“None at all.” He moved a clipboard from a hook on the wall to the counter. A list of prep steps was centered on the top page in bold. “First this,” he said, tapping a fingertip to the print. “Then this.” He fanned through the sheets of recipes. “The breakfast crowd is leisurely, except those on the hunt for coffee and sweets. They grab and go. The lunch crowd is always in a hurry. They dine in, then take desserts to go, sometimes by the dozens. So, every morning we bake in bulk. Make sense?”
“Got it.”
Together, we prepped a half dozen pans of chouquettes, then lined them up for their turn in the ovens.
Around us, the kitchen slowly came to life. Lucas introduced me to each staff member as they arrived to begin their day. All were friendly. All were curious. I was an awkward mess. I was out of my element. They were at ease and clearly a family.
I did my best to concentrate on my work and look more confident than I felt. I failed, comically, and often. Jumping at the loud clang of pots and pans. Shivering at the scrape of metal spatulas on hot grills.The sharpchop!of knives on cutting boards didn’t help my anxiety, but I locked in on the tasks before me, and I persevered.
Soon the sweat on my brow made its way toward my eyes, and I paused to wipe the drops away. I plucked and fanned the material of my shirt, attempting to circulate the steamy kitchen air. A dozen voices morphed together as cooks and waitstaff interacted with one another, each hustling to keep up with demand. People zipped past my workstation in all directions as I pulled soufflés from the oven with shaky hands and a prayer.
The frantic pace of the lunch rush frayed my nerves. I’d never worked so steadily or for so long without a break. At home I had endless pleasant distractions, coffee and water breaks, doorbells and phone calls. In the kitchen of Chez Margot, there were only more orders.
“Time!” someone called. “Time!”
I looked up from my mixer to see a cook pointing frantically at the oven beside me. My timer featured a series of red digital zeros. “My soufflé!”
I abandoned the mixer and yanked open the door with a towel in my grip. A dark curl of heat rose from the dessert’s puffy top, and panic washed through me. “Don’t be burned. Don’t be burned,” I chanted, reaching for the tray. The tips of my fingers met with the rack in my haste, and I screamed as a perfectly rounded soufflé top sank like an overbrowned puddle. “Damnit!” I yelled, frustrated as I jerked away.
“Behind!” someone called, but it was too late.
I stepped backward into an incoming server. The young woman screamed and the tray in her hands went flying.
Our calamity rang through the kitchen, reverberating from the floor to rafters.
Meat bits and jus splattered over the tile and up our pant legs.
My ears rang, and my heart pounded. “I am so sorry,” I gasped. “I burned my fingers, and I didn’t mean to—”
The look on her face brought tears of humiliation to my eyes, but instead of accepting my apology, she walked back through the swinging doors.
I hurried after her. “I’m sorry!” I repeated.
“Whoa!” Lucas’s voice reached my ears before he crossed the threshold to the kitchen. “What’s happening and how can I help?”
The door swung sharply inward and connected with my face.
The force knocked me backward and rattled my brain. Shock and pain radiated through me, but words wouldn’t form.
“Hey!” Lucas steadied me with a grip on my forearms. Then he pulled me against him as hot tears rolled over my cheeks. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
I wrestled free and ran.
I passed the server I’d collided with on my way to the ladies’ room. She pushed a mop and bucket on wheels toward the crash site, but all I could think about was escape.
I dragged my shirtsleeve under each eye, struggling to pull myself together as I locked the restroom door. I couldn’t afford to lose this job on day one. I liked working here and being a part of something bigger.
I hated that my instinct was always to hide.
Two soft thuds rattled the door a few moments later. “Sophie?” Lucas asked. “Are you okay?”
Leave me alone to die of humiliation,I thought dramatically, but I pulled myself together and unlocked the door.
Lucas held out a pile of clothing.
“What is that?”
“A uniform,” he said. “I should have offered it when you got here. Then your clothes wouldn’t be ruined right now.”
