Chapter 21: Scent (Part 1).
“Ding! Ding!”
The order bell chimed. Hoshiya Kaoru, wiping tables in the front, neatly folded his cloth onto the cart, lifted the curtain separating front and back, and stepped into the kitchen to fetch finished dishes for waiting guests.
Kawasaki izakaya now ran on four: Grandma and Rika prepped in the kitchen; Grandpa and Kaoru handled the floor.
Multiple stoves blazed, turning the space into a massive steamer—far hotter than the front.
Entering, Kaoru’s eyes sought the pass for ready plates but inadvertently caught Rika at the charcoal grill.
She was drenched: sweat beading forehead, temples, neck; strands plastered to skin.
Her once-white cotton tank clung soaked, patchy dark and light, semi-transparent—hinting at the black sports bra beneath.
Raised with grandparents, often in the shop, her cooking skills were no surprise.
Dual skewers in hand, she flipped them deftly over coals, occasionally dabbing her face with the towel-necklace.
Sustained effort and heat flexed her toned arms—muscles rippling with power.
Kaoru’s glance skimmed fast, no lingering—as if the rising steam and her sweat-slick form scorched.
Head down, he hurried to the pass, grabbed the tray of grilled fish and stew, and slipped back to cooler front.
After serving and handling scattered orders, it was 10:30 PM.
Peak over—no more bells or raised hands.
Two-three nonstop hours; the crew finally breathed.
Unfit from little exercise, Kaoru’s calves ached, muscles quivering protest.
He rubbed his sore lower back, claimed a sturdy wooden stool in a quiet bar corner, and sighed quietly.
Head tilted back, weary eyes on the old wall clock: half-hour to close.
He pondered when Aina might pick him up tonight.
He’d told her clearly: shifts end early, he’d get home safe—no need.
Yet these nights, she stubbornly appeared—waiting outside or nearby corner.
Warm helplessness stirred; ripples beneath.
She still treated him like a child needing fetch. Behind it: wariness of other women in the shop… especially the one in the kitchen.
Lost in thought, staring at nothing—
Curtain lifted; Rika strode out.
Eager to cool, she hiked her soaked tank hem with the towel, wiping glistening waist sweat, heading straight for the old wall fridge.
Door open, she fished a chilled oolong tea, twisted cap one-handed effortlessly.
Head back, gulping loud “glug”s—bottle emptied in one go.
Tossed empty; eyes shifted, landing on the daydreaming man nearby.
He sat quiet, side profile soft in dim light—unguarded, dazed look tickling her heart-tip oddly.
She grabbed another tea, strode over.
“Here.”
Arm extended, cold bottle thrust into his downcast view.
“Th—”
Startled by tea and voice, he began thanks, lifting head.
Facing Rika fully: thick, tangy sweat—sun-baked grass and leather—wafted with her lingering heat, overwhelming his nose.
Breath hitched.
“Th… thank you…”
Lashes dropped, hiding fleeting daze—no rude wrinkle or cover.
Soft thanks; he took the tea.
Struggled with cap, sipped small—cool liquid easing heat and subtle unease.
But Rika didn’t leave.
Towel slung over shoulder, she leaned casually against the bar edge beside him—close enough for her residual warmth.
Phone out, thumb scrolling idly—planning to kill break time here.
[So fragrant…]
Rika seemed phone-focused, but mind elsewhere.
Nose twitching, silent inner sigh.
That faint scent—she’d caught it earlier, outside the dim warehouse, when he brushed past…