Page 27

Damn. Maybe I should talk to Shane. No! After the weekend. I wanted to focus on Jacques and the opportunities that would open up for me if I made a good impression.

Luckily, Shane wasn’t there when I entered the room. I took a quick shower and got changed. Armed with a pen and paper, I sat on my bed and went through tomorrow’s menu again. The entire program. My work steps. I repeated them in my mind. I noted down small details. I played through my ingredient list in my head.

Today, I had seen everything in the warehouse that wouldn’t be delivered fresh the following day.

Everything was perfectly prepared. And yet I couldn’t shake this feeling of unease. Nervously, I turned to a new page in my notebook and drew dots on it. I went through the rest in my head.

The ringing of my smartphone snapped me out of my thoughts. With trembling fingers, I answered Sway’s call.

“God, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” she cooed into the phone. “I wanted to see how you were doing and had a tiny little question.”

Grateful, I leaned back on my bed. “Go ahead, ask your question. I’m fine.”

“But you sound tense,” Sway insisted.

I ran my hand over my face. “Oh. Jacques Tedemens is coming to see us tomorrow. And I’ve been assigned as chef de partie to the garde manger.”

Sway’s loud inhale fueled my nervousness. “Ruben, that’s fantastic! You’re in charge of the appetizers or salads, and Jacques Tedemens will be there. What do you have planned?”

I laughed softly. Sway listened attentively as I told her about beetroot carpaccio, Jerusalem artichoke purée, pumpkin seed sorbet, and salads. “It’s an incredible opportunity. But I’m so nervous. Maybe because I dawdled around last year. I was my own boss in the food truck all summer and fall. Now having to deliver for someone else is strange. It’s not that I took it easy in the truck. Of course, I did my best and tried to make exactly what my guests wanted. But now I have to cook in a way that suits the head chef and also satisfies the guests.”

“Oh, come on,” Sway interjected. “The snobs staying at your hotel this weekend won’t notice the difference. If Jacques Thingamajig is on the menu, they’ll assume it’s great.”

“Ah,” I tried to appease her. “It’s not that simple. These kinds of guests can be difficult and particularly critical.” I twirled my pen between my fingers. “Since any criticism will ultimately fall back on Jacques, I assume he’s particularly nasty when things don’t go the way he wants them to. At least, that’s what I’ve experienced often enough.”

Sway snorted. “But he’s happy to take the credit—without complaining.”

Sway’s indignation amused me somewhat. “That’s how it is. I’m incredibly lucky to be appointed chef de partie. Somehow . . . I’m just not used to it anymore. It almost is easier to be responsible for everything.”

“Well, yes. But that’s a good realization. That’s why you did all that. The truck. Now the hotel. To find out what you want to do. What suits you. What you don’t care for.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose thoughtfully. “Yeah?” Sway was being way too easy on me. “But it seems like I’ll cave at the first little thing.” On top of all my thoughts, Shane’s question was still distracting me.

“I’m sure you’ll be the harshest judge of yourself. No matter what happens.”

“Maybe.” I shook my head absentmindedly. “What did you want to know from me?”

Sway took another deep breath over the phone. “I wanted to ask you a favor. I’m putting together my application for the Institute for Culinary Arts and wanted to ask if you could proofread my letter of motivation. And . . . ”

Smiling, I turned onto my side. “ . . . And?”

“Could you maybe write me a recommendation? The restaurant I’m at right now is fine and all, but they don’t let me do anything. When I asked the pastry chef yesterday if he puts a pinch of sugar in his crêpe batter, he looked at me as if I had leprosy.”

“I wouldn’t put sugar in the batter.”

“I know that!” Sway snapped at me. “That was an opener, so I’d have something to talk about. Since I’ve been there, I’ve been washing dishes and cleaning.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” It was difficult to gain a foothold in the restaurant business.

“To everyone here, I’m just my mother’s daughter.”

“If you could decide to move further away from home, I could put you in touch with one of my former college friends.”

Silence boomed through the receiver. Finally, I heard Sway sighing. We had already had this conversation a few times. “Yes. I’ll think about it.”

But that was a new answer. “I’m glad to hear it, Sway. I’ll be happy to help you as much as I can.”