Surprisingly, the chef tentatively closed the door after the manager and took a seat in one of the 'guest' chairs right near Selene. The bartender swallowed, trying to calm her nerves, and met his eyes. They were the same shade of blue she remembered the first time she met him — like the cold Californian ocean on a sunny day or an autumn—fall—sky right before the sunset.
"Ugh, look, Sir… chef? Mr—" All the thoughts seemed to run faster than her actual brain or mouth could process. "I don't actually know your last name." Selene smiled nervously, trying desperately not to dig that hole even deeper. She was sure enough that the one she had already dug out was quite sufficient for her own funeral.
But she doesn't necessarily mind the prospect of her funeral if Carter was the one intending it
