She slapped her hand down on my shoulder. “Sure. That’s true. But risk is the best part, right? It keeps us on our toes. Keeps us sharp. If there’s no risk, there’s no reward.”
“Oh my God. You really are Yoda.”
She giggled, and using her best Yoda impersonation, she said, “Right, you are. Now, this way come. A shit ton of work we have.”
Laughing we finished the tour of the restaurant, taking our time to admire the dining room and how not in shambles it was. Ezra kept front of house spectacular. It would be my job to get the kitchen into fighting shape.
That new hope inside me bloomed with bigger blossoms. I couldn’t explain it exactly, but I wasn’t afraid of the work. It made me more determined, more desperate to make this place mine. Either way, we were bound together now. I wanted her. And crazily enough, I knew she wanted me too.
Sarita was all sultry reds and cool, hard blacks. While some restaurants with a similar color scheme gave a tawdry vibe or were just plain tacky, she had been designed to radiate passion and wild, uninhibited fun. But it was the passion for food and culture and not sex. Yes, she was a sexy restaurant, but because the ambiance couldn’t help but pull that emotion from you.
This was a space you didn’t just want to share a meal in, you wanted to stay here to drink, laugh, party, and make lifelong memories.
I loved Lilou more than anything, but her insides were stark and cold. The diners came for the food, not to feel comfortable or at home. Sarita’s dining room conveyed coming home and kicking off your shoes. Sarita was deep and open. Raw.
I loved her. I wanted her.
We walked back to the kitchen and I couldn’t remember being this excited to work. Ever. Not even when cooking was new to me and it was all I wanted to do.
I hadn’t known what I was doing back then. My adventure was purely discovery.
Today, I knew what I needed to do. So the adventure was in owning.
Vera stepped up to her spot in the very center of the kitchen. “Have you had a chance to study the menu?”
“Yes,” I answered simply, not admitting that studying the menu was the only thing I’d done since her phone call. I’d gone to work. I’d slept what little hours I could. And I’d gone over the menu again and again. I tried to replicate the combinations of ingredients at home to recreate the menu as it was described on the website.
It was hard to cook that blind, especially since menus only told a portion of the story. But I could say I was familiar with the concept of each of the dishes.
“Good,” she said simply. “Because tonight, I thought you could wait tables.”
All of my soaring aspirations came to a screeching halt inside my chest. “Wait, what?”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve waited tables before, right?”
“Yes.” I hated my original response. I amended it. “No.” But I felt guilty for not telling the truth, so I added, “I mean, like my first year of culinary school I worked at this little Mexican restaurant, but I wouldn’t call that waitressing. There were all of ten tables to take care of and it was almost never busy.” Except for every night. I cleared my throat and let her see my desperation, “I can’t do it here. Ezra wants his servers to basically have college degrees in hospitality and I don’t even know how to—”
“Don’t worry about a thing. Currently, Ezra isn’t even in the country.” She grinned at me. “This will be fun. I brought a white shirt for you. It’s in the office. Why don’t you change clothes? After, find a guy named Christian out front. He’ll walk you through everything you need to know for tonight.”
Anger and fear flared to life inside me and I swallowed hateful words that burned my tongue. I’d given up a free Sunday night for this? “I thought you wanted me to work with you, Vera? In the kitchen? Wasn’t the plan for you to tutor me and mentor me and get me ready to take over as the amazingly qualified new head chef?”
She smirked. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“But how is that going to work if I’m not back here with you? Learning the kitchen? Learning how to lead it? Learning all the voodoo that you do so well?” I was not above quoting Salt-N-Pepa to get my way.
Her arms folded over her chest and she squared her shoulders, readying for the argument we were about to have. “I’m sure you studied the menu, but you don’t know it. And I’m sure you’ve eaten here before, but you don’t know Sarita’s ins and outs, or her deep, dark secrets. I’m sure you can cook the hell out of tapas, but you’ve never cooked anything off this menu. If you want Sarita, you need to get intimate with her, go down the rabbit hole, find out every single thing there is to know about her. Start with waiting tables and learning about the people that eat here, what walks of life they’re from, what they want, what they need from you. Sell the hell out of this menu, be able to recite the dishes from memory, get acquainted with all the dishes. Smell them. Touch them. Taste them. Do whatever the hell possible to become this fucking restaurant. I’m temporary, Kaya. A temporary chef in a kitchen I want nothing to do with. I barely know the menu and I barely care about it enough to make sure it’s done right. Don’t be me. Don’t be temporary. Be the miracle that will save this tragedy of a restaurant. Do everything you need to do tonight to become permanent. Then come back next Sunday and we’ll try something else out.”
Some of the panic drained from my chest to slosh around in my stomach. I hated the idea of not working back here with Vera. Front of house felt like a missed opportunity. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that I needed to hurry up and be amazing. As soon as Ezra got back from his trip, he would start searching to fill this position and if I wasn’t game ready by then, I wouldn’t get it. “This is some serious Mr. Miyagi shit, Vera.”
She smiled again. “You’re welcome.”
I wrinkled my nose but accepted my fate. I hated to admit that she was right, but she was. I needed to learn this restaurant. I needed to familiarize myself with this restaurant gorilla-style, quickly. I needed to work my ass off and do whatever it took to claim her as mine.
“Goodbye, Kaya,” Vera said in a serious tone. “And good luck.”
I couldn’t help but snicker as I walked back to her office to change into the white shirt she’d brought for me. Vera and I had a similar shape except that she was taller than me. Her shirt fit fine even if it was a little tight over my chest—but I had been fighting the big boobs versus button-up shirts battle my entire life.
Pulling out my compact from my purse, I checked out my appearance. I hadn’t wrapped my head in a bandana yet. My bouncy pink curls were on full display. I’d used my amazing, deep rinse conditioner last night, so the pink was fresh and vibrant.
And my curls. They were everywhere. When I first started working in a kitchen full-time, I’d impulsively chopped all my hair off in an effort to survive the heat and chaotic schedule. But recently I’d wanted a different look. The only problem was my hair took forever to grow out. I was currently somewhere between the edgy pixie cut that had been so easy to maintain and a chin-length bob. Unlike when my hair had been short, blue, and styled straight, my natural curls were growing in with a vengeance.
Fishing for bobby pins in the bottom of my purse, I pinned some of the front ones back to give me a softer, 1920s look—something more customer friendly. It was no use terrifying the diners because I looked like I’d just touched a live wire.
Adding colored Chapstick and cute tassel earrings I found at the bottom of my purse, I finally felt presentable. My pants were still kitchen quality and my shoes were still my clunky Doc Martens, but for the most part, I could pass for every day society. At least I hoped so.
Fitting in wasn’t something I had ever cared about. Save for my brief hiatus from myself when I dated Nolan, I was way more comfortable in my own skin than trying to squeeze into someone else’s. I loved playing with the color of my hair and the shade of my nails and lipstick and eyeshadow—when I wore it. And when I dressed for places that weren’t Lilou, I enjoyed tak
ing style risks. I didn’t set out to be edgy, I just didn’t squeeze into a cookie cutter mold.
My thoughts flickered to Wyatt. There weren’t many things I liked about him, but his total self-assuredness was one of my favorites. I had never seen him concerned with what other people thought, save for food critics. I had never seen him try to cover up his extensive tattoos or worry over his clothes. He was perfectly who he wanted to be. And God, I found that ridiculously sexy for some reason. Maybe I liked a few more things about him than I wanted to admit.
On the other hand, there was Nolan. A man so consumed with what the rest of the world thought of him, he’d let them trap him somewhere he hated. My sisters were the same way. Claire had stayed in Hamilton even though she hated it, even though she was dying to leave. My parents had convinced my youngest sister Cameron to go to the local community college to live at home and save money. Cameron was on board, but she had no idea how much she was missing. And she was young enough not to care.
Oh, well. Those were their choices. I couldn’t live their lives for them, no matter how much I wanted to help them. All I could do was love my own life. And I did. Even if it was busy. Even if it was hard. Even if sometimes it was lonely. I loved my job and I love who I’d turned out to be and I loved the people I’d surrounded myself with.
I closed my compact and put it away before folding up my chef coat and tucking it into my purse as well. My fingers brushed over the cool stainless-steel counters as I walked wistfully through the kitchen.
Some other day, friend. Someday soon.
Christian found me as soon as I walked through the kitchen doors. “I’m Christian,” he blurted excitedly. He was a waif of a kid with ink black hair and a perfectly ironed crisp white shirt. “Vera said she wants me to show you the ropes tonight.”
His energy was infectious, and I couldn’t help but smile back at him. “She’s crazy for making me do this. I cook. I don’t know the first thing about waiting tables.”
He waved me off. “There’s nothing to it.” My look must have screamed I didn’t believe him because he laughed. “Once you get the hang of it, there’s nothing to it.”
“How long have you been serving?” He had one of those faces that was deceptively young looking. He could either be thirty or sixteen. I wouldn’t have been surprised with either one.
“Long enough to be excited about the prospect of new leadership.”
“Was he that bad?”
“Who? Juan Carlo? Or Ezra?”
“Juan Carlo. I already know how bad Ezra is.” I bit my lip ring and hoped Christian wasn’t partial to our boss.
He laughed again. “Oh, right, you’re part of the harem.”
I rested a hand against my neck, where the stitching of the lily usually was on my lapel. “Lilou.”
Cocking his head to the side, his eyes trailed over me, taking my measure. “That seems a little stuffy for you.”
It was. “That’s why I’d love to move over here.”
“You’d be the first to successfully transfer laterally.” He rolled his shoulders and sighed, like he was reluctantly giving up information I was dragging out of him. “However, anybody would be better than JC. I didn’t mind that he was a diva. Comes with the territory, or so I’m told. But he was completely useless. And God forbid someone lodge a complaint. The man would lose his shit.”
I tried to keep my expression neutral, but I wasn’t sure I totally succeeded. Under normal circumstances, I would have loved to gossip about any and every chef across the country. It was one of my favorite pastimes. But if I got this job, I didn’t want it spread around that I’d had these thoughts about their previous executive chef. Especially if he was a better chef than me.
It was better to play it safe and give the noncommittal answer. Besides, I wanted to be this guy’s boss. Meaning, I needed to remain professional and distant. It wasn’t the fun answer or the enjoyable one. But it was the necessary one. “He was under a lot of stress.”
My reaction must have triggered something for him, because his eyes bugged out and he leaned toward me. “But you must know what that’s like, right? I’ve heard your new head chef is a major douche canoe.”
His accusation was accurate, but it also rubbed me wrong. In the worst way. Wyatt was the way he was for a purpose. It was necessary. Unlike Sarita, Wyatt didn’t have the luxury of saving a sinking ship. He had to live up to a standard of excellence set by one of the greatest chefs in the current culinary culture. He wasn’t walking into a position abandoned by an incompetent diva, he was fighting to prove he belonged in one of the most coveted positions on the east coast. “He’s a perfectionist,” I explained, ignoring the defensiveness in my tone. “He wants Lilou to be even better than when Killian Quinn was there. It’s a hard job.”
His expression turned neutral. “I’m sure it is.”
Instead of insisting that it was, I let silence fall between us until it got awkward. Wyatt’s prowess as a head chef wasn’t a hill I wanted to die on, but I also wouldn’t let unfair rumors spread through the harem about him. Stories like that spread as quickly as wildfire. If not controlled, every kitchen in Durham and the great state of North Carolina and beyond would hear all kinds of nonsense. I wasn’t responsible for Wyatt’s reputation, but I did feel enough loyalty to Lilou to protect it.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. Whether I wanted to admit all the secret respect I had for him or not, the truth remained. It was okay that he annoyed me and drove me crazy. He was my boss, my problem. And I would defend him and Lilou forever and ever amen so help me God.
“Do you want to give me the general layout of tonight?” I asked after we stood there in constrained quiet for too long. “I’d love to not totally screw this up tonight.” I added a smile and that broke through some of the awkwardness.
“You won’t,” he promised. “I won’t leave you totally alone. I don’t want to be the dick that abandoned his future boss when she was thrown to the wolves.”
My smile turned more genuine. “I appreciate that.” Especially since I wouldn’t exactly be his boss.
He started walking toward a server station. “Come on, I’ll show you how to enter orders in the computer. Then you can help me finish rolling this silverware.”
We fell into an easy partnership after that. True to his word, he never left me by myself. Instead of serving on my own, I shadowed him, taking orders when he prompted me to do so and explaining dishes after he’d given me all the details.
Vera was right, I did get to know Sarita this way. By the end of the night, my feet hurt as usual, I’d splashed at least thirty mojitos all over my sleeves and I had developed a full-on hatred for the camouflaged step near the bar, but I knew the dishes. I knew what they looked like. I knew what they smelled like. I knew what a lot of them tasted like thanks to Vera force-feeding me all night. And I knew the vibe of Sarita, her mood, her essence. But mostly, I knew the direction I wanted to take her.
She had great tapas that drew crowds, but all of them could be better. There was a total of three cold dishes for instance. I wanted more. I wanted gazpacho and carpaccio. I wanted a summer flower salad that would blow your mind. And I wanted a chilled watermelon soup with notes of mint and ginger that I dreamed up thanks to one of their most popular mojitos.
As for the hot dishes, several of them were dated. I would easily trade out the classic huevos rancheros for a more modern version with poached eggs and spicy green chili and tomato jam over bite-sized fry bread. And I would toss out the marinated chicken skewers for seared rabbit and a pickled radish chutney.
I had more ideas too. So many ideas. With each new dish I brought from the kitchen, more inspiration would spark, quickly adding to the wildfire blazing through me. The entire night was spent dropping off good dishes and quickly scurrying to a dark corner, so I could furiously take notes on my phone, imagining better dishes, envisioning a better menu and a better restaurant. The best restaurant.
I doubted any of my hurrie
dly scribbled improvements made much sense now, but that wasn’t the point. It was the inspiration that mattered. The deep hunger I had for this place after only being here for one day.
Imagining myself at the helm, I knew I would rip apart the current menu and put my signature on every dish, drink—every inch of this place.
By the time I reached my car sometime after eleven p.m., my cheeks hurt from smiling so much. I shouldn’t be this happy. Especially since I hadn’t cooked a single thing today. And yet, I couldn’t help it. Sarita had so much untapped potential, so much sparkle that had been tarnished by bad leadership and laziness.
I would take this place to the next level. And then I was going to give Lilou and Wyatt a fucking run for their money.
Chapter Seven
“I need Sunday off again.”
Wyatt’s cold, hard stare found mine across the expo station in Lilou’s kitchen. We were the first two to arrive at Lilou Wednesday morning and this was the first chance I’d had to chat with him alone.
“Are you on the schedule?”
I braved his glare and shook my head. “No.”
“Then why do you keep double checking with me?”
My nerves turned angry at his tone. Like always, this guy had the ability to take me from zero to sixty in approximately three seconds. “Because I’ll be the one blamed if you need me and I don’t show up.”
He leaned forward on his hands, bringing us closer together, trying to intimidate me with his size. But I wouldn’t be intimidated. I mimicked his pose and leaned toward him. His eyebrows rose at the same time his eyes dropped to my lips, totally throwing me off my game.
Not that I would let him know that.
“Oh, I always need you, Kaya.” His head dipped closer. “And I always blame that on you.”
My heart jumped in my chest and then took off in a sprint. Something warm and foreign pooled in my belly, some long-forgotten instinct that my brain couldn’t name. My vocal chords got on board too, dropping my voice to a softer, sultrier tone. “That seems unfair.”