Meh. Another chapter. Yepyep, on a Rae/Roy binge.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Pit. Really awesome pulled pork if you happen to be travelling through Iowa.

Judgement

He didn't like her. Sure she was hot, but she was also one of them. She hailed from the heart of Jump City, making her a snotty, uptight, close minded urbanite.

Hell, the outfit she wore on her first day as a pastry chef was case in point. It was a messy job and she'd worn a suit. Like wearing jeans was beneath her no matter what she was doing.

And, as he suspected, she took her job way too seriously. It was like she had a stick up her ass as she sat there trying to figure out what to make. As though it were more extravagant than food for hungry patrons who couldn't give a damn what she made and probably wouldn't order much of her shit come lunch rush.

He knew she'd leave soon and he couldn't wait for that day.

"Hey, wanna try one of Rachael's pies?" Karen offered, thrusting the tray in his face. He nearly refused, however, she was giving him 'the look'.

It was her managerial bordering-on-mother stare that told him 'be-nice-or-else.'

As the manager, she hated discord among her employees, whom she viewed as family. Unfortunately for him, the New Girl seemed to worm her way into Karen's good graces already.

Bitterly, he snatched one of the small pies fully intending to take a bite then loudly proclaim it was shit before throwing it away. However, when he took a large bite, he found himself literally unable to say anything suitable to the present moment.

No, he was lost in thought. He was suddenly reminded of his senior prom night. He'd rented the limo, organised the group of his track friends, borrowed his tux and picked up her corsage. Everything started out perfectly as his girlfriend of two and a half years, Jade, arrived looking spectacular. They were all in time and took loads of photos, the parents all crooning over their young sons and daughters looking "all grown up".

They all went to dinner at the diner—it used to be the place for late-night grub of all kinds-before heading out to the prom. Most years, the dance was hosted at their school, however, that year in an effort to economise, they'd merged their prom with another school not too far away.

Exiting the short stretch of highway, the limo's engine promptly died. All the guys tried to take a look at it, however, they soon realised there was no fixing it. They called a towing company from the city, however, he couldn't promise to be there before 1am. The dance ended at 2.

Just as they were about to call their families, however, another kid from the track team asked the limo driver to play some music from the radio. He blasted it and they all had their own impromptu prom in the small patch of grass, laughing and dancing, bonding even more as a team. And while they enviously listened to other people's accounts of the dance that Monday at school, they were all pretty happy with how their night had turned out. The night before everything changed.

He smiled wistfully at the memory, surprised that he was reliving it as he ate pie. It sounded like a horrible joke, however, he couldn't really explain it. He had no idea what triggered the memory—so vividly too, as though it were yesterday.

He finished the pie in another two bites, silently admiring the power it held. So maybe she did take her job too seriously but she was damn good at it.

He turned, making his way to the oven room—to apologise? Commend her? The hell if he knew—and stopped.

She was there, her back to him, as she leaned against the metal countertop, her fingers lazily tapping its sides as she was lost in her own thoughts—memories.

He frowned, feeling bad seeing her all alone, dwarfed by the ovens who were her only companions. And although he didn't like her—didn't trust her not to leave when something better came along, as it inevitably would for her—he felt wrong ignoring her. He didn't like to see women suffer and—whether he liked it or not—that extended to her.

"You know, you can always go out there, it's where most of us hang out before we open the doors," he offered, unsure of what else to add.

She nodded, "Thanks."

Her voice was effervescent, almost light enough to make him question whether he'd heard it at all. Clearly, she was thinking about her own bittersweet memory—though hers must've been more bitter than sweet.

"That may have been the best thing I've ever eaten," he tried, approaching her slowly as though she were a skittish animal. He stopped next to her, leaning against the counter in the same way.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he asked, "So what's someone like you doing working this far out of the city?"

"Someone like me?" She prompted.

"You know what I mean," he snapped, wishing he hasn't come to speak to her, "City born and raised. Well educated. Taught to think about climbing the corporate ladder, not being a pastry chef in some out-of-the-way diner."

She flinched at the acid in his voice.

(And maybe because he was a little right.)

Still, he refused to cave, "So, again, I ask. What's someone like you doing working all the way out here?"

"I could ask you the same question," she retorted.

He frowned, her deflecting answers were doing nothing to help her.

"What do you mean?" He asked gruffly, his unhappiness masked partially by curiosity.

"I mean...you're also clearly well-educated. What're you doing back?"

Now it was his turn to flinch.

"I don't do well in cities," he replied tersely.

"Neither do I, apparently," she countered easily, turning her attention to removing her pies from the oven in a vain attempt to discourage him from asking why.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She sighed, her shoulders sagging—whether with the weight of memory or the large pie tray she was transporting to the countertop, he couldn't say, "Just that I've managed to screw up all of my prospects within a hundred mile radius."

He shot her a quizzical look, "So you're running from something?"

She frowned, "I would call it laying-low."

(She still wasn't making eye contact.)

"Same difference," he snapped, suddenly feeling a new wave of hostility.

She gave a gusty sigh, "Now what?"

"What happens when you no longer need to run? Why then? Do you just leave?"

She shrugged, "If I feel like it, why not?"

Finally, her gaze met his. Fire lurked under the surface of her striking violet eyes—a challenge if he ever saw one.

"So...it wouldn't matter that you're the best chef we've ever had or that the people here will grow to like you and count you as a fixture in their lives? That doesn't matter to you?" He interrogated, his gaze fuming at the flippant girl before him.

"I never said that," she stated evenly, removing another tray and shooing him aside so she could lay it next to the other tray of cooling pies.

"Then what?" He snapped.

"I said I'd leave if I felt like it. If I like this job, then I'd stay."

He huffed, "You're all the same. You define success and happiness by your pocketbook."

A small ghost smile appeared on her face, "Ah, I didn't realise. Thanks for explaining that one to me."

He growled, almost ready to throttle her until she continued, "I meant what I said. If I like it here, I'd have no problem settling. But I will not stay here if I'm unhappy."

She shrugged, finally removing her tray with the warm, flaky mouth-watering pain au chocolat on it.

"And what do you think about it here so far?" He asked, forcing himself to calm down. Still, he couldn't help it. They'd had too many people come and go—too many disappointments for Karen—for him to be anything other than thorough. He hated the glimmer of sadness in Karen's eyes when they were abandoned—their last pastry chef case-in-point.

Her gaze flickered up to meet his, her eyes boring into his with an intensity he hadn't even known possible as she stated, "I'm not sure yet. It's a pretty mixed bag."

He frowned. He wanted to tell her why he was acting like an ass, however, just as he was contemplating doing so, Karen nearly skipped in announcing, "First customers of the morning! Let's get to it!"

He followed his chipper manager out to the kitchens, eager to get away from the idea that, if she did leave, it might be his fault.

The day passed by mostly without incident. Unsurprisingly, the people that tried her items loved them. And many of the patrons were eager to talk to her—to come up with their own conclusions about the new girl. He hated the fact that everyone seemed to take to her so quickly.

(Did they not see that she was merely an opportunist?)

No, the best thing about his day was probably watching her trying to manage in those heels. Sure they made her ass look nice but he couldn't help but will her to fall ungracefully on the floor.

(She didn't. Though it took some effort.)

"Something up?" he heard Karen ask.

"No, why?"

"You've been glaring daggers at Rachael all day. You're usually not so rude."

"I'm not being rude. I just don't like her."

She sent him a hard stare, "You could try to. It's her first day, give her some time before you just make up your mind."

He frowned, unhappy that she was taking the other girl's side.

"You trust too quickly, Bee."

"And if you don't extend some trust, you lose people. If you even want a chance of her staying on permanently, she has to feel invested—part of this family. And you're. Not. Helping."

He sighed, "Fine."

"Thanks," she said, wandering off to talk to the New Girl as she waited for her bus. The bus stop was just across the road and, after 10 years of working there, Ernie waited at the stop a bit longer so that Karen could wait in the diner and walk over when he arrived.

So she passed the time cleaning tables and socialising, usually with him or Garth, who took care of moping the floors and wiping down the kitchen. Today, though, the New Girl was helping her wipe down the tables and stack the chairs. Which he grudgingly admitted was nice of her.

"Hey, we should totally get some dinner tomorrow night, welcome you to the team and all!" Karen stated enthusiastically, seemingly out of the blue.

"You really don't have to make a big fuss over me," Rachael muttered, her cheeks dusting a light shade of pink as they all looked at her for her reaction.

"I insist. It'll be fun."

"I have so much to do right now," the girl pressed, "I really couldn't. I have to unpack still."

He was surprised when he blurted, "This weekend we'll all go to yours on Saturday to help you unpack. You'll be done in a day, tops."

Her gaze met his, searching for malice. Upon finding none, she muttered, "I really couldn't ask you all to do that."

"Nonsense!" Karen replied, "We'll make it fun. Besides, if we don't welcome you here, who will?"

She chuckled, finally acquiescing.

After a pause, Karen asked, "Roy or Rachael, would either of you be able to give me a ride tomorrow?"

"Of course," Rachael replied quickly, "Though you'll probably have to act as my GPS."

She laughed, "I'd be happy to."

Her comment earned a small smile from the reclusive girl, who was finally glad to be doing something right.

"So...where are we going tomorrow, then?"

"The Pit," came Garth's level voice from the kitchen.

Almost simultaneously, Roy also answered, "The Pit."

She chuckled, "Ugh, they know me too well. It's nothing too fancy but they have the best pulled pork this side of the Mississippi."

She tilted her head to the side as she regarded them, "Pulled pork?"

"Girl, you've never had pulled pork? You haven't lived. Get ready for the greatest experience of your life tomorrow."

The corners of her mouth lifted into a half-smile, "Can't wait."

Karen smiled warmly, glad to finally have another woman on the team. One who was sensible, anyway.

Seeing the bus, she grabbed her things and called, "Don't forget to lock up Garth! I'll see you guys tomorrow!"

She then went about finishing up cleaning with the guys, trying to avoid Roy as much as possible (and was glad when she managed to escape any real conversation with him).

So far she liked Karen. Garth seemed nice, if not really quiet. (Much like herself.)

But Roy...

If there was anything that would spoil her time at the diner, he would be it.

Thoughts? I'm not too sure about this one—it's a bit rushed but I wanted to do something mainly from Roy's perspective. I'm thinking of alternating chapter perspectives, though I'm not sure I want to limit my story to that. Meh, we'll see.

Please drop a review if you have the chance!~