“March.” Another shake of his head, as if he’d caught me using the wrong knife. “Every kitchen you go to, you get what you want and move on. Move up. Get out. You serve me well. But I do not serve you. I do not think you find what you want at Gusto.”
“But I do,” I said desperately. “Maybe I don’t belong in the kitchen for the rest of my life, but I don’t want to leave you.”
He gave me an intense look. “To leave Gusto.”
Weren’t they the same thing? I was using him. For inspiration, for apaycheck, for material for my blog. And I didn’t have the guts to tell him so. “Right.”
He regarded me for a long moment. “Whatdoyou want, then?”
I thought I knew, once. I wanted to be a writer. I’d followed my dream to New York City, to experience a bigger life on a larger stage than Bunyan. In the city, I was free to shine. Not with the reflected glow of a father, husband, children, but with the light of my own success.
Only now... I’d lost my job and my roommates. I worked in a restaurant like every other scrambling dreamer in New York, the actors, the dancers, the musicians, the writers. And for what? There was no book deal. There wasn’t even a book. Meanwhile, Amy was in Paris, Beth was in a show, Meg was hardly home anymore, and Momma was in rehab. Maybe I needed to reexamine my priorities.
“I don’t want to let everybody down.”
Another serious look. “That is about them. Not about you.”
“I guess...” I thought. “I don’t want to let myself down. I want to do the right thing.”
He nodded, once. “Then you will.”
I snorted. “You can’t know that.”
“I know. For three months, I have watched you. Once you decide on something, you don’t let anything stand in your way.”
Wow. A compliment.
“Thank you,” I said. A pause. “That’s a good thing, right?”
Laughter leaped in his eyes. “I have always found perseverance a very attractive quality,” he assured me.
Warmth flooded my chest. I grinned back. “Well, that’s a relief.”
More than a relief. It was reassurance, validation on a level I hadn’t known I sought or needed.
Our eyes held. My smile faded. I shivered a little, all over.
“You are cold,” he said, concerned.
My cheeks ignited. I was burning up. I wound my hair around my hand, resecuring my ponytail. “I’m fine.”
“You should keep moving.”
“Yeah.” Before I did something else, said something more, to make a bigger fool of myself. “I guess I’ll see you around, then.”
I started to go, aware of his eyes on my back.
“March.”
I turned hopefully. “Yes, Chef?”
“You are on the schedule tonight, yeah?”
I swallowed my disappointment. Of course he didn’t keep track of my hours. My comings and goings were of no interest to him. Unless...“For three months, I have watched you.”
“Yes, Chef.”
“Good. You can do family meal.”
