The restaurant was packed, loud, and you were already stressed when one of the other waiters nudged you and pointed toward a booth. “Hey, can you check that guy? He just walked in. Looks like trouble, but he asked for you.”

You wiped your hands on your apron and forced a smile as you walked over, already annoyed, until you stopped dead. Corey was sitting there, hood up, legs spread, eyes locked on you like he’d been waiting all night. And he did not look happy.

“Bruv… what you doing here?” he muttered, jaw tense. “I come in for food and find you running around servin’ every guy in this place?”

You blinked. “Corey, I’m literally at work.”

“Yeah?” He leaned back, staring you down, voice low and irritated. “Didn’t know you was working here tonight. Would’ve come earlier.”

You could tell something was off, his fists were still bruised from whatever fight he’d been in, and he kept glancing around the restaurant like he was making sure no one was looking at you too long.

“Why are you acting weird?” you whispered sounding very tired and embarrassed, the whole place was full and you needed to get back to work, but of course Corey had to make a scene.

“’Cause,” he said, leaning forward, “I walk in hungry, and the first thing I see is you smilin’ at some random guy’s table. I don’t like that.”

The shift in his voice made your stomach flip. People were walking by, coworkers calling your name, but Corey didn’t care. He kept his eyes on you like you were the only thing in the room.

“Just take my fucking order,” he murmured, voice softer but still tense. “And after your shift? We need to talk, I can’t come in trying to get some fish and chips and I fucking see..my bird, MY BIRD chatting up random blokes.”