Chapter 16 #2
“Yes, Chef. Sorry.” I filled my lungs again.
“What if Keith chopped up the chicken and formed a nugget with the help of some panko or breadcrumbs, dipped it in an egg wash, coated it in more breadcrumbs, and gave it a quick toss in the fryer? That would give it more of a chicken-nugget look and feel, and that might be something the little girl would eat.”
“Keith, are you hearing this?” Walker said to his chef, who was standing only feet away at the gas burners.
Walker’s expression was unreadable.
“Sure am,” Keith replied.
“What do you think of Alivia’s idea?” Walker asked him.
Keith looked at us from over his shoulder. “I think it’s brilliant. The only problem is that the kitchen is slightly backed up. By the time someone finished that task, her whole family would be done eating.”
Walker stared at me silently. “Did the mother ask for an alternate option for her daughter’s dinner?”
“She asked for nothing aside from boxing up the chicken,” I told him.
“So, you’re telling me that you came up with this idea?”
Oh God.
I didn’t know if this would earn me a scream or if I would get reprimanded for creating more work for the kitchen—or both.
I shoved my hands into my apron, putting pressure on my stomach as I whispered, “Yes.”
His hands went to his hips. “Why do you want to do this, Alivia?”
“I don’t want the little girl to be hungry.
” The emotion was there, but I did everything to hide it.
“I want to try my hardest to get her something she’s comfortable eating.
And if she doesn’t like it, then at least I tried.
” This was all about me. That wouldn’t sell him.
I needed to make this about him. “From a restaurant point of view, an effort like that can go a long way in a customer’s eyes.
Think of how much that family will appreciate this. ”
“What if they don’t?” He raised his chin.
“What if they take one look at those nuggets and hand the plate back to you? Will you be disappointed?” It wasn’t possible, but it felt like the man grew another six inches as he stared down at me.
“Let me tell you something, Alivia. Not all effort is appreciated in this business. There are some people who will hug you and invite you for Thanksgiving dinner. There are some who would rather throw a plate in your face. You need to prepare yourself for facing one or the other or someone whose indifference would be equally upsetting to you.”
“Of course.” I pulled my hands out of my apron and surrounded the plate. “I can handle it.”
“Then go make chicken nuggets. But do not let that plate leave this kitchen without me seeing it first.”
“Yes, Chef.”
I rushed toward the side of the kitchen, where one of the line cooks was stationed, his area handling the overflow.
He helped me locate the ingredients I needed to form the nuggets.
After I did that, I quickly dropped them into the fryer.
I’d never used one before, and I had no idea how long the process should take, but given that the meat was already cooked, I didn’t think it needed more than a minute.
When I pulled them out, the outer coating was a warm, golden brown.
I added some fresh fries to the plate, and I stole a few violets from the salad station, arranging them in a heart.
I topped it off with a metal ramekin filled with ketchup.
The front of the prep station was busy, the runners picking up several tables’ worth of food, so I made my way behind, slipping in directly next to Walker.
Purely by accident, when I set the plate down for his approval, our arms grazed, and his stare immediately turned to me. A stare that, I swore, turned hungry before it became feral.
“What are you doing back here?”
“I want you to check the nuggets before I take them to the table.”
He parted his mouth, his gaze staying on mine as his tongue licked his bottom lip. And when it slithered back in, he huffed out some air before he glanced at the food. “You’re happy with what you’ve created here, Alivia?”
Keith took a peek and gave me a smile.
That was more than enough encouragement for me to reply, “Yes.”
Walker nodded toward the dining room. “Go.”
I hurried through the kitchen and into the dining room. The table was in the far corner, which took me even longer to get to, and since the little girl was coloring in front of her, I set the plate between her and her mom.
“I talked to the chef and explained the situation,” I said to the mom, who was wiping her mouth with a napkin. “I know these aren’t the nuggets she’s probably used to, but he wanted to see if he could make something she would love.”
I wasn’t dressed in chef’s whites. I was only a food runner and water girl. And even though the idea had been mine, this was Walker’s kitchen, and he deserved the credit.
The mom dived her fingers through her daughter’s hair and said, “Baby, did you see what the pretty server brought you? A whole plate of nuggets and fries, and look at those beautiful purple flowers. They’re shaped in a heart!” She picked up one of the flowers and put it behind her daughter’s ear.
The little girl, with a giant smile, instantly took a nugget, dipped it in ketchup, and took a bite. “Mmm.”
“Is that good?” I asked her.
“Yummy!”
“I’m so happy to hear that,” I told the little girl.
The mom’s hand went to my arm. “Please thank the chef for me. This is above and beyond. I don’t even know what to say.”
I grinned. “Have the most wonderful birthday.”
That feeling—would it always be like that? A brief hesitation, followed by the most intense warmth? Where little tingles were bursting inside my chest? Where I couldn’t stop myself from smiling?
If so, I never wanted it to end.
And I wanted more.
I felt Walker’s eyes on me the second I reentered the kitchen. Even though I tried to keep the grin from my face, I wasn’t doing a very good job, and I was sure he could see it. As I approached the prep station to grab a round of dishes, our eyes finally connected.
He took me in, and his stare dipped.
I felt it on every inch of my body.
“You have a very happy customer,” I explained. “Don’t worry, I took zero credit. I gave that all to you.”
When I held out my hands to lift the plates off the counter, his eyelids narrowed, and his head shook.
“I should have taken a picture of that plate,” I told him. “To add to my small but growing collection on Instagram.”
He leaned forward to get closer, peering at me from under the shelf. “Why are you telling me that?” His voice was extremely low and growly.
I kept mine at a whisper when I said, “I don’t know. Maybe it’ll earn me another like from a whiskey connoisseur … like yourself.”
“A whiskey c—” His gaze turned lethal.
I was positive he’d just realized what I meant.
And my stare was extra soft and sweet, just like my smile before I turned and carried the plates out of the kitchen.
Me
I need to brag about something because I have no one else to brag to.
Lex
That’s what I’m here for, lover. Brag away. Tell me everything!
Me
I came up with an idea while I was at Charred tonight. A problem-solving type of thing for a customer. It involved a TINY bit of cooking, and the customer ended up loving it. But the biggest accomplishment of all was that the chef had trusted me to run with the idea. Lex, it was amazing.
Lex
BABE! Omg! SEE, it’s happening, just like I knew it would. You’re going to be serving there before you know it, and then the next step is boss bitch.
Me
I’m so far from boss bitch, but I’m so excited about how tonight turned out. A small step, but it feels like a giant one.
Lex
The chef wouldn’t be the hottie Walker Weston, would it?
Me
It is … but trust me, he gives me no special treatment. The dude is still a raging asshole to me.
Lex
You do know what that means, don’t you?
Me
What?
Lex
He’s obsessed with you.
Me
Sigh.