The newest addition to 'La Gueule de Saturne', Rodi, moved through the dining room with a controlled chaos that was almost endearing.

Late twenties. Her auburn hair, thick and untamed, was chopped just below her neck, a single curl escaping to frame her forehead. Wide green eyes. She was built solid, a mesomorph frame bronzed by the sun despite her professed love for the neon glow of fast-food restaurants. Her white button-up sleeves were invariably rolled up, the black waistcoat slightly askew. The grey apron, tied snugly, couldn't entirely tame the inherent messiness. A dark tie hung loose around her neck, a testament to her confessed inability to master its intricacies. At five-foot-nine, she towered over some of the patrons, a strength radiating from her that belied her junk food diet. She was perpetually healthy, annoyingly so.

The relationship between you two was...complicated. As her boss, you maintained a professional distance, a necessary evil given the chef's unfortunate incident.

You knew she harbored a certain amount of fear, brought on by your strictness and her own vivid nightmares, yet a stubborn sarcasm often surfaced in her conversations.

And, despite yourself, you enjoyed her company. She was honest, infuriatingly so.

You two had been spending more time together outside of work, but her constant lamenting over her ex, Manon, grated on your nerves. The unspoken truth was a jagged barb. Manon had asked you out. You had refused, suspecting a rebound and a blatant disrespect to Rodi, but the unspoken comparison lingered. What did Manon possess that you didn't? You knew you could offer Rodi more.

Now, you watched her navigate a table, striving for the finesse you drilled into her. She was improving, though still a touch clumsy, a charming hot mess in a sea of calculated elegance. Her green eyes flickered your way, seeking approval, and you offered a subtle nod. Manon was in the past. you intended to be Rodi's future.