Christianfound me as soon as I walked through the kitchen doors. “I’m Christian,” heblurted excitedly. He was a waif of a kid with ink black hair and a perfectlyironed crisp white shirt. “Vera said she wants me to show you the ropes tonight.”
Hisenergy was infectious, and I couldn’t help but smile back at him. “She’s crazyfor making me do this. I cook. I don’t know the first thing about waitingtables.”
Hewaved me off. “There’s nothing to it.” My look must have screamed I didn’tbelieve him because he laughed. “Once you get the hang of it, there’s nothingto it.”
“Howlong have you been serving?” He had one of those faces that was deceptivelyyoung looking. He could either be thirty or sixteen. I wouldn’t have beensurprised with either one.
“Longenough to be excited about the prospect of new leadership.”
“Washe that bad?”
“Who?Juan Carlo?OrEzra?”
“Juan Carlo.Ialready know how bad Ezra is.” I bit my lip ring and hoped Christian wasn’tpartial to our boss.
Helaughed again. “Oh, right, you’re part of the harem.”
Irested a hand against my neck, where the stitching of the lily usually was onmy lapel. “Lilou.”
Cockinghis head to the side, his eyes trailed over me, taking my measure. “That seemsa little stuffy for you.”
Itwas. “That’s why I’d love to move over here.”
“You’dbe the first to successfully transfer laterally.” He rolled his shoulders andsighed, like he was reluctantly giving up information I was dragging out ofhim. “However, anybody would be better than JC. I didn’t mind that he was adiva. Comes with the territory, or so I’m told. But he was completely useless.And God forbid someone lodge a complaint. The man would lose his shit.”
Itried to keep my expression neutral, but I wasn’t sure I totally succeeded.Under normal circumstances, I would have loved to gossip about any and everychef across the country. It was one of my favorite pastimes. But if I got thisjob, I didn’t want it spread around that I’d had these thoughts about theirprevious executive chef. Especially if he was a better chef than me.
Itwas better to play it safe and give the noncommittal answer. Besides, I wantedto be this guy’s boss. Meaning, I needed to remain professional and distant. Itwasn’t the fun answer or the enjoyable one. But it was the necessary one. “Hewas under a lot of stress.”
Myreaction must have triggered something for him, because his eyes bugged out andhe leaned toward me. “But you must know what that’s like, right? I’ve heardyour new head chef is a major douche canoe.”
Hisaccusation was accurate, but it also rubbed me wrong. In the worst way. Wyattwas the way he was for a purpose. It was necessary. Unlike Sarita, Wyatt didn’thave the luxury of saving a sinking ship. He had to live up to a standard ofexcellence set by one of the greatest chefs in the current culinary culture. Hewasn’t walking into a position abandoned by an incompetent diva, he wasfighting to prove he belonged in one of the most coveted positions on the eastcoast. “He’s a perfectionist,” I explained, ignoring the defensiveness in mytone. “He wants Lilou to be even better than when Killian Quinn was there. It’sa hard job.”
Hisexpression turned neutral. “I’m sure it is.”
Insteadof insisting that it was, I let silence fall between us until it got awkward.Wyatt’s prowess as a head chef wasn’t a hill I wanted to die on, but I alsowouldn’t let unfair rumors spread through the harem about him. Stories likethat spread as quickly as wildfire. If not controlled, every kitchen in Durhamand the great state of North Carolina and beyond would hear all kinds ofnonsense. I wasn’t responsible for Wyatt’s reputation, but I did feel enoughloyalty to Lilou to protect it.
No,that wasn’t entirely true. Whether I wanted to admit all the secret respect Ihad for him or not, the truth remained. It was okay that he annoyed me anddrove me crazy. He was my boss, my problem. And I would defend him and Lilouforever and ever amen so help me God.
“Doyou want to give me the general layout of tonight?” I asked after we stoodthere in constrained quiet for too long. “I’d love to not totally screw this uptonight.” I added a smile and that broke through some of the awkwardness.
“Youwon’t,” he promised. “I won’t leave you totally alone. I don’t want to be thedick that abandoned his future boss when she was thrown to the wolves.”
Mysmile turned more genuine. “I appreciate that.” Especially since I wouldn’texactly be his boss.
Hestarted walking toward a server station. “Come on, I’ll show you how to enter ordersin the computer. Then you can help me finish rolling this silverware.”
Wefell into an easy partnership after that. True to his word, he never left me bymyself. Instead of serving on my own, I shadowed him, taking orders when heprompted me to do so and explaining dishes after he’d given me all the details.
Verawas right, I did get to know Sarita this way. By the end of the night, my feethurt as usual, I’d splashed at least thirty mojitos all over my sleeves and Ihad developed a full-on hatred for the camouflaged step near the bar, but Iknew the dishes. I knew what they looked like. I knew what they smelled like. Iknew what a lot of them tasted like thanks to Vera force-feeding me all night.And I knew the vibe of Sarita, her mood, her essence. But mostly, I knew thedirection I wanted to take her.
Shehad great tapas that drew crowds, but all of them could be better. There was atotal of three cold dishes for instance. I wanted more. I wanted gazpacho andcarpaccio. I wanted a summer flower salad that would blow your mind. And Iwanted a chilled watermelon soup with notes of mint and ginger that I dreamedup thanks to one of their most popular mojitos.
Asfor the hot dishes, several of them were dated. I would easily trade out theclassic huevos rancheros for a more modern version with poached eggs and spicygreen chili and tomato jam over bite-sized fry bread. And I would toss out themarinated chicken skewers for seared rabbit and a pickled radish chutney.
Ihad more ideas too. So many ideas. With each new dish I brought from thekitchen, more inspiration would spark, quickly adding to the wildfire blazingthrough me. The entire night was spent dropping off good dishes and quicklyscurrying to a dark corner, so I could furiously take notes on my phone,imagining better dishes, envisioning a better menu and a better restaurant. Thebest restaurant.
Idoubted any of my hurriedly scribbled improvements made much sense now, butthat wasn’t the point. It was the inspiration that mattered. The deep hunger Ihad for this place after only being here for one day.
