Samuel shakes his head, mustache twitching with a smile. “No, you did not.”
Phew! Tension in the workplace avoided.
That could’ve been ugly. The last thing I need is to get off on the wrong foot with one of my new teammates.
I lean back, relieved.
Samuel chuckles and explains, “I was just trying to keep things under control until she found someone. Chef, I’m sixty-three years old. I don’t need to be anything more than a line cook. Knock yourself out, partner.”
As we’ve done inventory, I’ve filled my clipboard with notes on what hasn’t been done yet, what needs attention, and questions for the manager.
Samuel tells me they’ve already hired all the other staff, and that they’ll be starting shifts later this week to get each area ready for opening.
Sounds like a lot still has to happen over the next two weeks.
My first priority is revamping this menu. We need to get suppliers and inventory sorted for the new lineup, and then get new menus made and printed.
The original menu was nothing but greasy diner food.
Definitely didn’t say Wilder Amante made this with love.
My new menu does. And once she lets me upgrade the basic selections, then I’ll hit her with my real ideas. The good stuff I’ve been saving all these years, dogeared for Salt + Spice, but I’ll happily share some of my recipes with this place. The food is what it’s all about, after all.
The longer Samuel walks me through the stockroom, the protocols, the shit I could do in my sleep after all the kitchens I’ve been in and out of in NYC, the stronger the burn in my flesh is to get on the line and start cooking.
The managerial shit isn’t my favorite, but I know I can do it.
Planning the menu, coming up with unforgettable dishes, blowing guests’ minds with every bite they take? That’s where it’s at for me. I was born to be behind a cooking station. Nothing makes me feel as alive as when I’m turning ingredients into edible perfection.
Except, maybe, a beautiful woman who gets my pulse—and other parts—up.
And now it’s hitting again. The itch of need to see the gardener girl again.
The energy between us is addictive. I didn’t know I could crave something I’ve barely tasted, but I find myself on high alertfor her when I take a midday break. Samuel heads home to see his family over lunch, and I find myself wandering downtown, eyes searching for my new obsession.
Every lamppost with a hanging basket of flowers is a tease, every flower bed a trap for my eyes, hoping she’ll pop out somewhere, tool in hand, insults on her lips.
My senses seek her out as I pass by the shops that line both sides of the street, looking for some proof of her presence. A huffed scoff of annoyance, a catty remark, the distinctive swish of her jeans between her full thighs as she stalks somewhere—or maybe just the ends of her wild hair as she rounds the corner to a building, ponytail whipping out behind her as she does.
I’m dying for more with her. This intensity that started building between us that day, it needs an outlet, and I’d happily give her one.
But she doesn’t show up on my lunch break, and by the time Samuel is ready to take off for the day, I’ve given up on running into her in the wild. I’ll have to start asking around and see if I can find her on my own, not leave this up to fate.
“Tomorrow the other line cook will be here,” Samuel tells me, rounding up his bag in the locker room.
“Charlie the firefighter?” I ask, proud I remembered one of the ten names thrown at me today.
“Mmhmm, and the rest of the back of house staff should be here as well. It’s time to hunker down.”
“Okay with you if I stick around a little longer?”
I’d like to spend some time in the kitchen getting my bearings.
“Doesn’t bother me.” He shrugs. “Just leave through the back exit, it should lock itself on the way out.”
I wave from the back door, as Samuel heads into the alley that borders the west central parking lot downtown.
“You’re sure, partner?” he asks for the fourth time, and I tip my head at him.
