The question felt reasonable. Public. Loaded.
“I have commitments here,” I said.
Carly tilted her head. “But surely this is temporary.”
Braxton shifted beside her. “Perhaps she doesn’t want to. Jane is essential here.”
Carly glanced at him, surprised.
“I mean,” she said smoothly, “of course she is. She just seems capable of more.”
James nodded. “Exactly. She has the potential to grow her talent under me and become a much better chef.”
The kitchen felt like it had shrunk and gotten louder at the same time. Not because anyone raised their voice, but becausetoo many expectations had been placed on the same narrow space.
I turned back to my work. My hands knew what to do even if my chest felt hollow.
Behind me, the conversation continued. Carly laughed and James basked in her questions while Braxton went quiet.
I focused on the next task. The next step. The vegetables needed to be prepped, the chicken taken out of their marinating sauces and cooked. Erin asked a question about timing. Molly waited for instructions.
I gave them calmly and clearly.
From time to time, I felt Carly watching and measuring me.
And for the first time that morning, I felt like I was standing in the wrong place. Not because I didn’t belong, but because everyone else seemed very certain where they thought I should be.
Chapter Twenty-One: A Mistake
Braxton
Jane did not acknowledge what James had said. She moved as if the only thing that mattered was the timeline taped beside the prep station. Her hands stayed steady. She shifted a tray closer to the warming area, checked a thermometer, and made a note with the same calm she used when she asked Molly to slice citrus or Erin to portion sauce.
Molly and Erin worked at the far end of the counter, quiet but efficient. They moved with the cautious confidence of people hired for a single day who still wanted to prove they were worththe money. Every few minutes one of them glanced toward Jane, waiting for a cue, then returned to work without chatter.
James did not seem to notice any of that.
“I find Jane is quite capable and talented. She’s excellent at cooking and baking. If she chose to open her own bakery or restaurant, I would certainly go,” I mentioned, trying to defend her since she wasn’t going to defend herself.
“What people want,” James said, gesturing broadly, “is the idea of the meal. The story. Not the mechanics. Jane needs to learn how to market the meals.”
Carly nodded, but the expression she wore had changed since she first stepped into the room. When she arrived, her attention had been eager, almost bright. Now it was more measured. Her face stayed pleasant, but her eyes tracked details the way Dex tracked numbers on a blueprint.
Jane lifted a covered tray and slid it onto the next rack. The movement was controlled and careful. She did not look at James.
“I find the mechanics reassuring,” Carly said lightly. “They tell you whether the idea works.”
I relaxed a little, glad that Carly was defending Jane as well.
James smiled as if he had heard a child attempt a profound statement. “That’s where delegation comes in.”
Jane’s voice cut in, not sharp, just factual. “Timing matters. The sauce needs to rest before plating.”
She said it to Erin, not to James, but it redirected the center of the room. Erin nodded immediately.
“Yes, Jane.”
The way Erin said her name carried respect.
