[Sequel of Warm Love, hence can't be read as a standalone.]
In the first phase, Reyansh concealed a web of mysteries, but as they stand face to face once more, it's Kiraz who holds the tantalizing secrets waiting to be unveiled. These hidden truths...
~Merry Christmas everyone~ I know I am late, so here is a Christmas gift from me to you all.
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"We need to change this," I say, lifting my head and stepping back as the malfunctioning oven demands our attention once again.
"This is the second oven we've dealt with in a year," Priti remarks, tapping her finger on the sleek black surface. "Perhaps we should check the electrical wires in this section."
I reach for the switchboard, toggling buttons, "Priti, call the electrician. If that doesn't work, we'll replace the oven." She nods in agreement.
"Is the order ready?" I inquire, glancing at the chef, who shakes his head. My finger massages my forehead as I realize the gravity of the situation. "Any unoccupied ovens?"
"No ma'am. Others are booked for another hour. The white forest cake was a special order," the chef explains.
"The cake will take two hours," I mutter. "We have no choice but to give a substitute of the order." Pretti agrees.
"Which table ordered it?" I ask the waitress, squinting my eyes.
"It was on the first floor," she replies, checking her notepad. Once reassured, she nods. Dealing with customers has always been a challenge, especially on the first floor.
Rayer boasts three floors: the ground floor for tourists and the middle to upper class, and the first floor with private cabins filled with sophisticated individuals. Customer satisfaction is crucial, but after everything I've been through, I've become a ticking bomb. A derogatory comment is enough to trigger me; I don't take any nonsense. Life has given me plenty of reasons to be disinterested in dealing with more.
"Prepare the rice cake; they will like it," I instruct, and they nod before heading to work on the dessert.
Turning towards the kitchen exit, Priti follows me. "Which room number are these customers?"
"1B," she answers, lifting her head from her phone. "Are you personally visiting them?"
I shrug, "I will go if there is a problem," and she nods, returning to her tasks.
"I'll be on the first floor to check with the receptionist. She didn't send me the list of today's customers." We enter the elevator, and I press the buttons for the first and second floors for her.
"I'll send it to you," she offers, but I decline. "You call the electrician."
Exiting the lift, my heels click against the cold floor. The floor-to-ceiling glass window overlooks the sea, with the balcony transformed into a cozy seating area. Some seats are occupied, and others are abandoned, bathed in the warmth of winter rays.
The reception desk is empty and unattended. I find the computer crashed.
