Chapter 5
HARLOW
"That always smells amazing." Erin leaned over from where she was slicing mushrooms and sniffed at the cooking meatballs. Eyes half closed, she inhaled deeply before leaning back.
"My father's recipe never disappoints," I said. "Especially with nice, fresh meat, delivered this morning."
Right before Boner went back to Carl's apartment. If anything else went down there, he hadn't come back to tell me. I couldn't decide if I was disappointed or not. He made last night more interesting, but messy as fuck. Although, the…disposal was easier with his muscles involved.
"Can I ask you something?" Erin tossed the mushrooms into a container and closed the lid. I'd use them later for risotto.
"Depends what it is," I said.
I gave the meatballs a final toss before turning off the heat to let them rest. Snagging a spoon, I stirred the sauce that would go over the meatballs and spaghetti.
She leaned her back against the counter. "I was thinking, I'd like to be more than a kitchen hand. Do you think I have what it takes to be a chef?"
I glanced over to her and slowly began to smile.
"It's about time." When she gave me a confused look, I smiled more broadly.
"I've been waiting for you to ask. If you didn't soon, I was going to give you a prod.
" I pointed the spoon in her direction and made a prodding motion with it, wincing as sauce fell off onto the tiled floor.
She laughed and hurried to clean it up while I went back to stirring. "So, you think I can do it?"
"I know you can," I said. "Are you thinking of leaving me?"
The expression of surprise on her face said she hadn't thought of that.
"I was hoping I could apprentice here," she said. "Between learning from you, and the culinary school two blocks over, I think I can learn everything I need."
She could do worse. I taught a few classes there myself from time to time. Their training was excellent. Of course, nothing compared to learning on the job, like I had with my father when he was still alive.
"If you want to train me, that is," she added quickly, her green-gold eyes now tentative. "I know I can be a handful."
I shook my head at her. "I'd be happy to train you. You're no more of a handful than anyone else I've trained." All two of them.
They'd both gone on to work at high-end resorts, probably making more money than I did. I was okay with that. I preferred to be my own boss anyway.
Besides, if I worked for someone else, it might be difficult to explain where some of the meat came from.
She let out a pleased squeak and gave me a sideways hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
"Yeah, yeah." I extricated myself from the hug and gestured to the other side of the kitchen. "You can start on making some more ice cream."
"Yes, chef." She saluted me before heading over and pulling the ingredients out of the fridge to make our semi-famous rum and raisin ice cream. Which was made with real rum and real raisins, nothing…unusual.
That reminded me of the meatballs. I stepped over to check the spaghetti, which hung on a rack to dry. I didn't really need to; I could make pasta in my sleep. I'd been doing it since I was five years old. First with my father in his restaurant, then with my mother at home.
"We have orders." Gina pinned them to the board and hurried away to pour water for the first of the lunch crowd.
I glanced at them before pulling spaghetti from the rack and tossing it into gently boiling water. A couple of minutes to cook and I tossed the pasta into bowls, added meatballs and topped them with sauce, before placing them for Gina to take to the customers.
I had to agree with Erin, they did smell good. Although, I could rarely bring myself to eat the meat I sourced myself. Dispensing of it was one thing, knowing what the 'animal' did was another.
Not that being an asshole was contagious, much less able to be transferred by mouth.
Still…
Gina grabbed the bowls and carried them over to the table. Smiling, she placed them in front of the customers.
"There you go!" She smiled and stepped away.
They retuned her smile and started to eat.
"Oh my God, this is delicious," one of them moaned.
"So good," the other agreed.
I turned away to start on the risotto and ravioli ordered by another couple of customers. The irony of watching the ravioli disappear under the water before it cooked wasn't lost on me.
Bye, Gary.
"I can't wait to make people moan like that," Erin said, looking out wistfully.
I glanced over and laughed softly. "How many times have you made that ice cream? They always moan over that." I jerked my head over to where the machine was happily turning away.
"But that's ice cream," she said. "Making everything else the way you do, that's what I want to learn."
I was certain she didn't want to learn to do everything the way I did. At nineteen, she was still relatively innocent. I wasn't going to shatter that for her. If she knew what I got up to at night, she'd probably be horrified.
I was, and I was the one doing it. I'd vomited the first time, but couldn't bring myself to stop. Not when I knew I was doing good in the world. As long as I stuck to people who deserved it, that would keep me this side of being a monster. Right?
"You can start by plating up the risotto," I said. The ravioli wasn't quite ready. That was what I told myself. It had nothing to do with not wanting her to be an accessory to the things I did.
Although, if she was going to do more cooking, it was inevitable. Unless I found a different method of disposal.
If Boner came around again, I'd ask him. He might have ideas I hadn't thought about. Methods he'd worked out that could work for me. Hopefully he would drop by. I really didn't want to involve Erin, if I could help it.
Of course, seeing him again had nothing to do with sex. It was all about covering my ass, not having him grab it.
That was what I told myself. I totally wouldn't picture him eating me out here in my own kitchen. No way. No matter how good the man was with his tongue. That was a one time thing.
End of story.
“Yes, chef." Erin hurried to spoon risotto into bowls and place them up as Gina appeared to take them out to customers.
"Your boyfriend's here again," Gina said, giving me a sly look as she grabbed the bowls and hurried away.
For a moment, I thought she was talking about Boner, but then I looked out as Cass slipped into his usual chair.
Instead of a tablet, today he had a book in his hand. And bright pink earbuds, which he pulled out of his ears and pressed into his pocket.
He glanced over in my direction and grinned.
I ignored the strange thudding in my chest that could have been my heart and smiled back. Just a little bit. I didn't want him to think we could be anything more than casual friends. I shouldn't even let him be that.
I picked up a clean milkshake glass and held it up to show him I remembered what I said about giving him unlimited milkshakes. Even though I didn't think he'd actually sue me. A girl couldn't be too careful though, right?
I told myself this had nothing to do with me liking the guy, and everything to do with wanting to avoid scrutiny. Under the radar was right where I liked it.
He grinned bigger and nodded before picking up his book and opening it. He proceeded to stare at the page like he was reading the same line over again, distracted by… Probably the restaurant around him, not me.
Trying not to look too amused or interested, I made him a chocolate milkshake with extra chocolate and carried it out to him myself.
It was the least I could do after throwing him onto the concrete. A bit of personal service went a long way. I learned that a long time ago. Some customers loved to be fawned over by the chef, the owner or both. If it kept them coming back, I'd indulge them when I had the time.
Especially if they were people I had my eye on anyway. Yes, we got those in here. They let me into their world just enough for me to take them out of mine.
"Compliments of the chef," I said as I set it down in front of him. "You know, we do a mean freshly squeezed orange juice and a virgin bloody Mary, right?"
We served wine as well, but he didn't look like a wine kind of guy. Or a drinking at lunchtime kind of guy.
"I'm sure they're great, but I like my hit of dairy and sugar," he said. He picked up the milkshake to take a sip through the paper straw. "I'm hungry today, what would you recommend from the menu?"
The look he gave me suggested he knew I'd see right through the question. He wasn't so much hungry as eager to keep talking to me.
"I can recommend the risotto," I said. "Or the sweet potato gnocchi. That comes with a creamy, white wine sauce with fresh herbs." I wasn't going to tell them which herbs, I had to keep some things secret. But I did add, "And a hint of truffles."
At the same time, one of the customers from the table beside his leaned over and said, "My dude, you have to try the meatballs.
I've never tasted anything like it. It's pork, or something like that, right?
" He looked up at me questioningly, while holding his fork in his hand, one of the meatballs skewered at the end, almost dangling off the prongs.
"Something like that," I agreed. "With beef." Actual beef. I didn't say that last bit out loud. "Also with a hint of truffles." What can I say, I had a thing for them. They added a certain decadence to so many of my recipes. A quiet decadence. I made good food, not showy.
"I think I have to try to meatballs then," Cass said, totally oblivious to my wince.
Or perhaps he didn't see it, because I managed to keep it on the inside. I wouldn't be able to do half of the things I did if I didn't have a practiced poker face.
Ironic, because I sucked at playing poker. Personally, I preferred a good game of chess. Another thing my father taught me.
"If you're sure," I said. "The risotto is very good." It was my personal favorite, especially with loads of mushrooms and topped with Parmesan cheese. Even on my nights off, I made it for myself to eat.
"I'm sure," Cass said with a nod. "It comes highly recommended." He pointed his book in the direction of the other customer.
It seemed he'd made up his mind. I had to respect that. I liked people who were decisive. Usually.
"Right." I backed up a couple of steps before turning and heading back into the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, I put together a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs and gestured for Gina to take it over to Cass for me.
"You don't want to keep talking to him yourself?" she teased.
"It's getting busier," I said, which was the truth. Another two tables looked ready to order and a couple more people came in through the door.
“Okay, chef." She gave me a wink and carried the food over to Cass, her hips swinging while she walked.
I busied myself preparing meals as they came in, and carefully didn't watch him eat.