He simply doesn’t care as much as he used to. All he cared about was earning his first Michelin. Now he has three. Earning another hardly carries the same motivation as it once did. If anything, Sebastian’s more eager to win the damn thing because it means he can justify another menu price hike.
Sebastian owns La Rouge, just as much as he owns Alexander, and Sebastian takes every opportunity to remind him.
I expect great things. I’m the one who saved you. You owe all of this—your career, your fame, your restaurant—to me.
Alexander puts his phone away.
* * *
Dinner service is busy, but it’s not catastrophically unmanageable.
He holds back tonight, curious to see Eden in action. She’s not as hesitant as the day before, and she already knows everybody by name. It’s clear within thirty seconds of watching her that she’s a people person. Always smiling, always complimenting, always supportive. When she turns to set the dishes for table ten on the line, Alexander suddenly remembers something.
A girl with brown hair. A sweet smile. The Gagnon-Allard school crest stitched onto the front pocket of her uniform. Brimming with life and possibility. He can’t recall the finer details of her face, which he supposes makes sense. He graduated from Gagnon-Allard ten years ago. A lot has happened since then.
Good job, Shang.
It’s a quick flash of a memory he isn’t sure is real or if he made it up. He blinks and finds Eden peering up at him.
“What?” he asks.
“I said, can you please move over? I’m trying to get to the parsley.”
“Oh.”
Alexander moves to the side so that Eden can step forward and get to the garnish. It’s a huge kitchen, but she stands not two inches away. She’s close enough that he can admire her freckles. They’re actually kind of cute.
Wait, what?
“Ah, shoot,” Rina grumbles under her breath from her station. “Can somebody please grab the strawberry compôte from the fridge? I’m running low for theflaugnarde aux fraises, and my hands are kind of full right now.”
Alexander almost scolds Rina for being so careless out of her pure habit, but before he can even open his mouth to get a word out, Eden raises her hand with a chipper smile.
“I’ll get it for you,” she offers, moving toward the walk-in with purpose.
He resumes work, calling out the next order that prints off the machine. They’re working at a good pace, fast enough to keep things from piling up, but not so fast that his chefs will burn out before the rush is over. Alexander tries to concentrate on the final checks for table thirty-two, but his thoughts are hazy. It’s just all so...
Repetitive.
Day in and day out. Opening the restaurant, closing the restaurant. The same food, the same people, the same routine.
It’s no wonder he’s in a slump. His mind is numb to the process. Running La Rougeisn’t as thrilling of a challenge anymore, and Sebastian’s demands for a new lineup only compounds his disinterest.
Maybe I can try deconstructed recipes.
No, that’s been done a thousand times before.
He’s pulled from his thoughts when he hears a woman yelp in surprise. The sound of something crashing loudly makes his heart spike.
Eden.
“Out of my way,” he snaps, rushing toward the walk-in where the commotion originated. Alexander pulls open the door and freezes.
Eden’s uniform is drenched, stained red from strawberry compôte. It drips and pools onto the tile floor, bits of sticky fruit scattered about. Hector is here, too, standing not three feet away while apologizing profusely.
“I’m so sorry,” he repeats again and again. “I didn’t mean—”
Alexander pushes Hector forcefully to the side, furious. “What’s going on here?”
