Other than a terrible idea…
Eleven
I hurriedinto Bianca’s kitchen, knowing it was going to set me back by a half hour, but unable to help myself. I couldn’t just let her go unchecked for an entire weekend. That was crazy.
And I wasn’t crazy.
Most days, I wasn’t crazy.
Even though I felt like it this morning. After a night of no-debauchery, but plenty of drinking, I woke up two hours late! I didn’t even remember hearing my alarm go off. Or hitting the snooze button. Or turning it off completely.
On any other day I’d woken up late, I could have skipped the shower, grabbed the dry shampoo and called it good. But, today was rehearsal dinner day. That’s right. Nearly the entire day was designated to Vera and Killian and their wedding festivities.
We had a bridal luncheon planned in approximately fifteen minutes, then we were joining the men again at Salt, Vera and Killian’s restaurant, where we were going to be making appetizers, desserts and some of the special items for tomorrow. Vera had wanted her big day to coincide with Salt’s big day—which meant wedding prep would be their kitchen’s inaugural firing up of all engines.
Luckily for the happy couple, they had so many handy friends who could help them semi-cater their own wedding.
Benny and a team of misfits they’d gathered from around the city were doing the heavy cooking for tomorrow’s reception, but the future Mr. and Mrs. Quinn couldn’t help but put their own culinary spin on their union.
It was adorable and a sweet gift for their guests. And I was looking forward to an afternoon of fun, cooking with the people I loved.
Then this evening, we would practice the walk through of the ceremony—held at the same restaurant. Concluding the night with more cooking as we prepared the supper for the rest of the wedding party, family, and the officiating pastor.
Just like last night, I had been looking forward to this day for a long time. I adored all the special touches the bride and groom had woven throughout their weekend. And I couldn’t wait for the festivities today to start.
But first, I needed to sort my shit out. Part of me wished Ezra had waited with the whole forcing me into my dream job thing until after this weekend. That way I could have focused completely on Vera and the celebration without the stress and dread of knowing things could be totally blowing up at Bianca in my absence.
Although, after firing Ashlynn and struggling through the last couple weeks, barely surviving dinner service every night, I got it.
Ezra couldn’t have waited.
Which only made me more nervous for how Blaze and the gang were holding up.
I was extremely happy to see the kitchen bustling with life and that prep work was in full swing when I stepped inside. At least they’d kept to my earlier schedule and were learning to be more meticulous about cleaning, maintaining, and prepping. Part of me had feared opening the door and finding the entire place empty.
Blaze jerked his chin in acknowledgment, his hands busy julienning onions. “Chef, I thought you had the weekend off.”
“Just wanted to check on y’all.” I walked over to where he was working, the prominent position in the kitchen. Did Blaze want this job too? Was he waiting for me to fail hard enough so he could swoop in and take it?
I didn’t really know anything about him—only that he’d handled the transition better then his superior sous chef. But that didn’t mean he had kinder feelings for me. It just meant he was better at playing this game… biding his time.
Picking up an onion, I started to peel away the papery outer layers, even though I knew he would prefer to use his knife and chop off the ends. He continued to slice, intently focusing on the root vegetable at his fingertips.
“We’ve done this a time or two without an EC. Feel free to enjoy the weekend without worrying about us.” His tone was carefully masked with neutrality, but I sensed the frustration of feeling like I was micromanaging him.
I wondered about his motives for a second time since stepping inside the kitchen. Not that anyone enjoyed being micromanaged. That was a universally frustrating feeling.
“I realize,” I told him. “It’s more about me than you.” He glanced up at me, an unspoken question flashing in his dark green gaze. Shrugging, I let him know more than I intended to tell him. “My first EC job… I’m not sure what all it entails yet, you know? I just needed to know that the building hadn’t been hit by a wayward meteor in the middle of the night.”
“You could have called,” he added. “Or texted.”
I shrugged again. “Seeing is believing.” He fell quiet for a minute as another chef walked over to ask my opinion on how I wanted the beef bourguignon prepared tonight. I tried not to wrinkle my nose at the reminder of how outdated the menu was.
I made a groaning sound and stretched my arms behind my back. “God, this place needs an update.”
Blaze snorted next to me. I couldn’t tell if he agreed with me or not. “Good luck with that. We’ve tried. Ezra—Er, Mr. Baptiste—is resistant to change.”
I smiled at him, showing my teeth. “That’s why we won’t ask.” The idea grew wings inside my chest, jumping out of the nest of thought into a full-on game plan that could be the change that saved this ship. “On Monday, when I get back, be ready to brainstorm ideas.”
