Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
We all have family meal as a staff about thirty minutes before the first guests are set to arrive. It’s a simple pasta platter with fresh made bread and butter infused with duck fat. Edgar has us all laughing when he tries to hand feed a piece of bread to Zander. When Zander refuses him, Edgar threatens to haunt him, then fakes a heart attack. Then, Edgar goes on a long rant about how tough Tinder can be when you’re 82. He admits he lies and says he’s 74, which he doesn’t think is really that bad since he feels he could pass for sixty-eight.
I can’t help thinking how hilarious Edgar would be in the same room as my Grams, but I’m also kind of afraid to introduce them. Grams might just eat him up. Then again, Edgar might actually be spunky enough to handle what my Grams comes to the table with.
I enjoyed my food while I listened and I relished in the camaraderie.
Service was a whirlwind of orders being barked, hot plates, fast-moving bodies, and a rush of nonstop adrenaline. I was proud of my ability to keep up, even though Zander reminded me a few times he was going easy on me for my first day.
By the time the last guests leave, I feel tired and oddly exhilarated at the same time.
I let out a long sigh and lean on the counter, feeling like I don’t have something that needs to be urgently done for the first time in about four hours. It’s a happy kind of exhaustion–like the feeling of laying in bed after a physically exhausting day.
I run my hand through my hair, pushing it out of my face and look around. Edgar is washing dishes and Paisley is prepping some desert items that will need to set overnight in the fridge. She looks up at me. Her perfect blonde hair is mostly intact, but a few strands have fallen to hang in front of her face. “Well? What did you think?” she asks.
“It was awesome,” I say, laughing. “Kind of stressful and terrifying, but awesome.”
She smiles. “That’s how I felt on my first day. But my head chef was this terrible old battleax of a woman. She was always yelling the same thing. ‘If you got time to lean, you got time to clean!’ But none of us were ever leaning. She literally wanted us cooking with one hand and wiping things down with our other hand.”
“Oh my God,” I laugh. “That sounds obnoxious.”
She grins. “I got really good at working with one hand. Watch this.” She expertly folds up a pastry into a perfect flower shape with one hand while jokingly running a towel in a circle on the table beside her. “I got time to clean,” she says.
We both laugh, and then Nolan walks into the kitchen.
Paisley looks down at her work again and her smile fades.
I feel suddenly like a terrible employee for just leaning, and Paisley’s story rings in my brain as I feel Nolan’s attention. I grab a towel and start wiping a pointless circle on a perfectly clean stainless steel countertop.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Uh,” I say, panic taking completely over. “I had time to lean. So I thought I should clean.”
I hear Paisley trying to hold back a snort of laughter beside me.
Nolan moves closer. “Good work today, Calloway. You didn’t entirely suck.”
I frown, pausing to look up at him over my shoulder. “Thank you?”
He looks like he wants to say more, but he just nods stiffly. He takes two steps toward the door, then hesitates. He comes back again and lowers his voice so only I can hear. “I’m going to wait in the dining room until you finish up.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I’m going to be in the dining room until you finish up,” he says again, and this time, I see his eyes are focused on Zander, who is rolling balls of dough and placing them on big white trays for proofing overnight.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “I’ll be finished soon, I think. I just need to ask Zander if he needs me to do anything else.”
Nolan nods, then heads toward the walk-in freezer instead of the dining room.
I watch him go and wish I didn’t feel this blossoming appreciation for him. Yes, he’s clearly not the man I knew two years ago, but there are some shreds of the old Nolan in there. The considerate, caring Nolan who wouldn’t have wanted me to be uncomfortable here. I can at least appreciate that, even if I don’t like the way he has changed.
Nolan emerges a few minutes later while I’m finishing up the last task Zander has for me. Nolan is carrying a large brown paper bag that seems heavy with pilfered items from the fridge.