Chapter Sixteen #2
Lucas approached with a mug of water. “Put your fingers in here to cool the burn.”
I obeyed, unable to meet his eyes.
“That was a rough welcome to restaurant life.” His tone was kind and a little playful, probably hoping I wouldn’t cry again.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help sooner,” he said.
“I should’ve been there to prevent the whole thing.
I planned to stay by your side this week while you became acclimated, but the hostess’s daughter missed the bus for preschool.
” He chuckled softly. “Not the first time. Won’t be the last. Kenzie is an adorable typhoon in pigtails.
Anyway, I was greeting guests when I heard the screaming. ”
I closed my eyes. “It was horrible. I tried to apologize but the server I ran into just left.”
“Protocol,” he said. “She wasn’t injured, so her priority was to clean the floor before anyone else slipped or fell.”
I thought of her pushing the mop and bucket toward the kitchen as I ran to the ladies’ room.
“That was Kara. She told me what happened and wanted me to check on you,” he said, drawing my gaze to his.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Everyone here has been where you are. The new member of a kitchen where everyone else seems to know exactly what to do.”
My lips pressed into a remorseful smile. “Thank you.”
Lucas arranged his first aid supplies on the table. He pulled out a chair beside me and took a seat. “The staff said you were killing it in there. John was impressed, and nothing impresses him.”
“In the red chef’s jacket?”
“Yep.”
John yelled at everyone, like a tall, cooking drill sergeant, but they’d all obeyed without hesitation. The fact he hadn’t screamed at me all day was the only thing holding me together when the orders came in at full force.
“John said you kept up through the busiest part of the hour, accommodating all requests from customers or staff, and remained absolutely unfazed by the chaos.”
I nearly hooted in laughter. Clearly I still excelled at pretending things were great when they were not. I’d had many years of practice. I smiled at the ridiculousness anyway. “I was completely freaking out,” I admitted. “Honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t take out one of your servers sooner.”
Lucas snorted. “You did well, Soph,” he said. “Five stars. And for the record, we’ve all wiped out at least once in that kitchen, and some of us weren’t on our first day when it happened.”
I studied him, waiting for the inevitable but that never came. “You’re not mad?”
“Mad?” He lifted my hand from the water and examined my red fingertips.
“Why would I be mad? The customers can’t stop raving about your desserts.
Lunch hour is always busy, but we haven’t sold this many desserts in—ever.
It’s incredible. Now we have to get this hand healed up so you can do it again tomorrow. ”
I blinked. “I can come back?”
His brow pinched as he dried my hand, then applied a bit of salve. His eyes moved to examine my face. “Did you hit your head? Of course we want you to come back. When word gets out about my new pastry chef, I’ll need to make lunch by reservation only too.”
I smiled at his use of the word we. No one was upset with me for the mess I caused? For the meal and dessert ruined? The added work to clean up both?
Could this level of acceptance be real?
Lucas worked a small tube-shaped sleeve over my burned fingers. “This will keep the tender skin from tearing or getting dirty while it heals.”
“You’re good at this,” I said. I couldn’t recall the last time I was on the receiving end of first aid treatment. Maybe when the nurses cared for me following Camilla’s birth.
“I’ve done this about a thousand times,” Lucas said, his expression going soft as he released me.
“Margot burned her fingers at least once a week. She was a free spirit, creative, and always living in the next moment instead of the present one. I bought stock in this stuff during our marriage.” He gathered his supplies with a smile.
I cradled my bandaged hand to my chest, feeling valued and important in ways I hadn’t in a very long time. “Lucas,” I said, my words barely more than a whisper. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. Promise me you’ll be back tomorrow.”
I came back every morning for the rest of the week.
Lucas worked at my side, patient and attentive while I learned and mastered his recipes.
He told stories of his life in France while we prepped batters and sauces.
Then, later, as our cakes baked, he shared his feelings of overwhelming anxiety in the days before the restaurant first opened.
I related, profoundly, to his joy and fear in every decision.
Would it be the right one? Could he fix things if he failed?
I’d felt exactly the same way since filing for divorce.
Somehow, in the loud, steamy kitchen, Lucas made me feel as if anything was possible.
And if, at any point, I became unhappy with my circumstances, I had the power to change it all.
I only had to believe I could and be brave enough to take the next step.
Like telling my longtime bully I was leaving.
Lucas made it easy to be at ease. I especially appreciated the way he spoke about his late wife as though she might walk through the door at any minute. His bond with her was so honest and true, it was hard to remember why I’d ever expected him to behave like Robert.
And sometimes, when he spoke of his commitment to Margot, I wondered if perhaps romantic love wasn’t always used as a tool for control. If maybe that was my trauma talking. Maybe my childhood experiences ruined my ability to have a healthy adult relationship.
Maybe instead of raising the bar on the kind of treatment I was willing to accept, I’d blindly followed my mom’s example.
I sent up a prayer of protection for Camilla’s tender heart. She loved Jeff completely, the way only a young, unjaded woman could. I didn’t want that blind trust and devotion to be thrown in her face when she said “I do.”
“What are you thinking?” Lucas asked, walking me to the door, as was his custom.
“I was thinking it’s nice to hear you talk about Margot,” I admitted. “I would have liked her, I think.”
“She would’ve liked you,” he said. “She preferred strong, independent women, especially those with a soft spot for the arts. Baking is clearly your art.”
I smiled. “That’s what I’m talking about. You say things like that, and it’s just so—refreshing. It’s too late for me, but I think Camilla is headed to the altar with her boyfriend, and I worry. I want so much better for her.”
“Better than marriage or better than her boyfriend?”
“The first,” I said. “Maybe both. Jeff seems fine, but the women in my family have a habit of making horrible decisions where love is concerned.”
Lucas made a dismissive throaty sound. “Impossible.”
I laughed. “I assure you, it is not.”
“You’re shifting the blame,” he said. “You gave your heart to a man who didn’t take care of it.
That’s not your fault. You loved. That is a brave thing.
And look.” He smiled. “You showed your daughter it’s okay to walk away too.
That’s a great example, if you ask me. For what it’s worth, I think you’re both going to be just fine. ”
I certainly hoped he was right.