Staying For Good
Page 32
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Sorry, baking. Yes 20 Q’s. Jo is worried. Mel is excited.
It was Zoe’s turn to lose patience when a dot, dot, dot didn’t turn into words quickly enough. Finally his text came. Listen to Mel. I’ll talk to Jo.
Zoe stared at her screen for a full minute. Are we doing the right thing?
His reply was instant. It doesn’t feel wrong.
No, it didn’t.
He told her he’d be by after dinner to take her out to R&B’s for drinks or whatever she wanted.
Zoe counted the hours and decided a nap might be the perfect way to pass the time while waiting for Luke to pick her up.
Chapter Eleven
Zoe stood over the stove with the dinner rush in full swing.
The fewer shifts she took at Nahana, the busier her nights were. The owners announced when she was in the kitchen and the reservations poured in. With only two weekends a month on the calendar, Zoe thought she’d have it easier. It didn’t feel that way at the end of a shift.
Her mind worked five steps ahead of her hands, and when the kitchen buzzed like it did now, she forced everyone around her to work just as hard. She wasn’t a hard-ass as a head chef, but she didn’t suffer any slackers. “Why is this salmon still in my window?” she shouted to whoever could hear her and make sure the meal was delivered before it was too cold to serve.
She looked up a second time and the salmon was gone.
She sampled her sous chef’s garlic sauté before pouring it over her signature vegetarian pasta. Zoe set it next to a filet and a roast duck on the same order and gave a quick shout to the headwaiter, who whisked away the finished meals.
A new set of orders littered the screen of the POS system, drawing a moan from more than one chef.
“They know you’re here, Zoe.”
Oliver was her second in charge and nearly as talented as she. “Remind me not to take any more vacation time.”
“I don’t think that will make a difference.”
The next two hours were nothing but a blur. It was close to ten before the orders started to slow.
Zoe took the time to check on the pastry chef and randomly sample the dishes she’d approved. She nixed the raspberry topping on the crème brûlée after popping one of the berries in her mouth and finding it too tart. The upset was small, but she respected the twenty-dollar-a-dish dessert choice and the people who paid that kind of money for it too much to serve something less than perfect. Because she was who she was, Zoe slipped from behind the doors of the kitchen and into the restaurant. The headwaiter took her to a party of six, where three had ordered the dessert she removed from the menu.
She introduced herself and apologized for the inconvenience.
It always astonished her how recognizable her face was to the foodies who went out of their way to dine at Nahana.
Zoe moved around the tables, asked how everything was, and happily posed for two pictures before the manager waved her back into the kitchen right on cue. The patrons would keep her talking for hours if she let them.
By the time Zoe left the restaurant, it was past one in the morning. She’d gone over the menu selections for the next week based on the availability of seafood, fresh vegetables, and Texas beef from a local farmer. She was scheduled to work three nights that week and a Sunday brunch. Filming with Felix was wrapping up the following week, with a trip to New York scheduled at the end of the month.
All she could think about was how to get back to River Bend or find time to squeeze Luke in. He hadn’t said he was going to visit, but he hadn’t said he wouldn’t.
Zoe tossed a handful of mail on her kitchen counter and pressed Play on her answering machine. Anton’s voice touted three new listings she just had to see. Her talent agent, Suki, had a list of opportunities she needed to say yes or no to before they met in New York at the end of the month . . . and then Luke’s voice soothed all the stress of the day with a simple hello.
“Hello, Zoe. I remember you saying you don’t check your cell phone when you’re in the kitchen and I didn’t want you calling while driving. Call if it’s not too late . . . and by not too late, I mean . . . call.”
He picked up on the first ring. “Hey, baby.”
“It’s one thirty in the morning.”
“Only eleven thirty here. How was your shift?”
Zoe settled into her sofa, curled her legs under her butt, and cradled the phone to her ear. She told him about her crazy night and asked about his.
“The cars in River Bend are running smooth.”
She grinned. “It sounds like you own them all.”
“It sometimes feels like I do.”
“Does it get old . . . working on the same ones time and time again?” She couldn’t help but wonder if Luke’s day job bored him like algebra did back in high school.
“There are a few I’d just as soon blow up with a truckload of TNT.”
“I remember you once saying a car had to be really far gone before you’d consider it a contender for the junkyard.” He’d said that about her mother’s car, growing up. Then again, he was probably just being polite at the time since Zoe’s mom couldn’t afford a replacement.
“This from the woman who made leftovers taste like a gourmet meal.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“I would. How is everything in Texas?”
She liked this, the ease of conversation, the back and forth. The familiarity she hadn’t had with any man since Luke.
It was Zoe’s turn to lose patience when a dot, dot, dot didn’t turn into words quickly enough. Finally his text came. Listen to Mel. I’ll talk to Jo.
Zoe stared at her screen for a full minute. Are we doing the right thing?
His reply was instant. It doesn’t feel wrong.
No, it didn’t.
He told her he’d be by after dinner to take her out to R&B’s for drinks or whatever she wanted.
Zoe counted the hours and decided a nap might be the perfect way to pass the time while waiting for Luke to pick her up.
Chapter Eleven
Zoe stood over the stove with the dinner rush in full swing.
The fewer shifts she took at Nahana, the busier her nights were. The owners announced when she was in the kitchen and the reservations poured in. With only two weekends a month on the calendar, Zoe thought she’d have it easier. It didn’t feel that way at the end of a shift.
Her mind worked five steps ahead of her hands, and when the kitchen buzzed like it did now, she forced everyone around her to work just as hard. She wasn’t a hard-ass as a head chef, but she didn’t suffer any slackers. “Why is this salmon still in my window?” she shouted to whoever could hear her and make sure the meal was delivered before it was too cold to serve.
She looked up a second time and the salmon was gone.
She sampled her sous chef’s garlic sauté before pouring it over her signature vegetarian pasta. Zoe set it next to a filet and a roast duck on the same order and gave a quick shout to the headwaiter, who whisked away the finished meals.
A new set of orders littered the screen of the POS system, drawing a moan from more than one chef.
“They know you’re here, Zoe.”
Oliver was her second in charge and nearly as talented as she. “Remind me not to take any more vacation time.”
“I don’t think that will make a difference.”
The next two hours were nothing but a blur. It was close to ten before the orders started to slow.
Zoe took the time to check on the pastry chef and randomly sample the dishes she’d approved. She nixed the raspberry topping on the crème brûlée after popping one of the berries in her mouth and finding it too tart. The upset was small, but she respected the twenty-dollar-a-dish dessert choice and the people who paid that kind of money for it too much to serve something less than perfect. Because she was who she was, Zoe slipped from behind the doors of the kitchen and into the restaurant. The headwaiter took her to a party of six, where three had ordered the dessert she removed from the menu.
She introduced herself and apologized for the inconvenience.
It always astonished her how recognizable her face was to the foodies who went out of their way to dine at Nahana.
Zoe moved around the tables, asked how everything was, and happily posed for two pictures before the manager waved her back into the kitchen right on cue. The patrons would keep her talking for hours if she let them.
By the time Zoe left the restaurant, it was past one in the morning. She’d gone over the menu selections for the next week based on the availability of seafood, fresh vegetables, and Texas beef from a local farmer. She was scheduled to work three nights that week and a Sunday brunch. Filming with Felix was wrapping up the following week, with a trip to New York scheduled at the end of the month.
All she could think about was how to get back to River Bend or find time to squeeze Luke in. He hadn’t said he was going to visit, but he hadn’t said he wouldn’t.
Zoe tossed a handful of mail on her kitchen counter and pressed Play on her answering machine. Anton’s voice touted three new listings she just had to see. Her talent agent, Suki, had a list of opportunities she needed to say yes or no to before they met in New York at the end of the month . . . and then Luke’s voice soothed all the stress of the day with a simple hello.
“Hello, Zoe. I remember you saying you don’t check your cell phone when you’re in the kitchen and I didn’t want you calling while driving. Call if it’s not too late . . . and by not too late, I mean . . . call.”
He picked up on the first ring. “Hey, baby.”
“It’s one thirty in the morning.”
“Only eleven thirty here. How was your shift?”
Zoe settled into her sofa, curled her legs under her butt, and cradled the phone to her ear. She told him about her crazy night and asked about his.
“The cars in River Bend are running smooth.”
She grinned. “It sounds like you own them all.”
“It sometimes feels like I do.”
“Does it get old . . . working on the same ones time and time again?” She couldn’t help but wonder if Luke’s day job bored him like algebra did back in high school.
“There are a few I’d just as soon blow up with a truckload of TNT.”
“I remember you once saying a car had to be really far gone before you’d consider it a contender for the junkyard.” He’d said that about her mother’s car, growing up. Then again, he was probably just being polite at the time since Zoe’s mom couldn’t afford a replacement.
“This from the woman who made leftovers taste like a gourmet meal.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“I would. How is everything in Texas?”
She liked this, the ease of conversation, the back and forth. The familiarity she hadn’t had with any man since Luke.
