Chapter Five #2
“Which are you referring to? Being sous chef here or cooking in general?” I asked, making a point to keep my voice gentle.
Despite the rest of the staff only being able to tolerate Felix, I didn’t mind him.
He was good at his job. He was organized and brought fresh ideas to the menu.
He hadn’t produced a bad recipe yet. During prep times, he was quiet, but he never failed to check in with the crew.
“I came here to slow down,” he answered as he leaned back against the door, running a hand over his hand. “I’ve been here for two years, and before tonight, I hadn’t even watched a sunset in this town.”
This shocked me. “Really?”
His head thudded against the door, eyes on the ceiling. “I thought if I came here, I would find happiness.”
I crossed my ankles, understanding him completely. So much so that I was beginning to feel sorry for him. I had come to Astoria for the same thing, and I’d found it. Part of it, anyway. “Well, you can’t leave tonight,” I told him. “I would fucking die if you did.”
At my curse word, his gaze collided with mine.
He stared for a moment and then shocked the hell out of me when he started laughing.
It was slow at first, a low sound coming from his chest, his shoulders shaking.
That didn’t last long. The low laugh turned into a cackle, and I watched in a stunned stupor as he doubled over, laughing into the floor.
“Clearly, you think I’m joking,” I quipped. “Well, I’m not. You can’t leave. Yeah, I know the menu, but that doesn’t mean jack shit. I’m a pastry chef—a damn good one—but I don’t have—”
“Whatever you’re about to say,” he cut me off lightly, waving his hand, “don’t bother. You just made me laugh for the first time in weeks. Don’t ruin it.”
“Yes, but—”
“I’m not leaving tonight, but I am leaving.”
My nails dug into the palm of my left hand. “And who will take your place? Scott?”
“Hell no,” he practically spat, glaring at me like I’d grown a second head. “Scott can’t handle this shit. Scott couldn’t even handle running a take-out joint.”
“Well, that’s a little rude.”
He sighed. “It’s the damn truth, Angel.”
This gave me pause. “Wait, why are you coming to me about this?”
He blinked. “Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends.”
Now I blinked. “Uh…we are?”
“Well, fuck. I thought so. You made me a fucking birthday cake.”
“Of course I did. It was your birthday,” I explained. “I make everyone something for their birthday.”
His arms fell to his sides. “You do?”
Oh, shit.
My head started to feel heavy. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I didn’t know. Still, I consider you a friend, which is why I brought you in here.”
I sighed, wrapping my arms around myself as I looked over Marg’s wall of photos.
There was one in the center of the wall of her and her late husband at the ribbon cutting when this place opened.
He was kissing her on the cheek, and she was holding those big scissors up in the air, a wide and proud smile on her face.
Her hair was pulled back, highlighting just how round her cheeks were, how youthful they made her look.
How hopeful she must have been, filled with so much joy that she refused to believe hard times would hit her.
“Felix, while I understand you need to do what’s best for you,” I began, keeping my voice soft, “Marg needs you. You can’t quit on her when she doesn’t have a backup.” My eyes met his. “If you do that, this place will crumble.”
He shook his head, eyes burning. “No, I don’t believe that.”
“You’re the sous,” I argued. “You don’t approve of Scott taking your place. Alex and Russ can’t handle that kind of pressure. You and I both know that.”
“Yes,” he said.
I threw my arms out; blood sugar be damned. “So, you’re fine with leaving Marg in a bind?”
His lips pursed. “I’m not going to be leaving her in a bind, Angel.”
I sighed and pulled off my hat, yanking it down to slap against my thigh. “Then please, Chef, tell me who is going to replace you. Do you have someone interested in the job?”
“You.”
I nearly choked on my saliva and stumbled back against Marg’s desk, causing her cup of pens to rattle. “Excuse me?” I wheezed out, coughing.
“My plan is to have you replace me. I wouldn’t leave this place to sink. Just because I didn’t find happiness here doesn’t mean I don’t love this place—and Marg. I do. Truly. But my life isn’t meant to be lived here, Angel.”
There was nothing I could say. My brain was misfiring. The hair on my arms rose and I could feel my eyes about to pop out of my skull.
Felix scanned me, his lips twitching. “I wasn’t going to leave until the end of the season, but I can’t wait. My mental health is too important, Angel.”
I understood that. In fact, I didn’t think there was anyone else in the building who could understand it better. I brought my fingers to my temples and dropped my eyes to the floor. “I understand that, Felix, I do…and forgive me for what I’m about to say.”
“What are you—”
My eyes snapped back up to him. “You’re bat shit crazy if you think I can take your place.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been called worse, and everyone is a little crazy,” he deadpanned.
“I—” My mouth closed and opened a few times as I came to realize he’d already made up his mind. “I can’t… I’m not…I’m not good enough to be sous, Felix. I’ll fail so miserably, then Marg will run me out of town.”
The chef’s features softened. “I highly doubt that. You went to one of the top culinary schools in the nation. You know Marg’s menu like the back of your hand, and you can fucking cook, Angel,” he reminded me.
“Yes, but—”
“I can give you the specials menus and their recipes for the rest of the summer. I plan ahead, and this will give you time to do the same. You can tweak the dishes, put your own spin on them, make them yours,” he offered, coming to me and putting his hands on my shoulders.
He bent his knees a bit to get eye level with me.
“You told me you wanted to have your own restaurant one day, that being a pastry chef was just a stepping stone.”
“I said that on Christmas Eve when we were going around in a circle telling each other our delusional dreams.” I glared at him. “You’re crazy.”
“You can’t get too comfortable hanging out on a single step toward greatness, Angel. If you really want it, you have to keep moving. I’m placing the next right in front of you.” His fingers squeezed me gently. “Lift your foot and ascend.”
Before I could argue, he stepped back. “I’m not telling Marg until Monday, and I will be recommending you as my replacement. You and I both know she’ll want this. You have until then to decide whether you really want to chase your dreams or just fantasize about them.”
Then he was gone, heading back into the kitchen, barking orders as if everything was fine.
“Monday. He’s giving me until Monday to decide my fate!
” I huffed as I folded myself into my car, tossing my bag into the passenger seat.
I was too mad to be gentle. It hit the passenger side door with a heavy thunk as I started the engine.
The voice inside my head, always loud and ever present, started rolling out the questions.
How was I supposed to take three days to decide whether I wanted to be basically thrown into the fire?
It had taken me four months to decide to take the jump and apply for culinary school.
How was I supposed to step into this role so easily, knowing Scott wanted it?
Did he deserve it? No, but he worked hard. He’d been dealt some bad cards in the past, but he was getting his life together and—
“Stop worrying about Scott and his feelings,” I muttered to myself. “What about you and your feelings?”
Before I could dive into those annoying feelings paired with a side of overthinking, lightning flashed in the bay, thunder following not even a second later. Shit.
The weather was supposed to be severe tonight, and I had to get home so I could shower. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to sleep.
Would you be able to sleep anyway?
Felix just offered you something on a silver platter, Angel! You don’t want to take it because you’re scared!
Oh, hush.