Chapter 6 | Extra Shift
1003 Words
Dante's POV
I picked up the extra shift.
12 hours.
Kitchen. Hotel.
2PM to 2AM.
Pay: 1,800 pesos.
I needed 3,600.
For Cassie.
For Friday.
For the woman who paid Mimi’s life with her rent.
Head Chef looked at me when I clocked in.
“You look dead, Morales.”
“I am,” I said.
“Where’s the station?”
I cooked.
Non-stop.
Steaks. Pasta. Salmon. Risotto.
My hands moved on their own. Muscle memory.
My brain didn’t.
My brain was at 4B.
With Mimi.
With Cassie.
Mimi’s fever was gone.
But Cassie’s rent wasn’t.
And I couldn’t fix that with a knife.
At 6PM, my phone buzzed in my pocket.
Cassie:
Mimi ate all the arroz caldo. She’s drawing again. She drew you with a chef hat. You look tired.
I almost smiled.
Almost.
Me: Tell her I’m not tired.
Cassie: Liar.
I put the phone down.
My chest was tight.
At 11PM, my feet hurt.
My back hurt.
My pride hurt more.
Because I was doing this for her.
For a woman I told to go away 5 days ago.
For a woman who stayed anyway.
At 1:30AM, I clocked out.
The hotel gave me leftover bread and chicken.
“Staff meal,” they said.
I took it.
I took the last tricycle home. 80 pesos.
The building was dark.
4A was dark.
4B was dark.
Except for one light.
Under my door.
I opened it.
Cassie was asleep on my couch.
Mimi was on her bed. Sleeping. Safe. Breathing.
Cassie had a blanket over her.
My blanket.
The gray one. The one I’ve had since Lara.
On the table: a bowl. Empty.
And a note.
Her handwriting. Messy. Rushed.
Made you soup. You didn’t eat all day, did you? -C
The soup was cold now.
Chicken. Ginger. Carrots.
I stared at it.
I was supposed to pay her.
She was feeding me.
Again.
I didn’t wake her.
I went to the kitchen. Washed the bowl. Dried it. Put it back.
Then I sat on the floor.
Across from the couch.
2 feet away.
Watching her sleep.
She looked younger when she slept.
Less loud.
Less brave.
Less like the woman who stormed into my life with a sunflower.
There was blue paint on her cheek again.
I shouldn’t.
I did.
I took my thumb.
Wiped it off.
Her skin was soft. Warm.
She stirred.
Eyes opened.
Brown. Blurry.
We were inches apart.
“Dante?”
Her voice was sleep-rough.
“Go home, Cassie.”
“I will,” she said.
“In a minute.”
She sat up.
Hair a mess.
Shirt wrinkled.
She looked at me. Really looked.
“You worked 12 hours,” she said.
“How do you know?”
“Your hands.”
She held my wrist.
Her fingers were warm. Mine were cold. Dead cold.
“Your knuckles are white. From gripping pans too hard.”
I pulled my hand back.
“Don’t,” she said.
Soft.
“Let me.”
She didn’t let go.
“Dante, you don’t have to pay me Friday.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“Because I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me your life,” she said.
“I didn’t save Mimi alone. You did. You held her all night.”
Mimi coughed from the room.
Both of us froze.
Cassie let go.
Stood up.
“I should—”
“Stay,” I said again.
She stopped.
“The couch is yours tonight,” I said.
“I’ll take the floor.”
“Dante—”
“I’m not good at this,” I said.
“At… people. At thanks. At you.
But I’m not stupid.
I know what you did.”
She looked at me.
Really looked.
Like she was trying to see if I meant it.
“Okay,” she whispered.
“Couch.”
I gave her the bed.
She didn’t argue.
I slept on the floor.
2 feet away from her.
I didn’t sleep.
At 4AM, I heard her.
Quiet crying.
The kind you try to hide.
I sat up.
“Cassie?”
She didn’t answer.
I walked to the couch.
She was curled up.
Face in the blanket.
Shaking.
“Hey,” I said.
She looked up.
Eyes red. Puffy.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Why are you crying?”
“Because I’m scared,” she said.
It came out fast. Honest. Ugly.
“My landlord called again. Friday. If I don’t pay, I’m out. And my shop… and I have nothing, Dante. No parents. No savings. Just sunflowers. And a lease I can’t afford.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Words were never my thing.
So I did something stupid.
I sat on the couch.
Next to her.
Not touching.
Just… there.
Shoulder 3 inches from hers.
“You have us,” I said.
She laughed.
Wet. Broken.
“You told me to go away.”
“I was wrong.”
The words hung in the dark.
Heavy. Final.
She stared at me.
Like she didn’t believe me.
Like she was scared to.
“Prove it,” she said.
“How?”
“Don’t tell me to leave again.”
I nodded.
Once.
“Okay.”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Thank you.”
We sat there until 5AM.
Not talking.
Not touching.
Just two people too tired to be alone.
At 6AM, Mimi came out.
Rubbed her eyes.
Hair wild.
“Ate Cass is still here?”
“Yeah, anak,” I said.
Mimi climbed on the couch.
Between us.
Small body. Big warmth.
“Daddy, Ate Cass, can we have pancakes?”
Cassie laughed.
Real.
Loud.
It broke something in the room.
“Yes,” I said.
“Pancakes.”
So I cooked.
Fluffy ones. With honey.
And for the first time in 3 years, breakfast didn’t feel like a chore.
It felt like a beginning.
Like day one.
End of Chapter 6
- Writer
