Love Overboard

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

She found him on the top deck chatting to Declan. It bugged her that they seemed to be getting along very well. As she approached, she could see them partaking in all the requisite backslapping and laughing that usually indicated men were ‘being friendly’.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she said to the back of Jack’s head. He swung around and offered up an easy grin. His sulky mood from earlier had seemingly vanished.

‘No at all – what can I do for you, Chef Harlow?’

‘I’m trying to locate my ingredients.’

‘Ah yes, perfect timing – the delivery truck just arrived. Dec and I were about to head down and bring everything up.’

‘Dec’,she thought, this guy moves fast.

‘Do you need a hand?’ The boys exchanged a look, and Sofia felt immediately irritated. It was frustrating how quickly Jack seemed to inspire that in her.

‘It’s all pretty heavy stuff,’ said Declan with what seemed like genuine concern.

‘Maybe leave it to the brawn. Beauty has its place, Sofia, and it’s not lugging crates across the dock.’ He raised one devastatingly perfect eyebrow, and Sofia was determined not to blush. Without Captain Mary in the room, Jack had reverted to his flirty bar chat. It was just as infuriating as ever.

‘Chef Harlow,’ she corrected. ‘And I don’t know when the last time you worked a ten-hour shift in a professional kitchen was, but let me assure you that there is a lot of “brawn” required.’

Declan laughed. ‘Well, Jack, that told you!’

With his eyes still fixed on Sofia, Jack responded dryly, ‘You better watch how you talk to your superiors, Dec, or else I’ll have to make you walk the plank for mutiny.’

Sofia was the first to look away this time. ‘So where is this van then?’

Jack was already walking down the steps to the lower level. ‘Right this way, Chef,’ he called over his shoulder.

‘After you, milady.’ Declan took a deep bow.

Sofia rolled her eyes, her mood lightened by Declan’s antics, and the pair of them followed Jack off the boat and onto the dock.

About fifteen minutes later Sofia was deeply regretful. She’d made a stand against her better judgement. She had known it even as she was speaking to Jack on the deck, but now the lactic sting in her arms and legs, the ever more acute pain in her lower back and the sweat dripping down her forehead were concrete confirmation.

She was used to hauling a five-kilogram bag of onions down from a high shelf, but this was different. This was enough food for the whole crew and two guests for the next five days until they could dock and onboard more. She was only on her second trip between the truck and the kitchen. Jack had lapped her twice, and she could feel the satisfaction radiating off of him each time he passed.

It was Declan who came to her rescue. ‘Maybe you should start unpacking everything from the crates while we bring in the rest of it.’ She could have kissed him. The back of her shirt was wet through and she could feel her blood pumping. She put down an icebox of closed oysters on the counter.

‘I think that’s a good idea. I’m going to need to jenga this kitchen into working order.’ Declan gave her a knowing smile and slipped back out of the room.

She opened her fridge and took a deep breath. The empty shelves stared back at her. It might be small but it was her kitchen. She was head chef, her own boss, with no one to answer to. Granted, she also didn’t have anyone answering to her, a skeleton crew meant no sous, so she would have to do all her own prep. But before that she had the fridge to organise.

At Nakachwa, with its huge walk-in fridge, she had found it calming to methodically arrange the ingredients in the cool, dimly lit space. It had always been her favourite part of the morning. The restaurant specialised in East African cuisine. The joint owners were Ethiopian and Ugandan respectively, Peter and Joy. It was named after their daughter. Or maybe the daughter was named after the restaurant – it was never clarified.

Despite being half Rwandan she had never been to Africa. But in that fridge, she could get a glimpse into the taste of the place. Mangosteens, papayas, the sweetest little bananas she had ever tasted, pawpaw, starfruits, matoke, manioc. All these flavours brought her a little closer to herself and gave her the confidence to experiment with new produce. She had a plan for what she wanted to cook of course, but she had to remain open to substitutions, to journey alongside the food. Everywhere had its own flavours. It was part of what excited her about this job, to discover the tastes of her travels and put them on a plate.

In her new fridge there would be artichokes, asparagus, radishes, pomegranates and the season’s first strawberries. Early May in Italy was the perfect time for brassicas, so there were kales and cabbages to be crammed in as well.

Sofia was so engrossed, she didn’t notice Jack come into the kitchen, as small as it was, and she jumped when she turned to find him standing behind her. He seemed to have developed a habit of doing that.

‘Jesus,’ she exclaimed, clapping a hand to her palpitating heart. ‘You like sneaking up on people huh?’

He chuckled. ‘Where did you want me to put the lobsters?’ There were four of them and they were disconcertingly alive, sauntering along the bottom of a large plastic tub filled with water.

‘How are you just holding that? It must be so heavy,’ she mused, and then immediately regretted saying it. He beamed with smugness.

‘Well you know, doing this job, it’s better than any workout.’ He set the tub down.

‘I don’t really have the time—’ she gestured around her ‘—or the space, for your preening.’

‘A thank you would suffice,’ he snapped. She was taken aback by the sudden venom in his voice. ‘I changed my schedule, you know, to bring in all this stuff first, so you could arrange your little kitchen in plenty of time.’ His tone tipped into a sneer.

‘I’m just trying to do my job. I’d appreciate it if you could do yours without requiring my undying gratitude,’ she said coldly.

There was a long pause. Jack seemed to be talking himself down from saying something else. ‘I’ll get out of your hair then,’ was what he settled on, before walking out. He didn’t look back.