by Mel Walker
He looks like a kid being scolded by his mom in front of all his friends at school. What did he really expect?
“I’m sorry. I should have told you over dinner.”
“You think?” I point my finger to my temple for emphasis. “Or how about at any point in time in the last few months? How about that?”
“That’s not really fair, Dana.”
I shoot him a look that says be careful. “Not fair. Not fair, you say. I have two dozen people showing up here tomorrow, and I still don’t know if I have a chef. Is this Chef Zach character a figment of your imagination, or do you need to put on a magic chef coat and then are suddenly transformed into a five-star chef like some wizard from Harry Potter?”
He laughs. This man has the nerve to laugh at me as I’m reaching my boiling point, about to tip into hysteria. He raises both his hands up in a weird surrender pose. “What are you doing now?” I question everything I thought I knew about this man; he has completely lost his ever-loving mind.
“Breathe,” he begins. “In slowly…”
It’s official—he’s in the land of Looney Tunes. All that’s left is for Porky Pig to scream, “That’s all, folks!”
“Now out… make your exhale longer than your inhale…”
The familiar phrasing snaps me out of trance. It’s a yoga breathing exercise used to relax. His surrender arms are his version of goddess arms. “Your stance sucks if that’s supposed to be a yoga pose,” The criticism goes against all yoga philosophy, every person’s pose unique and accepted, but he’s not my student and we are not in my studio.
“What is your game plan, Jackson? Were you dangling this imaginary chef just so you could sweep in at the last moment and save the day? A really white knight.” I can’t help but stick an insult in as he’s not filling in the blanks quick enough for me.
He lowers his arms, realizing his yoga diversion is not working. “Everything I told you about Chef Zach is true.” I exhale as he now has my complete attention. “Zach is my middle name, my professional name. My name really is Jackson.” He pauses, as if that is all he has to say. I don’t react, forcing him to continue. What is about men and their fear of using actual words?
“Do you want to show me the kitchen?” he asks, but I shake my head.
“You’re not stepping foot in the lodge until you tell me everything. So, Zach is your middle name, and you’re a chef? Why not just say that from the start? Why the games?”
He blows out a breath, and we are instantly transported back to the restaurant, me having to pull each word out like an infected tooth. “We only have twenty-four hours until the guests arrive. You may want to get started. I’m not moving until I hear the truth.”
He pulls out his phone and begins to scroll. After a few swipes, he twists the phone and hands it to me. It’s a photo of Jackson. He looks totally different—his hair is short, and he’s wearing a chef jacket with the sleeves pushed up, his forearms filled with tattoos. He’s holding a meat cleaver up near his ear as he sneers into the camera. Below the Seattle Times photo on Instagram is the post: Meet badass Chef Zach. Today’s feature of top chefs under 30.
I stare into the photo and glance up at Jackson. They are clearly the same person, but so different. Chef Zach looks like a reckless know-it-all who lives his life out loud regardless of whose life he upsets. This is the complete opposite personality from what Jackson has displayed up till a few days ago. He’s quiet, like a calm, warm summer breeze. He’s kind, considerate, compassionate. I’m still at a loss.
“I had a restaurant, and I lost it all in a flash.” His history of loss strikes a chord with my own personal history. I listen with a much more empathetic ear than I had a moment ago. “I hightailed it out of Seattle and wanted a different scene. My cousin Jason lives here in Destiny Falls, so I reconnected and have been hiding out here ever since.”
I have a thousand remaining questions as Jackson has zipped through his history with a broad brush. At the rate he reveals details, we’ll still be here next month by the time he answers all the questions I hold. I sense the time slipping away and decide to give him an out. “Can you cook?”
My question takes him by surprise. “Didn’t you taste the carrot cake balls?”
“Just checking. For all I know, Zach/Jackson could have bought those at a bakery and palmed them off as his own.” I steal a glance back toward Mia, who is still on the porch of the lodge, texting. I know why she hasn’t joined us, something we discovered some time ago—the lake’s cell signal is spotty. The lodge gets barely two bars, however ten feet off the porch and you are back in a dead zone. Jackson’s post on his phone must have been saved. “Okay, so you can cook. Are you up to it? Tell me now—this will be your last chance to back out without me hunting you down and attacking you in your sleep. If you say yes, I’m not going to accept anything less than excellence.”
He nods. “Of course, Dana. I would never do less than that for you. You will always get my very best. You deserve that from me and everyone.”
The words should warm my heart; they’re the words I’ve wanted to hear from a man for so long. Yet, my own history causes alarm bells to ring. I can’t afford to expend the energy required to decipher his words. “Fine. Aaron is already in the kitchen. Go get the rundown with him. Did he know all of this already?”
He stops midstep at my question. “I swore him to secrecy. Don’t hold it against him.”
More secrets. I don’t have the time or the energy. “Oh, I won’t, but his girlfriend may feel differently about the truth and keeping secrets.” I uncross my arms as my words sink in. How his lie of omission nearly drove me to hysteria. I turn toward the lodge. “One last question. How were you able to get a week off work on such short notice?”
He doesn’t bother to glance in my direction as he answers, “You said you need me. That’s all it will ever take for me to move heaven and earth, sunshine.”
I stop in my tracks, wondering if I heard correctly. I watch him continue to walk toward the lodge, nearly skipping, the lightness of the truth lifting the weight from his shoulders.
The week hasn’t even begun, and I feel as if I’ve fought three dragons. I don’t know how I’m ever going to make it through the week, especially with a man who has essentially pledged the world to me.
Can I trust his words? Can I trust my heart? Can I trust any of this?
Chapter Ten
Jackson
The smell of garlic roasting greets me as I enter the kitchen. I’ve only been to the lodge at Lake Hope a handful of times, most of them spent on the outskirts during the filming of the movie Forever. It was the biggest thing to happen in the region ever, and I had to see it up close. However, on those trips I had never gotten to enter the property.
The exquisite foyer hints at the care the owners have taken with the house, but one look in the kitchen confirms to me that they get it. The kitchen is massive, the heartbeat of the lodge. Modern commercial appliances line the far wall, a huge prep island in the center, and a long family-friendly eat-in table off to the side. The subzero double-door refrigerator with see-through doors has me wanting to hug the owners. They understand the flow and joy of how to operate a kitchen. I can feel the love and care in the room just by the design.
The ends of my nerves prickle and I spot Aaron entering from a narrow doorway. His arms are wrapped protectively around a bowl filled to the brim with onions, shishito peppers, dragon fruit, and vegetables from the walk-in pantry. His green eyes spark with humor as he spots me. The chuckle from his chest crosses the room and greets me.
“You’re alive? I was beginning to wonder how you were going to pull that one off. You had no clue how nervous Dana has been this morning. How the hell did you explain Chef Zach?” He places the bowl on the prep table and walks around the table as we pound our fists.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry to put you in the middle. I understand Mia may have some issues with you withholding the truth.”
He waves a
hand in my direction. “I’ve already practiced my groveling and have the flowers ordered. You, however, owe me big-time. Next time I’m in the café, I want complimentary treats. Some of those balls you made for Dana is a good start.”
“Deal,” I return, happy that I haven’t lost Aaron’s support. That would make this week nearly unbearable. Working side by side for the next four days will be challenging enough.
“Soooo.” He drags out the word, as if afraid to complete the thought and I already know where he’s about to go. “Did you come completely clean, or did you give her the radio-edit version?” Aaron returns to the prep table and begins laying out the supplies he’s pulled from the pantry. The fact that he even asks tells me he’s done additional research on my background.
I walk around the table, taking in the items. Aaron’s reputation for discovery precedes him, but I won’t tip my hand. The ugliest parts of my past should be buried, I hope for good.
I direct my attention to the table. I recognize what he is doing and am impressed by his approach. He has the menu for the week taped to the corner of the table and is beginning to become familiar with each recipe. He’s gathered the ingredients I suspect he has worked with the least and wants to do a practice run. On the drive up, I had pretty much decided on the same approach. I’m pleased that already we are on the same page. A successful kitchen needs more than talent and skills; it requires chemistry and alignment.
“The radio edit. Hell, I’m still struggling with the full unedited version.” I glance over his shoulder at the menu. “Besides, after she realized I am actually qualified as a chef, her focus was back on the week. I’ll sit down with her once this is over and tell her the full unflattering truth.” I tap my fingers on the table, the familiar excitement of being in a kitchen again building slowly. I feel my breath shortening. “Of course, I may have to leave Destiny Falls after that.” A dry laugh escapes as I realize that could very well be a real outcome. I’m not sure I can walk away from Dana, but after she finds out my full history, she may very well chase me out of town.
Aaron adjusts his apron and grabs a towel from the table, tossing it over his left shoulder. He’s ready to work. Good. I’m tired of talking. “I hear you and I understand about focusing in on the week. But I wouldn’t wait one minute after. The sooner she knows the complete story, the sooner you two can figure out your future.”
I shake my head and want to change topics as I doubt there will be a future for us once Dana sees all of me. She only knows Jackson; she is attracted to Jackson. The beast known as Zach is a different story. The longer I stay in Destiny Falls, the more foreign Zach seems, and the more I realize how massive my mistakes in the past are. They say the truth will set you free, but I wonder if it will turn out to be my end.
Chapter Eleven
Dana
My nerves finally begin to rest. I check off the last item on page three on my clipboard. Every little detail about the lodge has been covered. The guest rooms are set, extra linens, towels, toiletries. The first aid kits are fully stocked, the local doctor is stored on speed dial, and directions to the nearest hospital are memorized. All the training and breakout rooms are prepped with supplies. Extra mats—check. Water bottles—check. Hand sanitizers—check, check. I’ve personally tested every life jacket in the boathouse, inspected the boats for leaks, and have even tested every oar to make sure they don’t have cracks.
I can’t think of anything else I need to check here at the lodge before I head back to town and start in on the two-page checklist that awaits me for the van pickups tomorrow.
I step through the lodge and my nose picks up the beautiful aroma of a smorgasbord of competing flavors coming from the kitchen. The boys have been locked away all day. Heavy metal rock streams out the kitchen, a surprising choice which I attribute the foreign man going by the name Chef Zach.
Mia’s beautiful profile is leaning silently against the doorframe. A well-worn Forever movie T-shirt hangs low, nearly covering her sandy-brown shorts. Her focus is on her phone—no surprise as she is the listing agent for a host of other properties while babysitting me here at the lodge. I can’t begin to express how much she’s done for me and this retreat.
I lean in and give her a quick side hug, and the corners of her lips rise into a brilliant smile. I mouth the words all good? in her direction, and she nods. I tilt my head toward the kitchen to let her know I’m going to peek in.
I spot Aaron first. His head is down, a headband across his forehead, his hair matted dark with moisture. The temperature in the kitchen is at least twenty degrees warmer than the lodge. Aaron is chopping potatoes as if his life depends on it, and based on the stares from Jackson, it may very well be. I’ve never seen this version of Jackson; this must be Chef Zach.
He is stalking along the stove line, multiple pots underneath the flames. Hooked in his waistband are three sets of tongs, a spatula in his hand as he flips a filet of fish. Fire shoot up toward the hood. Rather than step back, he leans in, waving his hand through the wall of flames to stir a pot sitting on the rear burner.
He barks an order in Aaron’s direction. A simple meek “Yes, Chef” is returned, and something tells me it’s a response he has on repeat.
I take an anxious step into the kitchen, his domain. Aaron spots me immediately. He sees everything; he always does. A slight shake of his head side to side warns me, but I ignore it and plant a plastic smile on my face and approach.
Up this close, the fragrance of deliciousness overloads my senses. The tidal wave of flavors distracts me and my stomach grumbles in appreciation. However, spotting the strong, muscular, exposed shoulders of a certain chef pulls me back in. At the cafe Jackson normally wears three-quarter-length T-shirts. However, given the lack of students and the temperature in the kitchen, he’s wearing a barely-there tank top. I approach, my eyes scanning the ink, which I rarely get to see this exposed. His shoulder and upper bicep are filled with symbols I don’t recognize. One unmistakable pattern stands out, broken glass scattered amongst the symbols. This close I hear him over the music muttering to himself.
“Not good enough. And you call yourself a chef. Why don’t you just pack your shit and go home to your Suzy Homemaker kitchen?”
He’s berating himself. I’m not sure what’s going on, but it must stop. I place a tentative hand on his shoulder and wait for him to turn and snap at me. He doesn’t. It’s almost as if he senses my presence. His rigid body relaxes, his stiff muscles softening. I lean my cheek across his shoulder, the sweat sticking to my skin, marking me with his scent.
“Hey, Jackson,” I whisper. It’s a simple phrase which has somehow become our greeting over these months. Just saying those two words have always warmed my heart, and today is no different.
It’s as if the words chase away the monster from the kitchen.
“Hey, sunshine,” he returns his matching two-word phrase. His hand flips a burner to low as he turns to me and wraps his arms around my shoulders.
“Who was that in the kitchen a moment ago?” I look up into his indigo eyes. They flicker with embarrassment for a second before he responds.
“You saw that?” I nod, hoping he’ll be honest with me. “That was Chef Zach.” His gaze floats over my shoulder. “He’s a bit of an asshole.”
I snicker at his self-description and his ability to separate his personalities. “Well, for the next few days, keep him out of my kitchen, will you?”
The corner of his eyes crinkle as he debates how to respond. “I wish I could, I need him. He may not be the nicest person in the world, but he delivers.”
I place my hand on his chest and feel the racing of his heart. I can’t recall us ever being this close, this intimate before. The simple move has my heart beginning a sprint, hoping to catch up to him. “I know another chef that can kick his ass and has always delivered for me. That’s who I want in here. The kind, considerate, mellow man that treats himself and others with respect.”
He nods, looking at me l
ike a father accepting a five-year-old’s solution to world peace.
“I mean it, Jackson. Whenever you feel crazy Zach appearing, think of calm, think of peace, think of joy and happiness.”
The blue in his eyes brightens with the thought. His gaze locks on me. “It sounds like you want me to think of you.” The words come out soft and tender. This is the chef I want in my kitchen, in my arms.
The popping of a dish behind him causes him to release me. He twists, pulls a pair of tongs from his waist, and flips a pineapple that is grilling. Just as quick, he turns back to me. I take two steps back and wink at him. “Then you should be good because I already know all you do is think about me.”
I wish I had a camera to record his reaction. Hunger races into his eyes, and the heat from the stove is nothing compared to the heat coming from him. If I don’t leave this kitchen, I will be burned beyond recognition.
I step back as Jackson’s gaze rakes down my body. The look is so intense that I can nearly feel it racing across my skin. I turn from his heat and give a side hug to Aaron.
“Thank you, Aaron. I see you.”
He places the knife on the cutting board, his eyes sparkling as he wipes his hands on his hand towel.
“We got this, Dana. Concentrate on the students. We won’t let you down.”
I blow him a kiss. He truly is a sweetheart and a warrior. Mia is a very lucky woman.
Speaking of… Mia is in the doorframe, staring at me with a look of admiration. She lifts a finger up to her lip, shhh. She points down to her phone and then to me as she types away. My phone vibrates, and I pull the phone from my back pocket.
