Molley joined the rest of the girls shortly after Rose sat down, grabbing the last sandwich from the tray before slipping into a seat to eat. She cast Rose a quick, sideways look, catching her eye for a moment before focusing back on her food. Her expression was a little vacant, but she still ate quickly.
Watching her, Rose felt a little lighter. Most girls didn’t believe her if she ever tried to warn them. Lewis had a good job and could be quite charming. Even if the girls didn’t care for him, he brought with him the promise of a stable life. Cooking wasn’t dangerous, especially if it was just for commoners and it could be quite profitable.
Most girls just labeled her as jealous, like Mim, who took her frustrations out on Rose because she had no other way to vent when it turned out that her words were true. Over the years, Rose had stopped worrying much about making friends, especially since most girls didn’t stay longer than two pillars. But it was nice to have a good rapport with the newest girl this season, at least.
It was lonely, constantly being the object of others’ misplaced resentment. She glanced over at Mim and her little group of friends. Mim’s eyes narrowed as she caught Rose looking, and she quickly turned to her friends, whispering in hushed voices. They giggled, and Rose shook her head. What were they, in middle school? Still she couldn’t really hate the girl for her childish antics. After all she was left with an exorbitant bill that she would likely never be able to pay off in her life. One that wasn't even her debt to pay.
At least she managed to save one or two girls from that womanizer each year. She wished she could say it made it all worth it, but honestly… he could cook. Lewis might have been a letch, but his skill was undeniable. Rose could understand why so many fell for his tricks as she savored her sandwich. It was one of the few things that kept her coming back to this job—a free meal from a master chef. The food was more than just soft and warm; even though it was only an egg between two slices of bread, it was masterfully crafted, tasting far better than anything she could make—even with the finest ingredients.
And this place most certainly did not have the finest ingredients. The café had been intended to attract high-class patrons, though it had long since missed its mark. It still kept a “fine dining” menu, but with ingredients better suited to commoners allowing the price to be payable by commoners. Nobles might scoff, but the hardworking townsfolk? They were the ones keeping the café in business, and they couldn’t tell the difference between Gruyère and cheddar. Cheese was cheese.
Rose took a generous bite, feeling the bread crackle beneath her teeth, the crust toasted to perfection. The taste of warm, melted butter mixed with the rich yolk of the egg, its edges just crisped enough to add a hint of smokiness. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the only luxury she could ever have in this city.
Still it was over way too fast. Even though Rose took her time savoring each bite, she still finished second, with Seria beating. The blonde was already pouring over the ledger Richmand had handed her. He ate leisurely, enjoying the privilege that came with being in charge, while the girls needed to finish quickly before the day began because the second it did the food was either tossed or they would lose pay for being ‘lazy’.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
As the last bites were taken and the plates emptied, a soft but distinct horn sounded through the thick stone walls, signaling the mandated midday break for the entire workforce of the city. Instantly, the girls sprang into action. One gathered the dishes, another whisked them away to the kitchen for washing, while the rest straightened chairs, brushed crumbs from the tables, and made quick adjustments to ensure everything looked presentable.
While none of their customers would actually care about such details, Richmand was a stickler for order. Once the workday starts, you worked, or you’d loose money. Soon enough, the door could be heard scraping open, and the first customers strode in—gruff, sturdy men with a worn look that spoke of long hours shifting heavy boxes from one cart to the next. The main road led through the city and was wide enough to handle thousands of carts each day, the route lined with hundreds of massive warehouses. These teamsters were the city’s backbone, unloading thousands of carts and distributing them to where they needed to go.
While they sat in tables, the day started, settling into a steady rhythm, as usual. Rose moved from table to table, the men hardly glancing up as they placed their orders—a medley of hearty, traditional dishes featuring thick stews, rich cheeses, and dense bread fresh from the oven. Many were regulars, choosing this place either for its proximity to their work or the shelter it offered from the blazing sun. Most already knew what they wanted, their gruff voices rumbling with familiar orders while other rushed to the counter, paying for a meal to go, the cafe’s speciality.
As the day progressed, every seat was taken, and the door stopped swinging open. It would have been a relief to see the crowd thin, but the café was cramped, with tables shoved close together, leaving only narrow walkways for them to squeeze through. Rose had to navigate carefully, pushing past customers in a space where it was impossible to move without brushing against someone.
She squeezed between chairs and dodged elbows jutting out from benches. Moving through the crowded space always felt like threading through a maze that changed with each step. She was forced to brush shoulders as she passed or dodge the occasional foot in her path. All while holding a tray of food and drink. Sometimes, a hand found its way to ‘help’ her, lingering too long, or even giving her a less than gentle well done, but she quickened her pace to shake it off.
As the lunch rush started to come to a close, Rose could barely catch her breath. Sure she could walk 4 hours a day no problem but after some time the already heavy trey grew heavy with every step around the restaurant. Sweat gathered at her temples. She worked her way to a table in the far corner, where a group of regulars waited, their rough laughter rising above the noise as they talked over each other joining the jovial customers who had one to many beers. She set down their orders with practiced precision, placing each dish with a quick nod in acknowledgment before grabbing the empty ones.
Just as she turned to leave, a hand shot out, grabbing her firmly on the backside. The touch was unmistakably deliberate, rough fingers pressing into her as a cheerful voice cried in her ear, “Thanks, Rosie.”
Rose’s body tensed, a surge of irritation and something almost sharper flashing through her. She clenched her jaw, but the grip made her jolt, and her hand slipped. The tray tilted, and a plate slid off, shattering against the stone floor with a sharp crack.
Around her, the café continued as usual. The men hardly glanced up, carrying on without a care while her pulse hammered in her ears, a rush of frustration blurring her vision. Behind her, the man’s snicker twisted into her thoughts, sharp as the broken shards at her feet. Once again, she was reminded that in this world, she was a mere fixture here, a part of the scenery—expected to smile, serve, and brush off every rough hand, with nothing in return but the taste of a cold meal and a few small coins.