“You’ll be fine,” I told them gruffly. “All you have to do is follow the ticket. You got this.”
“That’s not necessary,” Blaze cut in, sounding as surprised as Eduardo and Caden looked. “We can talk later, Chef.”
I hated that he was bossing me around right now. He was totally messing with my power trip. And my authority in the kitchen. Leaning forward, I forgot all the advice Vann had imparted on me and lashed out with my emotions. “We’ll do it now, Chef. If you don’t mind.”
His gaze flashed to mine. “It’s really notnecessary, Chef.”
Something in his tone caught my attention. “What are you saying?”
He shrugged and turned back to his task. “I’m not leaving.”
“Say that again?”
His grumpy glare was somehow endearing after all this time with him. “I’m not going anywhere. So, can we move on?”
“Wait, like this weekend? Or ever?”
I could tell he was really starting to lose his patience with me, and I couldn’t help but relish torturing him after he’d put me through such hell the last few weeks.
“Ever. I’m not going anywhere ever.”
“You’re serious?”
His cheeks burned red. I grinned. “I’m serious. I thought I would be happier in a more established kitchen, but to be honest… you’ve grown on me. I’ve been impressed with how you’ve handled yourself and this restaurant. You can cook your ass off. And I can’t help it. I’m curious to see what happens.”
Arching an eyebrow, I waited for the truth. When he didn’t volunteer it, I was forced to pry. “Seems a little risky to stake your reputation on curiosity.” His frown deepened. “I’m just saying… you could always follow us on Twitter.”
“You’ve earned my respect, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I expected you to be this entitled egomaniac that thought she knew everything, but you’ve turned out to be the opposite. And on top of that, I am impressed with the changes you’re making. You’ve somehow managed to make me excited for this place. And since I figured that was a miracle, it might be good to stick around with a woman that can work miracles.”
I smiled and it was genuine and full of emotion and all the gratitude that could possibly pool inside me. “Hey, those are some nice things you just said.”
His lips lifted in what I could barely call a smile. But there was a hint of something that wasn’t a frown. “They are nice things. That I just said. I like you, Chef. I guess I’m hitching my horse to your wagon.”
“Well, yeehaw then.”
He completely ignored me after that. Apparently, he liked my cooking style. Not so much my jokes. Which was fine with me since he was staying.
I was a walking, talking praise hands emoji.
To be honest, if push came to shove and Blaze had wanted to walk away from Bianca, I could have managed. I would never have gotten a break and I wouldn’t have had anyone I could have relied on as much as I relied on him. But the rest of the kitchen I could have figured out.
It would have been painful. I might have gone entirely gray and developed a cluster of ulcers. But we could have done it.
I was ultra-thankful we didn’t have to do it. Blaze had decided I was worthy. That this kitchen was worthy. That for now, he’d rather be here than anywhere else.
And that was enough for me.
Basically, our first attempt at brunch was already a success. Who even cared about the rest of the day?
Oh wait, I did.
And it was a good thing because the kitchen got busy after that. More praise hands emojis.
Seriously, I had not worked this hard at Bianca until this morning, our first brunch service. I didn’t think anyone had worked that hard until today. We managed to keep up, but our kitchen muscles were atrophied, and we didn’t have the sharp orchestration other kitchens like Lilou operated with.
After we sent out three wrong orders in a row, I knew I needed to do something to get our heads back in the game. I played basketball in high school and this was the point of the game the head coach made key substitutions—second half, down by ten, three starters with four fouls, it was time to shake things up. Only I didn’t have bench players to sub in. So, I needed to be spectacularly creative. Or at least very stern.
“Hey, everyone, can I have your attention please?” Yelling was a good option. Also throwing things. Once, in culinary school, I’d shadowed one of the best chefs in Charlotte and watched him punch his fist into a brick wall over and over. He’d gotten his point across very effectively. His sous chef had also had to give him six stitches. Something she was apparently used to.
