by Aurora Rey
How would Drew respond to Hannah showing up on her doorstep? If the kiss was anything to go on, she probably wouldn’t mind. Hannah imagined giving her a sultry smile. She’d step inside, close the door behind her. Then she’d press Drew against it and kiss her senseless. Drew would kiss her back, pulling her to bed. Drew would slip her shirt over her head, push her onto the mattress.
Hannah’s breath caught at just how vivid the images were, the way her body responded to them. She wouldn’t do it tonight. It was too forward, even for her. But the images remained achingly clear. And as she pulled into her own driveway and cut the engine, she realized not acting on them was becoming a less and less appealing option.
* * *
Drew looked at her phone and smiled. Just seeing Hannah’s name pop up would have done the trick, but the message made it even better.
Had some great berries tonight, but left me craving your shortcake.
Drew tucked her tongue in her cheek as she crafted her response. I don’t want to confess those were Mariama’s creation.
As much as she wanted to wait for a reply, she had work to do. She returned her attention to the duck breast resting on the board in front of her. She sliced it on an angle and fanned the pieces over the pile of garlic mashed potatoes. She added baby carrots and leeks, then spooned the cherry and port demi-glace around the plate. She slid the plate onto the warming shelf with the pasta dish already waiting. “Table twelve.”
A server appeared and whisked the plates away. She had two more tickets waiting, so she pulled more meat from the cooler under the table, heated her skillets, and started the process again. While the skin of the duck seared, she sneaked a quick peek at her phone.
Oh, right. Well, that’s too bad.
She’d added a winky face, though, so Drew didn’t hesitate to tease back. Now, now. I can make shortcakes.
Again, she tucked her phone away and tended the meat browning in front of her. She chuckled. If she caught a sous chef doing that, she’d have their head. Eh. One of the perks of being in charge. And it wasn’t like she’d overcook anything.
She plated the next order just as before, then took a quick turn around the kitchen to check on her staff. They’d opened the patio, and even with the increased number of tables, things ran smoothly. It helped that Nick didn’t scrimp on staff. He’d let her hire an intern as temporary prep cook, a student at the Culinary Institute home for the summer.
Satisfied she wasn’t shirking, she returned to her station. And smiled to find a message from Hannah waiting for her. I don’t know. You might have to prove it.
A trio of tickets popped out of the printer. She typed quickly. Is that an invitation?
A surge of tickets followed and the phone went away for good. She had four sauté pans going, enjoying the rush of a kitchen operating on all cylinders, when the intern sliced his finger open. As injuries involving blood usually did, someone screamed and someone announced they were about to pass out. Drew made her way over to bring order to the chaos. To his credit, the intern wasn’t freaking out. Someone had handed him a towel and he had his hand elevated. “Kyle, you okay?”
He looked more embarrassed than anything. “I think so.”
“Let’s go take a look and make sure you don’t need stitches.”
He flinched at the mention of stitches. “Okay.”
“Carrie, clean and sanitize the station. Landon, can you handle prep while we sort this out?”
“Yes, Chef,” they said in unison.
“Poppy, can you cover my station and grill?”
“Yes, Chef.”
“Excellent. Everyone else, back to work. We’ve got customers to serve.”
The command snapped everyone back to action. Her staff scattered back to their stations. A dozen tickets came in during the incident, but she wasn’t worried. No one in the dining room would even sense anything was off.
She led Kyle to the hand wash station, carefully unwinding the towel from his left index finger. She had him run it under cool water for a good thirty seconds. It was long and bleeding pretty good, but it didn’t seem deep. “I don’t think it’s too serious, but it’s completely your call. If you want to get it looked at, you should.”
Kyle examined the cut, poking at it lightly. “Nah. It’s not that bad. Sorry I disrupted service.”
He was afraid she’d be mad, or maybe more, disappointed. That was one of those things about being head chef she’d not really thought about before. Maybe it was because Kyle was African American and reminded Drew of herself a decade ago. Whatever the reason, her opinion mattered to him, and she didn’t want to take that lightly. She clapped a hand on his shoulder and offered an encouraging smile. “It happens to the best of us. I’ve seen your knife skills. They’re on point. Don’t start second-guessing yourself.”
The slightly lopsided grin he offered in return went all the way to his eyes. “Thanks.”
“Let’s get you bandaged up. My guess is that’s going to start throbbing like a mother if it hasn’t already. Even if you don’t want to go see a doctor, you might want to call it a night.”
“Do I have to?”
Drew admired his spunk. “You do not. Tight bandage and double gloves will do the trick. Just don’t feel like you have something to prove.”
“Nah. I’m in it for the money.”
She laughed. Gritty and smart. “You’re going to do well in this business, Kyle. I can feel it.”
“Thanks, Chef.”
She pulled out the first aid kit and wrapped up his finger. In less than ten minutes, they were back at their stations. Poppy was moving between stations with ease and everything looked under control. Drew walked up behind her and peered over her shoulder. “Should I worry about being superfluous?”
“No, Chef.” Poppy moved back to her station. “Those need two more minutes apiece.”
“Thanks.” Drew hoped she would have loosened up by now. Then again, it hadn’t even been two months. She’d done the same, keeping her guard up in a new position—hustling until it was clear she could run the kitchen if called upon. “Good work.”
“Thanks, Chef.”
Drew finished and plated the food. A look around told her everyone’s attention appeared focused on the tasks at hand. In fact, they’d entered a lull. She checked the clock. Just after nine. It would be all downhill from here.
She checked her phone and found a pair of messages waiting for her. The first had come immediately after Drew’s last comment and read, If you’re cooking, you’re invited. Or I’m inviting myself. Either way. The second came several minutes later. But not tonight. It’s my bedtime. #notaninvitation
Drew laughed out loud. If Hannah was joking about a bedtime invitation, it meant they were legit flirting. But since it had come almost half an hour before, she resisted texting back. Jarring someone out of a sound sleep did not count as flirting.
The rest of dinner service passed without incident. Drew left the kitchen in the hands of the cleanup crew. She drove home, enjoying the summer night and the very real prospect of sharing a meal, and maybe more, with Hannah in the not-too-distant future.
Chapter Thirteen
Despite the singular nature of Hannah’s thoughts about Drew, July had other ideas. She worked crazy hours and only saw Drew in passing when she stopped by to pick up the day’s produce. The ripening of peppers and tomatoes brought waves of u-pickers to the farm. Between them and the people stopping by the farm stand, it felt like supply could barely keep up with demand. Hannah carefully set aside enough of everything to fill the CSA bins, knowing the people who got them were some of her most loyal customers. She even agreed to do some setting aside for Drew, especially since Drew had crafted an entire tasting menu around local tomatoes.
Drew seemed plenty busy herself. Nick had furnished the small patio off the back of the restaurant, adding two dozen more seats to the capacity of the restaurant. Things seemed to be thriving. It probably helped that they were in the peak of loca
l produce season, but Hannah hoped it would last long after the first frost.
Drew continued to stop by the farm three mornings a week, even after Hannah offered to revisit the idea of delivery. “It’s on my way,” she said.
They chatted back and forth over text—flirty, but nothing more. Hannah couldn’t decide how she felt about that. No, that wasn’t true. She felt, when not completely exhausted from work, aroused and frustrated. That made mornings especially challenging. She’d get to the farm fresh from a good night’s sleep, with the anticipation of seeing Drew at the forefront of her mind.
It was uncharted territory for her, wanting someone so badly.
As she’d taken to doing the last week or two, she busied herself in the barn instead of heading right out to the fields. Drew still had her pick of things, but what she wanted had become pretty predictable and Hannah liked to save her the trouble. She filled boxes and bins, humming to herself, until she went looking for the tomatoes and came up empty. “Where are the flats of tomatoes I set aside?”
“Um.” Clare looked around. “I don’t know. Were they in the cellar room?”
Hannah’s stomach dropped uncomfortably. “I had them tucked behind the CSA bins.”
“I haven’t seen them. Ask Jeremiah, maybe?”
Hannah headed to do just that, even though she already knew the answer.
“Shit.” He winced and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I had Guy fill the bins yesterday and he must have seen them and thought that’s what they were for.”
Half the bins had been picked up the evening before. She flipped open one of the ones remaining and, sure enough, it held a generous pint of cherry tomatoes and a half dozen heirlooms. Hannah groaned. A lot of the people who got farm shares knew each other, so she couldn’t go rifling and reclaiming at least part of what she owed Drew. “What are the chances we could pick three flats’ worth this morning?” Hannah asked.
“Slim. Maybe one, if we were generous in our definition of ripe. The u-pickers were out in force yesterday.”
He was right. The weather had been gorgeous and the flow of people constant. The farm stand receipts were higher than average by almost a third. She’d been thrilled. Now, unfortunately, she was screwed. She pulled out her phone to text Drew, trying to tamp down the dread creeping up her spine.
There’s been a mix-up. Your tomatoes got sold.
No. The reply was instant and included the angry, red-faced emoji.
Hannah pinched the bridge of her nose. Let me make some calls. I can’t promise exactly what you want, but I’ll try to come close.
Okay.
Hannah groaned. It was hard to gauge the level of Drew’s irritation. Was her answer terse because she was in the car? Because texts were almost always terse? Or was she truly angry? Not knowing was as bad as her being really pissed. Worse, Hannah couldn’t blame anyone for the mix-up but herself. She should have labeled the boxes or put them in a much more out-of-the-way spot. Stupid.
Before she could beat up on herself more, Drew walked in, holding her phone. “What happened?”
She took a deep breath and steeled herself. “Demand has been out-pacing ripening. I had some set aside for you, but I didn’t label them. It’s my fault.”
“It’s fine.” Despite her words, Drew’s face told Hannah it was absolutely not fine.
“If you want to take everything else, I’m going to see what kind of strings I can pull.”
Drew raised a brow.
“What do you need for today?”
“If I don’t change the menu?” Drew’s tone was frigid.
She winced. “Yeah.”
“Four flats.”
“Okay. I can’t promise you that, but let me see what I can do.”
“You don’t have to—”
Hannah cut her off. “I want to. I screwed up and I want to make it right. Barring a trip to the grocery store, I’ll get you what I can.”
Drew nodded. “Okay. I appreciate that.”
Again, the tone of Drew’s voice didn’t quite match her words. Hannah squared her shoulders. “Let me help you load the rest of your order and I’ll swing by the restaurant this afternoon.”
They carried boxes and bins out in silence, then Drew left. Hannah returned to the barn and went to her office. She took out her phone and began pulling up contacts, starting with her old neighbors at the farmer’s market. Half an hour later, she’d arranged to procure more than half of what she owed Drew. Not bad, all things considered. But not what she’d promised. And not what Drew was counting on.
She grabbed her keys and left her office. Clare was behind the register, chatting with a couple buying peppers and eggplant. She glanced at Hannah. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
Hannah shook her head. “I’m going out. I’ll be back later.”
Clare gave her a funny look, but she didn’t stick around to explain. Raging out in front of customers would not improve her day or her mood. She made a giant loop, stopping at three different farms around her. Most didn’t do retail sales, so the owners were doing her a huge favor.
She arrived back at the farm early afternoon. The farm stand had several customers and Clare said they’d had a steady stream all day. Only a few complained about them being out of tomatoes. Her regular customers, at least, were used to things coming in waves.
Hannah went through the barn and out the back. She tracked down Jeremiah planting a new row of spinach. He stood and offered her a wave. “I managed to scrounge half a flat before the u-pickers showed up. They’re in the office.”
Hannah sighed. She was lucky to have found a manager who understood the business side of farming, even if he didn’t like it. “Thank you. I got close to three from our generous neighbors, so it’s less of a disaster than it could be.”
“I’m glad.” He chuckled. “It’s funny how, in some parts of the country at this time of year, you can barely give them away.”
Hannah laughed, appreciating for a moment the absurdity of her day. “Yeah. Don’t tell me that.”
Jeremiah shrugged in his easygoing way. “I’ll still take my chances here.”
“Agreed.” Hannah looked around. She could see a few u-pickers wandering the fields, but not too many. “Do you feel like things are under control here? I want to run what I’ve got down to the restaurant.”
“Absolutely. Go. I’m going to get these in, check on irrigation, and call it a day.”
“Thank you. You’re the best.” She left him to his work and went back to the barn.
* * *
When she’d finished stewing, Drew turned her attention to a backup menu. Or backup specials at least. If Hannah pulled together even a quarter of what she’d been expecting, she’d have enough for the salads and the cold farro.
She didn’t want to admit it, but she’d gotten a little lazy. Hannah’s tomatoes needed so little to shine, she’d been riding that train for close to three weeks. So even though she was annoyed, it was sort of a blessing in disguise. She considered staying mad on principle. Problems like this were the main reason she preferred a more traditional supplier. But even as she made that rationalization in her head, it fell flat.
The fact of the matter was that she had come to appreciate being so close to the source. Sure, the quality couldn’t be beat, but it was more than that. She liked the anticipation of things ripening on the vine, the authenticity of getting whatever was ready to pick. And, if she was being completely honest, she liked being kept on her toes.
Tonight’s specials now included a bruschetta with pepperonata—sautéed sweet peppers with garlic, capers, golden raisins, and a splash of vinegar at the end. She also pulled together a zucchini involtini, serving it on a bed of kale pesto instead of tomato sauce. If the staff response was anything to go on, she had two winners.
She had just finished instructing the prep cooks when the back door to the restaurant swung open. Hannah swept in, hair disheveled and an almost wild look in her eyes. She he
ld a long, flat box full of tomatoes. “I’ve got three flats.”
Even if Drew had wanted to stay mad, any hard feelings would have melted in that moment. Hannah had clearly worked herself into a frenzy to make things right. She probably would have done it for anyone, but today, she’d done it for her. “You really didn’t have to.”
Hannah lifted her chin. The show of pride did wicked things to Drew’s libido. “I said I would come through.”
She smiled, hoping to convey that her appreciation went beyond the tomatoes. “I’m more than grateful.”
Hannah handed her the box. “I’ll go grab the other two.”
“I’ll help.”
Hannah narrowed her eyes but didn’t argue. “I’m parked right outside.”
She followed Hannah to her truck, taking the second box while Hannah grabbed the third. “This took you all day, didn’t it?”
Hannah blew a piece of hair from her eyes and cracked a smile. “Not all day.”
She didn’t believe her even a little. “I really do appreciate it. I’m also sorry if my behavior this morning made you feel like you had to do this.”
“It didn’t.”
She led the way back into the kitchen. They set the tomatoes on one of the prep counters. “I think maybe it did. I don’t like surprises, at least not when it comes to ingredients.”
“Yes, you made that clear from the day we started working together. It was one of the reasons I was hesitant to contract with the restaurant in the first place,” Hannah said.
The truth of Hannah’s words hit home and made her feel small. “I did feel that way in the beginning.”
She raised a brow. “And you don’t now?”
“I’m not saying I love having my plans thrown out the window. But a curveball every now and then is good for me.”
Hannah scowled. “I don’t think I want to be your curveball.”
