He added the finished loin to the rest of the prepped meat, stretching plastic wrap tight over the tray before taking his knife to the sink to wash it. A bull of a man not any taller than Eric but much wider was slipping an apron over his T-shirt and jeans.
“You must be, Andy,” said Eric, offering his hand.
The man’s eyes went wide when he saw Eric but he regained his composure and shook Eric’s hand. “Yes, chef,” he said, his grip tight.
“It’s nice to meet you. Are you settling in alright?”
“Yes, chef.” He nodded and something about the tilt of his head caught Eric’s attention.
He looked familiar, but Eric had no idea where he would have met him. They stood looking at each other long enough for things to feel awkward, the other man not quite meeting his eyes.
“Marcus says you’re doing a good job,” said Eric to break the tension. “I hope you’ll be happy here.”
“I’m sure I will, chef.”
Eric pushed aside thoughts of quail eggs, local greens and new dishwashers, making his way to the elevator and home to Julie.
