s grab cost her the only free meal she got each day.

“Just keep your head down and do your job,” Seria added with a shrug. “You know the costs add up.” She let out a satisfied little giggle, clearly enjoying the chance to chastise her. “I mean, seriously, this is your third time in two weeks. I don’t know what they taught you in that backwater village you call home, but you’re in Marchenne now. People here don’t take kindly to girls who think they’re too good for a…” She gave Rose a knowing smile. “…friendly hand.”

So she saw everything, did she? Rose thought bitterly. She probably encouraged Mim to steal my shorts too. Bitch.

That so-called ‘friendly hand’ deserved to be cut off. But she could only grit her teeth. Richmand sighed, shaking his head. “I’m docking your pay again!” Ah yes, there went her money. Clay dishes might be cheap, but the cost to her was high, enough that she kept track of every slice of bread she could afford.

And it dug deep into her savings for the dishwasher.

“I don’t know what they do in the sticks, but it’s clear you have a problem. Seriously, you should whore yourself out a bit; at your age, you won’t get much, but maybe you’ll be less jumpy around men.” The suggestion was dead serious, and Rose’s eyes widened in shock.

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“You can’t be serious,” Rose stammered, looking between them.

“See, this is what I’m talking about,” he scoffed. “You take everything so personally! None of this is an attack on you. It’s a good suggestion, right?” He turned to Seria, gesturing for her to back him up.

“Honestly, it might do you some good,” Seria replied without hesitation. “At your age, you’d probably only attract older men, but they could teach you how to be more generous with the little attention you receive.”

Rose could only blink, too stunned to respond.

“Now get your ass out there and smile, for fuck’s sake.”

A silence echoed in Rose’s heart, and before she could think, she acted. She ripped off her full-body apron and tossed it to the floor. “I quit!” Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and stomped off.

The manager threw his arms up as she walked away. “Fine! See if I care!” Shaking his head, he looked at Seria. “Seriously, after all I've done for her.” He tutted, dusting his hands off as if he were done with her for good.

Seria shrugged. “Good riddance, I say. She was here before I arrived. Honestly, can you imagine not being married before nineteen?” She giggled and took an extra second to step on the crumpled apron. “Trevor and I are already trying for our first child.” She smiled, rubbing her hand over her belly with satisfaction.

“Ah, she…” He leaned back in his chair, letting out a small sigh. “She wasn’t always like that. She managed well enough and even came up with a few good ideas for the café. That ‘grab-and-go’ thing? That was hers—prepping food before we opened.”

“Ah, so that’s why you tolerated her. I was wondering.” Seria let out a giggle, clearly pleased that the old crow was finally gone.

Richmand rubbed the ache in his temple. “Yeah… I guess.” He shook his head, looking Seria up and down. She was about 18, came from good city stock, and, after a few years of solid work, knew more than most about being a waitress in a café.

“Is…” he trailed off, choosing his words carefully. “Is there something to what she said? You know, about the men and how they…”

Seria tilted her head, giving him a look of mild surprise before bursting into laughter. “About the abusive work environment? Gods, no!” She waved a hand dismissively, and Richmand let out a breath, relieved. Of course. It was just Rose being dramatic.

“Seriously, men will be men,” Seria continued with a chuckle. “Besides, this place is great—better then any other place I worked at, all our girls have padding.” She grinned at the little enhancement the café generously offered them. The padding gave a bit of protection and just enough extra appeal to keep the men coming back day after day.

“Another one of her ideas…” Richmand sighed, remembering his initial confusion when Rose had first suggested it. She’d called it something to cushion the blows of the men’s casual slaps. Blows. That was the word she’d used. He’d initially dismissed her right then, but she had made one for herself anyway, spending a bit of coin on it as well. He would have dismissed her as crazy but the difference had caught his attention; it definitely felt… softer.

It also helped keep her from dropping trays when the men bumped into her. He narrowed his eyes. “Wait. Didn’t she have those shorts herself?” He looked at Seria, his brows knitting together. The padding should have kept her from reacting so… shocked. It usually worked, anyway. Unless something truly egregious had happened.

Seria quickly averted her gaze. “Ah, there was a problem with the lockers,” she mumbled, shifting uncomfortably, sneaking only a quick glance his way.

“What happened?” he pressed, his tone darkening.

Seria straightened under his gaze. “Uh, well, M-Mim forgot her padding, and we thought Rose wasn’t coming in today, so we gave it to her and, uh…” She swallowed, hoping he’d accept the excuse.

“Whatever,” he said at last, waving her off. She slipped out quickly, a little too relieved, he noted. There was probably more to it, but it wasn't something to worry about. Rose was well past her prime; he probably should have dismissed her years ago. Still, he liked her—or at least her ideas. If women could manage these affairs, he’d have hired her in an instant. But women weren’t suited for such roles, were they? Sure, she had good ideas, but he was the one who had to make them happen.

He sighed, standing up he walked over and picked up her crumpled apron from the floor. Leaning against his desk, he looked at it thoughtfully. Maybe he could show her a little kindness. She was too old to work but still didn't have a family to look after her. She would definitely have a hard time finding work. She’d be back soon enough, and he could take pity on her when she begged for her job back. After all, wasn’t it a man’s duty to look after women in need?