"Careful." The pizza chef called out, tossing the crust high into the air above him. Stiles nodded at him, watching the older man work on the dough.
"Yeah, this floor is a bit hard to walk on." Stiles said, nervously adjusting the dark blue apron cinched tight around his waist.
"That's an understatement." The chef said, giving him a wry grin. "You'll get used to it, eventually."
Stiles had no customers, the pizza shop had been open for hours, but business was slow. Normally, friday nights were their busiest night of the week. Stiles grabbed the broom, and started to sweep up the corn meal and bits of produce that covered the kitchen floor. He managed to fill the dustpan three times before Stiles was satisfied that the floor was safe to walk on. This shop had so many health code violations. He wouldn't be surprised if they failed the annual inspection, and got shut down.
He didn't know what to do, as he stood at the counter, fiddling with the stack of take away menus. This was only his third shift, and he was still a bit unfamiliar around the kitchen. He'd been hired by the owner, Peter Hale, after the pizza shop had put an advertisement in the Beacon Hills newspaper looking for students to fill a part-time position. He knew that the pizza chef was Peter's nephew, Derek Hale, and that his niece, Laura, worked as the delivery girl.
Stiles heard AWOL Nation song start to play on the radio behind him, and he started to rap his knuckles lightly against the countertop in time to the music. Completely lost in thought, he didn't even hear the pizza chef behind him calling his name.
"STILES!" The man shouted. Stiles jumped, and turned around.
"Sorry. What?" He asked, embarrassed to be caught daydreaming at work.
"Can you start folding the 12" pizza boxes? We're almost out." He said, gesturing to the pile of flattened boxes in the back of the kitchen.
"Sure, buddy." Stiles said, sliding ungracefully across the wet floor, and leaning down to pick up the first box.
"It's Derek." The chef said.
"Oh, okay." Stiles said. He watched Derek expertly slather the crust with tomato sauce, and reach for the pizza toppings. Stiles took a moment to admire the older man's physique, and Stiles wondered how often a guy would have to work out to get muscles that great looking. Derek paused, and turned to look at Stiles.
"What?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.
"Nothing." Stiles said, looking down at the piece of cardboard in his hands. He could feel his cheeks getting red, as Derek shrugged, and continued working.
Derek wasn't one for conversation, intent on his work. Stiles was used to having someone to talk to, but he hadn't been able to convince his best friend, Scott McCall, to apply for the pizza job. He knew his friend was happy at the animal clinic, not only because he got to take care of injured animals, but because Scott had a fantastic boss named Deaton that he admired as a father figure. Whenever Laura came into the store to pick up the delivery orders, she would often stop for a minute to chat with him, but for most of his shifts, Stiles had no one to talk to.
He found himself staring at Derek again, as he watched the chef bread the chicken wings, and put them into the oven. Derek glanced up as he worked, and saw that Stiles was watching him, but he didn't say anything.
"Can I go on break?" Stiles asked, halfway through his shift. He was parched from the heat emanating from the oven, and his feet were aching.
"Yeah, I'll man the phones." Derek said, mopping the sweat from his brow. "Do me a favour, will you. Go to the grocery store down the street and get me a bag of onions, and a two litre of pepsi. You can keep the change." Derek said, taking a ten dollar bill out of his wallet, and handing it to Stiles.
"Seriously?" Stiles grumbled, taking the money. "Why can't you go to the store. I'll man the ovens." He said, giving Derek a cocky little grin.
"I don't trust you around the oven. And I don't want the place to burn down in my absence. Now get outta here." Derek said, giving Stiles a sarcastic smile.
Stiles took off his apron, and grabbed his bike. He bought Derek's purchases, and pocketed the receipt. He used the change to buy himself a can of pepsi for himself, before heading back to the store. Stiles chained his bike to the sign outside of the building and walked in. The heat from the ovens hit him like a wall, and Stiles could see from the thermomenter that the temperature was nearly fifteen degrees hotter in the store then it was outside.
"Here's your stuff," Stiles said, dropping the onions and the pepsi onto the front counter.
Derek thanked him. He opened the bottle of pepsi, and took a swig, before recapping it and sticking it into the cooler. Stiles popped open his can of pop, and took a sip.
When it was closing time, Derek instructed Stiles to sweep up the floor, and wash down the tables. Stiles grabbed the bottle of cleaner and a rag, and started to vigorously scrub down the table tops.
"I can drive you home as soon as we're finished cleaning up." Derek said, as he filled up the sink with hot water.
"Nah. I got my bike." Stiles said.
"It's nearly midnight." Derek said, eyebrows furrowed together. "I'd feel safer if I drove you home. You can throw your bike in the trunk."
"Dude, nothing bad's gonna happen. It's Beacon Hills, I've lived here all my life." Stiles said.
"How about this, either I drive you home, or you call your dad for a ride?" Derek said, determined to make sure the kid didn't mugged or hit by a car in the middle of the night.
"I'll catch a ride with you." Stiles said, smirking. "But seriously, I don't mind biking."
