Page 4 of A Very Grumpy Chef

“Good.”

“Well, tomorrow it will be all yours.”

“Are you going to miss it?”

He smiles crookedly. “Yeah, I think I will, but it’s time. I’m excited to spend some time with my family. I’m ready for this next chapter in my life. I’ll leave all the late-night craziness to you young kids.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything we need to go over?” he asks as he grabs his keys from the desk.

“I don’t think so. Oh, wait, yeah, what’s this?” I show him a Post-it note I found.

“Oh, that’s for the monthly cooking classes.”

“Cooking classes?”

“Yeah, every month we do a cooking class. It’s usually every Monday, but you can switch days if that suits you better.”

“I’ll probably cancel it,” I admit.

He shrugs. “You can, but they’re good for business. Plus, the people for this month’s class have already paid. I think registration closes tomorrow.”

“Great,” I grumble.

“Loosen up. It’s not that bad.” Rodney laughs. “It’s two hours once a week. Besides, you might find that you’re a better chef if you’re not so rigid.”

I grunt as Rodney claps me on the back and leaves. I hear him telling the staff goodbye, and I hide in the office until the restaurant is quiet. Then I push to my feet and go out to inspect the kitchen.

The place is spotless. I smile, pleased that the staff is so competent.

Now if I could just figure out a new menu…

I yawn as I leave through the back door, locking up before walking back to my car. I make the short drive home, trying to clear my head as I park out front of the apartment building.

The menu will come in time. I hope. I’m dreading the classes, but I figure I can suffer through a few hours. At least for this month.

It’ll be okay, I promise myself.

I climb the stairs to my floor, my gaze straying to my neighbor’s door. I pause on the top step and stare at her place. The guilt returns, and I swallow hard.

I sigh as I turn and enter my apartment. The door closes behind me, and I trudge into my bedroom, collapsing onto the bed.

My eyes drift shut, and I fall asleep, dreaming about curvy hot blondes and whipped cream.

3

Coco

“So, I’m standing in the kitchen and he starts banging down the door,” I tell Pearl as we sit in Tasty Buns, eating lunch. “And I tried to be friendly. I swear I did! I was smiling and everything.”

“What did he say?” she asks, wide-eyed.

“He yelled at me for setting off the smoke detector and told me it wasn’t a kitchen timer and some other mean stuff. Then he turned and stomped back to his apartment, which is right across the hall, by the way.”

“Oh no!” Pearl groans.

“It was awful.”