The second incident happened on a Friday night.
Friday nights at Brio were the worst shifts. The kitchen ran hot, the floor ran loud, and the customers arrived already impatient from their working weeks and expecting the restaurant to fix that. Maya had learned to read the energy of the room by now — which tables were going to be easy, which ones were going to need management, which ones were going to be a problem from the moment they sat down.
Table nine was a problem from the moment they sat down.
Four of them. Late thirties, early forties, the particular energy of people who had been drinking before they arrived and had decided the evening was going to go a certain way regardless of what anyone else thought about it. Two couples. The women were fine — a little loud, laughing at thing
