Tales of a Sugar Daddy

Chapter 4 A Busy Night

The moment Caspian stepped into the Lamplighter, he knew something was wrong. The restaurant was usually a well-oiled machine, its energy shifting from slow afternoons to a steady evening rush without much disruption. But tonight, it was chaos.

The scent of seared meat and rosemary filled the air, mingling with the faint bitterness of burnt coffee from the bar. The voices of customers overlapped, rising in volume as they flagged down already overwhelmed servers.

“Where the hell is Brad?” Mariah muttered under her breath as she poured a glass of bourbon with precision that didn’t match her irritation.

Caspian barely needed to ask. He already knew. Brad wasn’t coming. Again.

“Should we bother calling him?” Michelle, the newest waitress, asked as she rushed past, balancing a tray of cocktails.

“No point,” Mariah scoffed, sliding a drink to a customer before looking up at Caspian. “We’re gonna need all hands tonight. You in, Frost?”

Caspian rolled up his sleeves, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. He didn’t need to be.

This job wasn’t a necessity. He didn’t rely on the paycheck, didn’t have to put up with impatient guests, last-minute schedule changes, or filling in when some useless kid decided to flake. But despite all that, he stepped forward.

“I’m in,” he said simply, already grabbing a notepad.

Mariah smirked. “Knew you wouldn’t leave us to die.”

Caspian ignored the comment, weaving his way through the floor, assessing the situation.

The restaurant was at full capacity, every table occupied, the line at the host stand growing by the minute. The kitchen doors swung open and shut at a rapid pace, heat and tension spilling out into the dining area with every movement. And then he saw her. Laura.

She was moving fast—taking orders, coordinating with the chefs, answering questions from the staff—handling everything at once. She wasn’t just delegating. She was holding the place together.

There was no hesitation in the way she moved, no sign of panic despite the strain of the night. But Caspian could see the subtle signs of exhaustion—the slight tightening of her jaw, the controlled inhale before she turned to another table with a practiced smile.

This wasn’t supposed to be her role tonight. But like him, she had stepped in because she had to. Caspian didn’t think about it. He just moved.

Table 12 needed drink refills—he took care of it. Table 6 had been waiting too long for their food—he went to check with the kitchen, subtly pushing their order to the front. A couple at the bar complained about their missing appetizer—he got it sent out before they could call over a manager.

Efficiency. That was what mattered. Not Laura. Not the fact that she was handling twice the workload she should have been. And certainly not the fact that, for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t thinking about anything else but keeping up with her.

Caspian didn’t have to look at Laura to know she was aware of him. Their movements had synchronized naturally, without effort or conversation. If she turned toward a table, he was already handling it. If he needed something from the bar, Mariah had it ready before he asked. It was instinctual, a kind of rhythm that shouldn’t have been there—but was.

The night relentlessly pushed forward, and the restaurant continued testing their limits. A waiter dropped a tray, glass shattering across the floor near the bar. Caspian was already moving, guiding customers away while Michelle grabbed a broom.

“Stay back,” he told a man reaching for his coat, stepping past the glass. “Let us clean it up first.”

The customer grumbled but listened. Laura arrived just as Michelle finished sweeping, handing her a new tray without pausing her stride. They didn’t need to speak. They just handled it.

And for the first time since Caspian had started working at the Lamplighter, he noticed how different it was to work alongside someone rather than just exist in the same space. That thought should have irritated him.

Instead, he found himself caught in the realization that he didn’t mind. Not tonight. Another table flagged him down, breaking the thought before it could settle into something more.

A wealthy businessman—the entitled type—sat with two colleagues, swirling his whiskey glass as he motioned Caspian over with a flick of his wrist.

“This steak is overcooked,” the man said, nudging his plate forward. Caspian barely glanced at it. It wasn’t.

“I’ll have the kitchen fix it,” Caspian said smoothly, reaching for the plate.

The man stopped him with a raised hand. “I don’t want it fixed. I want it comped.”

Caspian exhaled through his nose. He had dealt with men like this before—entitled, used to getting their way, convinced that throwing around money made them superior.

“Sir, the chef can remake your order,” he said, tone even. “But we don’t comp dishes unless there’s been an actual mistake.”

The man scoffed. “And you decide that?”

Caspian was about to respond when a familiar presence arrived at his side. Laura. He hadn’t even seen her move toward them.

Her voice was calm, measured. “If there was an issue, we’re happy to correct it. But I personally checked with the kitchen. The order was made exactly as requested.”

The businessman leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking between them. He had expected an easy win, a comped meal just because he asked. Now? He was up against something else entirely.

Caspian could see it—the slight shift in the man’s demeanor, the brief hesitation before he waved them both away. “Forget it,” he muttered. “Just bring the check.”

Laura nodded, not sparing another glance as she turned and walked away. Caspian followed.

At the bar, she exhaled, rubbing the bridge of her nose before giving him a look.

“You handled that well,” he remarked.

She huffed. “You sound surprised.”

His lips curved slightly. “I’m not.”

Their eyes met for a fraction too long. Then, just as quickly, the moment passed. Caspian turned, sliding back into the flow of work as if nothing had happened. Because nothing had. Right?

The night stretched on, and as the last guests trickled out, the energy in the restaurant finally shifted. The chaos settled into exhaustion. The kitchen shut down, chairs were stacked, and conversations grew quieter.

Laura stood near the bar, arms crossed, surveying the space with the same quiet intensity she always did. Caspian rolled his sleeves back down, preparing to leave, but he lingered for a moment longer than usual. He wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was the rhythm of the night, the way they had moved together like they had done this for years instead of just one chaotic shift. Or maybe… maybe something was changing.

He pushed the thought away, grabbed his coat, and stepped toward the door. Laura didn’t look up as he left. And that was fine. Because tomorrow, everything would go back to normal.

At least, that’s what he told himself.