A sample of the dish solidifies my final adjustments to flavor for perfect alignment.
By the time I send it out, Jordy and I are huddled together and scared to death.
A kitchen is always chaos, but most of the line cooks and others have gone home already. The kitchen is being scrubbed down for the next day as people linger over the remains of their meals.
Stanton notoriously likes to visit at the end of a dinner service, just to see how well the kitchen has planned for the evening. Missing any items is seen as an inefficiency of the kitchen and the Executive Chef who planned the menu. The waiter waits with us, nervously mentioning every few minutes how Stanton ate almost all his main course.
Except I’m not worried about the main course. I have no doubts about Matt’s ability to impress Stanton. The dessert has to be good enough for Stanton, or I’ve done nothing but shoot myself in the foot, all for the sake of trying to help Matt.
The waiter leaves when Stanton stands and drops his napkin. He comes back in with barely contained happiness . . .and an empty plate.
“Jesus Christ,” I breathe, leaning against the steel table. “That’s a good sign.”
“Not just a sign. After he was done, he asked if Chef was here tonight. And then he asked if the pastry chef was.”
The comment snaps me back to reality. “No. That can not happen and, in fact, I am not here. Tell him Patricia has already left.”
“But. . .”
“No buts, Jordy. You asked for my help, and it was freely given.” Fuck, the sharp sting starts behind my eyes now that it’s time for me to pay up for the choice I made. “You tell Matt that. He will figure it out.”
I gather my things and leave before anyone can ask any more questions.
All my things fit neatly into the backpack once more, and all I have to do is sneak Mulder into Matt’s condo or Quinn’s office. At least this time I am starting out with decent clothes for the weather, shelf-stable food, and cash.
I will need to be long gone before Nico and Deny hear about what happened tonight. I used Frank’s best lessons for that dessert, and it will be obvious to those who know. Not to mention how gossipy the culinary world is.
But if I’m not here, Nico has no reason to hurt Summit House. He only wants to hurt me.
There is no ending here where I take over Pat’s role.
At least there is no Deny. No, this time, I am running from me.
And Nico. “Fucking Nico,” I mumble, trying to will the anger to take over the despair. Shaky breaths stutter through me. I can hold off the breakdown until I get out of town. It isn’t anything new.
My bus leaves soon, but I need Glenda Rosen from the second floor to get the paperwork about her window order. Once that task is done, there is no more I can do. Maybe I can slide it under her door. Despite all Quinn has done for me, I’m leaving him in the lurch, but at least I can get this one thing closer to done.
And there is Maxine. I won’t be able to tell her why I am not there. Maybe I can call, but I will have to leave the phone behind, and it may be a moment before I can find another one.
I dig out the phone, placing it on the kitchen bar and give it one last look. “I neverdidhave to sell that phone,” I tell Mulder.
A knock rattles, and I gratefully pull it open. But, it’s not Glenda Rosen from 205.
It’s Matt.
All the deep breaths in the world can’t stop the tears.
Chapter 18: Matt
“It’s okay, sugar, I promise it is.” I whisper into Theo’s hair, after he has launched himself into my arms, head tucked into my neck with big, racking sobs shaking his body. I kick the door closed and move us to the couch, trying to soothe him the best I can.
I know what happened at Summit House tonight. Theo Donahue saved the day, and I’m here to give him my undying love and appreciation.
What I get is an armful of Theo, weeping like his soul has been ripped to shreds. I don’t know who they are or what they did, but they will pay for putting him in this kind of pain. I hold him through it, gently rocking him for comfort.
“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” he laments, over and over.
“Don’t apologize, sweetness. There is nothing to be upset about.” And there isn’t. When I got back, I went straight up the mountain, having received a frantic message from my sous-chef. I saw what Theo made in my kitchen.
