“You wrote the ending you thought you should have. You treated her like one of your characters and assumed she’d go along with it. But you were forgetting something—she’s not some puppet on a string. She’s a real person with ideas and hopes and fears, and things that matter to her.”
“Christ, I obviously know that she’s a real person. I’m not mental.” I look down at the scars on my hand, feeling that ridiculous tug in my chest that comes when I envision her taking care of me. “Whatever. It’s over now, so I’ll just get on with my remarkably wonderful life. She made it clear she doesn’t need me and I definitely don’t need her.”
“Okay, fine. Be that way, but I know the truth and deep down so do you. You didn’t try to make her happy. You tried to make yourself happy and now you’ve put a pout on because she didn’t go along with it.” Leo shuts off the telly and stands up. “You’re right about one thing though. It’s best you broke up now. You don’t deserve her. She needs a real man who’ll be willing to sacrifice, even just a little, to show her what she means to him.”
He turns and walks away while I sit and stew. After a few seconds, I shout, “What do you know about relationships, anyway? You’ve never had one last longer than a one-night!”
I expect him to come back and argue, but he doesn’t give me the satisfaction. I call out, “I’m not going after her! I can tell you that much.”
Muttering to myself, I say, “I’m not. I am not going to chase her. No thank you.”
35
Sisters Before Misters…And Other Lies
Emma
Today is quite possibly going to be the greatest day of my life.
Now, I know a person really shouldn't think thoughts like that because it’s considered a jinx. It’s like calling a perfect game before the ninth inning is over. But, in this case, Ireally believeit's true. Not that I’m naïve enough to think there won’t be the odd hiccup. Somethingalwaysgoes wrong when you’re in the restaurant biz—a tiny grease fire (been there, have the baking soda on hand to stop it), or a leaky sink (I have a small toolkit packed and ready to go)—but I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.
After a week of working side-by-side with Junior, getting the lay of the land and taking notes on all of his old guy chef tricks, I’ve learned all the little quirks of the Brazilian steakhouse. The second oven is always 10° higher than it shows on the display. David the dishwasher is prone to bouts of irritable bowel syndrome when there’s a particularly large pile of dishes, meaning it gets handed off to his twin brother, Daniel, the kitchen porter. This will spark a fight that ends in fisticuffs unless I intervene early. Lastly, but most importantly, neverunder any circumstancesask Martha the floor manager about her divorce (or that suspicious-looking mole on her neck).
To be honest with you, I’m kind of nervous. Well,verynervous really. A week isn't exactly a long time to soak in the knowledge that took a lifetime for Junior to gather, but on the other hand, some of the ways he does things are a little bit old-school and I know I can improve upon his methods. Not right away, of course. I need to let the staff get used to a new sheriff in town, and I fully intend to respect their knowledge about the workings of this particular kitchen. After all,I’mthe new guy here.
Look at me, embracing my new challenge with some humility. Pretty good, if I do say so myself.
I do a quick check of my light dusting of makeup in the bathroom mirror. I don’t need to straddle a toilet like I did on the houseboat now that I’m settled into a small-but-functional staff cabin at the main resort. It has a mirror above the sink, right where it belongs, so things are definitely looking up.
Yup, I look decently head-chefish. My hair is pulled back in a sensible-yet-stylish low bun, and my uniform fits just so.
Taking a deep breath, I stare at my reflection. “This is it. This is the moment you've been waiting for.”
So why don't I feel happy? I’m going to be serving meat on swords, which has always been one of my dreams.
It's just nerves. By the end of today, I'll be right as rain because I promise you this melancholy hasnothingto do with a certain rich guy who is most likely about to run Avonia's best restaurant directly into the ground with his complete lack of knowledge about the business. There really is no justice in the world, is there?
Oops. I seem to have taken a trip down Bitter Girl Lane. I keep winding up there for some dumb reason. But never mind. Once I get started on my new life, I'll spend all my time at the intersection of Moving On Avenue and I Can’t Even Remember What He Looks Like Street.
Yes, twelve hours from now, when I return back to my comfortable, not-sloshy-with-the-tide cabin, I’ll be too knackered to think about Pierce and his stupid perfect restaurant and his dumb rock-hard abs. I don’t even like hard abs. They’re very uncomfortable if you’re trying to nap on them. Maybe I’ll find myself a nice squishy fellow who will celebrate my brilliance as an artist while I rest on his comfy body.
But first, it’s time to get over to the Brazilian steakhouse so I can begin my journey to culinary greatness...
* * *
Four Hours Later
“He did what?” I say into my mobile screen, walking out of the kitchen and straight outside.
“He offered me a job at his restaurant,” Priya says, looking completely dumbfounded.
“But…why would he…how did he…Pierce? As in the guy I never want to see or hear from again?!” My pulse speeds up as I find a spot in the shade of a palm tree so I can see Priya.
“Yes, same guy—and I’m very sorry to bring him up to you, but I thought you’d want to know. He said you’d mentioned my name but he had to look me up.”
Okay, this is SO not what I needed on my first day as head chef. Things aren’t exactly working out as planned—one of the servers called in sick, the meat guy shorted me by twenty pounds of picanha, and one of the dishwashers died. Oh, not a person, an appliance. We could all smell burnt rubber, and by the time we located the source of it, smoke was already pouring out.
I literally just told the team that we’d had our three mishaps for the day and that the evening was going to be smooth-sailing when my phone rang. Aaaannnd, now there’s this…
