When his eyes glance up from his task, they lock onto hers in a heartbeat.
Eden glances away, grinning sheepishly to herself. She manages to bite back a giggle, the bubbliness rising in her chest reminding her of champagne.
Alexander eventually joins Eden up at the front line. She’s chopping onions, her fingers curled expertly around the white vegetable to avoid any knicks. She keeps her eyes down on the chopping board, but she’s a bit distracted by his warmth now that he’s here. There’s a gravity to him, one that she finds herself pulled towards.
“Did you have a good day off, chef?” he asks evenly.
She nibbles on her bottom lip. “It was alright.”
“Only alright?”
Eden shrugs a shoulder, continuing to dice. “Not that it’s any of your business, Chef, but I had a date.”
“Was he a gentleman?”
“Kind of a jerk, actually.”
Beside her, Alexander bristles. “Wha—”
“I saw the cutest stuffed whale in the gift-shop,” she continues dramatically. “I had my heart set on it, but you know what happened? We blew right past the shop and went straight back to his place.”
Alexander snorts. “I’m sure he feels bad. Probably just got distracted by something important. Maybe he’ll go back and buy it for you as a present for your second date.”
Eden arches a brow, grinning. “You think he’ll want a second date?”
He doesn’t answer, but Eden doesn’t miss the way he smiles to himself. She holds back her laugh.
She’s just about finished cutting up the onions when she feels the tension in her hair suddenly loosen, a soft snapping sound reaching her ear. Her elastic gives out, her locks falling over her eyes. “Ah, shit,” she grumbles to herself. “Cheap dollar store crap.”
Before she can set her knife down, Alexander is behind her, quickly combing back her strands with his fingers and putting it up again with a rubber elastic he must have been carrying around in his apron’s pocket.
“Don’t get onion juice near your eyes,” he warns.
The brush of his fingertips against the nape of her neck sends a delightful shiver running up and down her spine. Her cheeks warm, the tips of her ears redden.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
Peter, who’d just returned to his station with a metal bowl full of spices, clutches an imaginary string of pearls. “The fuck did I just witness?”
“Drenton.” Alexander steps away, clearing his throat. “You’re finally here. I need a word in my office.”
“Am I in trouble, or…”
“I’m not asking again.”
“Pray for me,” Peter whispers to Eden as he walks past, following Alexander dutifully.
Eden’s curious. As much as she wants to ask what’s going on, she still has duties to fulfill. She diligently spends the next ten minutes preparing for their shift. They’re just about ready to open the doors to La Rouge, the first few customers already waiting in an orderly queue just outside.
When Peter exits the office, he’s practically buzzing with excitement. He rushes over to Rina and Freddie, speaking so quickly that Eden doesn’t quite catch what they’re saying.
“What’s going on?” Eden asks them.
“You are looking at the freshly promoted chef de partie,” Freddie announces, patting Peter on the shoulder.
She blinks, amazed. “Wait, what? What happened to—”
“Hector?” Peter laughs joyously. “Fired. Can you believe it?”
