“Hey…. Water, not breadsticks.” Greta snaps me out of my daze, and I look down and realize I am filling a glass pitcher with them instead of liquid and sigh at my stupidity. Tutting outwardly and dragging them back out. We have been open again for a few days, getting back into the swing of things, and yet it feels like two years ago again when I was learning the ropes.
“What’s with you lately? You’re distracted and vacant most of the time. Are you feeling unwell?” She leans over and presses the back of her hand to my forehead to check my temperature, and I wave her away. Knowing I’m not ill and my temperature is average.
“I’m fine; just a little tired, is all.” While working here, I haven't been energized, splitting my time between Jyeon and Greta and not sleeping enough. A lot of s**t h
