Chapter 9 #2
“True. It’s just—” I drag my fingers through my hair. “He’s so exacting. So detailed. He constantly challenges me. And he has this annoying habit of doing everything three times."
"What does that mean?"
"When he cleans his counter, he does it three times. When he checks the temperature of a reduction, he dips the probe three times in three different spots. Even when he's adjusting the garnish on a plate, he’ll set it with the tweezers, look away, then move it a fraction of a millimeter. Then, he’ll do it again.
And again. With him, it’s not just cooking; it’s a mathematical obsession.
He doesn’t trust a job done well. He only trusts the repetition. "
She looks fascinated. “Sounds like he might have a touch of OCD.”
I blink. I suspected something like that but hearing her say it out loud makes something click.
That would explain a lot.
The way he hyperfocuses. The way he latches onto a detail and won’t let it go until it’s exactly right. When he’s working, the rest of the world disappears. It’s just him and the plate in front of him.
And that constant need for things to be done just so. Not almost right. Not good enough. Perfect.
Three taps on the counter. Three checks of a plate before it leaves the pass. Three adjustments to a garnish that already looks flawless.
It suddenly makes more sense.
Instead of irritating me, it makes me curious. I want to understand what drives him like that. What makes him push so hard for perfection.
And strangely, knowing this makes me respect him even more.
"You know what? You might be right. It wasn’t noticeable when I met him.
But that wasn’t in a work situation. Being a chef is all about detail and compulsive attention to small things, and he thrives on it.
I would have better results with my dishes if I were more precise and less instinctive in my approach, as I tend to be. ”
"So, there are upsides to surviving Chef Grump?”
“When I don’t feel like strangling him? Sure.” I roll my eyes.
She chuckles.
I can’t stop myself from smiling. I’m so happy that I can make her laugh. She and my niece deserve every happiness in the world. Especially after Freya’s father left her when Freya was six.
"Are you two doing some gross sister-bonding thing?" Freya wanders into the room, her jaw working as she chomps on her gum.
At ten, she’s already all gangly limbs and sharp elbows, a sketch of a person not quite filled in.
Today, she’s in full goth ensemble: ripped black stockings under frayed denim shorts, and a purple off-the-shoulder top that looks like she attacked it with fabric shears herself.
Around her neck sits a velvet choker with a silver bat, and her fingernails are chipped battlefields of black polish.
She looks like a miniature Victorian ghost who’s just discovered punk rock.
Briar shakes her head. “Freya, you’re too young to be dressed…like…like…”
“Wednesday?” I offer.
“Exactly. Is that my choker you’re wearing?” She looks at the jewelry closely.
My sister worries about Freya a lot. And though she knows that telling Freya not to do something is the fastest way to make her dig in her heels, her motherly instincts kick in and she can’t help herself.
"This isn’t dressing up." Freya blows a bubble. "This is me being myself. Also, cool jewelry, Mum. You’re not as b-o-r-i-n-g as I thought.”
Yeah, no prizes for guessing what her favorite word is.
Briar and I look at each other.
Her face says, 'See what I have to put up with?'
I shake my head at her subtly, hoping she’ll get my message and not launch into one of her mum tirades. It’s the fastest way to get my niece to retreat to her room and sulk.
'Course Freya is much younger now than when Briar had taken to dressing similarly. But the kid is years ahead of her peers in terms of emotional maturity.
I make full use of my status as her cool auntie to not preach and instead, flash her a smile. "You look good."
"I don’t dress up to look good." Freya sniffs. "It’s a form of personal expression."
Ugh, you can’t win with a ten-year-old.
"Well…expressed, then."
She looks at me like I said something insulting.
I change the topic quickly before I put my foot in my mouth again. "Want to hang?"
"With you?" She scoffs.
I have the day off, and if she’s not at school, I can use the time to bond with her. Perhaps, she’ll relax enough to tell me a little more about the bullying she’s facing. She doesn’t confide much about it to Briar, and it’s my sister’s most pressing worry at the moment.
"We could go to Camden Market." That’s the spiritual home for goths in London. She loves the vibe there. As do I.
Her face lights up, then she pretends not to be interested again. "Only if we can get bubble tea. And liquid nitrogen ice cream. Oh, and check out the Doc Martens shop?"
Damn, the kid can negotiate. Thankfully, I’m her favorite auntie, also her only auntie, so I can indulge her.
“You bet."
Genuine excitement courses through her eyes.
"Cool." She turns to Briar. "Can I, Mum?
Briar looks uncertain. "You’ve worked hard all week, Harper. Don’t you want to use your day off to get downtime?"
I wave my hand in the air. "Hanging out with my niece is the best downtime. Besides, I’ve been wanting to sample some of the food from a Brazilian food pop-up there."
"See, Mum?" Freya cries.
Briar purses her lips. "I’m not sure, Freya. You still should—"
"Pleeeease?" Freya drops the 'cool' act for a second, folding her hands together under her chin like she’s negotiating for her life. "Please, Mum. Please?"
Briar frowns. "Your homework—"
"All done," Freya says, tossing her head so her dark hair hits her shoulders.
"No way." Briar sounds genuinely surprised. "The whole packet?"
"Uh-huh. It was too easy." Freya pops another bubble with her gum. "The teacher spends all her time explaining things I already know. It’s so bo-o-r-i-n-g.”
Briar and I exchange a look.
She’s told me before that the local school isn’t challenging enough. Freya is lightyears ahead in Math and English, and her sketchbook is basically her diary. This is exactly why I’m willing to endure James’s kitchen.
My niece needs to be around kids who’re also gifted, and of a similar artistic temperament, so she doesn’t feel like she stands out.
Briar sighs, but a smile curves her lips. "Okay. Fine."
"Yes!" Freya nearly tackles her, the dark and moody preteen persona disappearing in a chaotic hug. "Thanks, Mum."
She spins toward me, her black plastic jewelry clattering. "So, when do we go?”
I glance at the sunlight streaming in through the window. It’s not raining, for once. I can’t waste this lovely weather moping around here, worrying about my asshole boss.
Freya bounces in place, impatient as ever. “Can we go now? Like, right now?”
I laugh and grab my comfiest pair of shoes from the wardrobe. “Let’s do it.”
I push the restaurant, the orders, and The Ice Commander out of my mind, and step fully into my day off.
For today, the kitchen doesn’t exist. Only the busy streets of London, the sun, and Freya.