Chapter 9 #2
“Just because we have a firefighter in the kitchen doesn’t mean we should tempt it,” he teases, pointing at the overload of pans on the stovetop and the sizzling dishes on the flattop.
Steam could turn to smoke in seconds without enough attention.
If I burn the place down, I blame Lexi’s ass.
Jumping back into the fray, I take over once again and between us, we somehow survive the second wave of the lunch rush.
Aside from one time where Charlie insisted on trying to make the crepe, rather than just prep it for Samuel to cook (and burnt it to a shade of black that matches the deep night sky out here in the Heights), we’ve survived opening day so far.
Still chuckling at Charlie’s wail of “I’ll never get this, will I?” I shake my head.
Rounding the corner past the dish station that leads to the back door, I’m desperate for a thirty second break in between rounds of dinner orders.
The bandana around my forehead begs for a quick reposition, so I untie it, refold the fabric while my forehead relishes the fresh breeze, then secure it back in place.
By the backdoor, however, I freeze, hands still behind my head.
Lexi is stooped, back to the paneled wall, head pressed back against it with her eyes shut.
Last I saw her, she was alternating between helping out on dishes and darting through the dining room, cracking jokes with the patrons and front of house staff alike, sunshine beaming from her smile as she went. I didn’t see her slip back here for a moment of respite between the madness.
My fingers make quick work of the knot as I try not to startle her.
But before I can make myself known, she takes one of her hands in the other, moaning pitifully as she rubs it with the kind of delicacy I used to use plating in fine dining.
Like too much pressure would rupture something that deserves to be cherished.
“You good?”
She jumps with the couple of words, like I dropped her in ice water—the way we do to the asparagus—before her eyes catch up to the scene in front of her and she rolls them at me instead.
Is this a miracle?
She catches herself, stopping mid-roll before her face melts, morphing into a look I’m not sure she’s ever directed my way.
Worry?
Lexi shocks me again when her tone also comes out concerned instead of annoyed toward me for possibly the first time since I’ve known her. “Is everything okay in the kitchen? Do you need something, Chef?”
I’m trying to check on her, and she’s worried I might need help?
There was a visible change in her today, with doors opening and this business she’s managing being officially open, but I didn’t realize she might extend that professionalism to me.
Feels like progress between us, but part of me misses that spark in her eyes when she fires insults my way.
It’s probably that same part of me that gets hard at the prospect of a little danger.
I’ve got a kink for wild things, I guess. Comes with trauma like mine.
“Samuel’s got it under control,” I assure her, reaching a hand out for hers. “You hurt?”
Lexi pulls her hands closer to her middle, but twitches like she’s in pain with the movement.
“I’m fine.”
“You’d be fine in a cardboard box,” I toss out at her, winking. “But what’s going on with your hands?”
“Leave it, Chef. I’m not your problem.”
“If only I were so lucky.” A heavy sigh full of longing pours out from my lungs, filling the air between us for a dense moment. “I’d kill for you to be my problem, bella.”
Exasperation weighs down her voice when she snaps, “Is this your default setting? You just flirt with everyone you meet?”
“No, Alexis. Just you.”
Hunching over, I get a better look at her hands. Cracked, nearly bloody.
“Still building up your dragon skin, I see.”
My hands are damn near numb these days, but I remember my early days in the kitchen. The chemicals in washing and sanitizing dishes feel like hell on soft skin like hers. Even worse when you do it dozens of times a day.
“Earning my battle scars,” she says with honeyed eyes and a soft smile that I pocket for later. A rare treat from her that I’d love to earn again. Feels like that high I get when we banter, but maybe even better.
“I have something that’ll help. Hold up.”
Dashing to my locker in the break room, the small silver tube is an easy find, and I jog back to her, standing taller now, but still dimmed and a far sight from the woman running around the restaurant all afternoon with a smile that rivaled the sunrise over the Smokies.
She’s silent when I return, and I don’t ruin the moment with my big mouth for once. Unscrewing the cap, a healthy amount of the creamy, silky concoction squeezes out of the opening into my palm. Dropping the tube in my pocket, I spread the lotion between my hands and take one of hers with caution.
A small breath parts her lips, but I don’t hesitate, rubbing the formula into the backs of her hands where the damage appears to be the worst.
The soft gasp she forgets to suppress as I massage the lotion into her ravaged hands tells me what she won’t.
I know the magic that comes with instant relief of pain like that and might be taking extreme pride that I’m the one who gets to give her what she needs here and now.
Holding onto her fingers with one hand, my other does a thorough review, making sure I haven’t missed a single cell that could keep hurting her.
My palm glides over the back of her hand until I’m satisfied a thick layer has already penetrated her skin and is hard at work repairing it.
Then I take her other hand in mine and repeat it, coating each finger one by one, followed by the larger surface area of her hand.
It’s easier to focus on putting a pin in her pain than it is to watch her eyes flutter shut, or that tiny moan that squeaks out when my thumb rubs deep circles into her palm.
“Chef!” Charlie calls from his station.
Lexi’s eyes open abruptly and she pulls her hand back from mine as she startles.
I might start a fire somewhere else just to get Charlie called out of here.
“Chef, how many tries on plating the sauce is too many?” He sounds close to panicked, and it stirs my need to jump in.
“Coming!” I shout back to him before refocusing on my manager. “Keep this,” I say, pressing the container into Lexi’s hand.
“No, you need it. I’ll get my own.” She tries to push it back toward me.
“Have mine,” I insist. “I’ve got more.”
Lying wasn’t considered a sin in my family.
I’ve got worse deeds to atone for when the time comes anyway.
Lexi is still stunned, standing and watching me with her fingers to her lips as I head back to the kitchen. Even as I pull my phone out of my pocket and place a quick order for three more tubes of lotion so I can make sure she doesn’t run out again.