I was in trouble.
After changing quickly, I half expected Chef to be gone already. But he was lingering in the ring, still, and he waved to me as I walked through the gym. When I was almost near the door, I heard him call out to me.
"Oh, Jill?"
I stopped, then turned slowly on one heel. "Yes, Chef?"
He was smiling. "I appreciate the example you're setting in the kitchen, but when it's just the two of us - please call me Max."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Mirepoix
Such a simple marriage of flavors, the mirepoix - celery, carrot, and onion. Almost everyone who cooks has used it, even if they don't know what it's called. Each flavor is elevated by its mates, to make something far greater than the sum of its parts.
- Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes
***
Max
***
Well, the boxing plan worked. Just...not exactly in the way I had envisioned. I had to cut it short before things got out of control. She looked at me like she could absolutely devour me, in more ways than one. It was terrifying and arousing. Terrifyingly arousing?
Ever since Beckett hinted at it, I'd been running from the possibility of Jill having some sort of crush on me. It just seemed like a complication in my life that I absolutely didn't need to deal with, even if it was the only explanation that covered all the facts.
But I couldn't ignore it anymore. Not with the way she'd been looking at me in that ring.
It was intoxicating, I had to admit. The way her lips parted when I touched her, a gesture as simple as wrapping her hands in athletic tape making goosebumps rise all over her body. But there was the small matter of that promise I'd made to myself before I came here - not to mention the fact that any kind of romantic entanglement was guaranteed to ruin our working relationship. I was batting a thousand on that one.
It was so awfully, awfully tempting.
I couldn't.
But what if I did?
She'd melt at my touch immediately, kiss like the world was about to end, hungry and giving and wanting -
I was sure of this.
And that was why it could never, ever happen.
***
The Friday lunch rush was just dying down, and Jill was getting ready to leave.
She'd asked me, well in advance, if she could take a half day. I said yes without asking why, which I think surprised her. But I expected it to be slow for a Friday, and anyway she had a solid enough work ethic that I hardly worried about giving her special treatment every now and again.
She kept glancing at her phone as her shift started to wind down.
"Everything all right?" I asked.
"Just want to make sure I don't miss my train," she said. "I have a furniture delivery coming."
"Ah, lovely. I should get around to that sometime soon."
She gave me a look. "How long have you been living here?"
I judiciously avoided answering. "I wouldn't worry too much, if I were you. They're always late."
"Yeah, unless you are. Then they're early." She sighed. "I still haven't figured out what to do with the old couch. All the junk hauling places want, like, two hundred dollars just to take it away, and I found out after I ordered the new one that this store isn't one of those places that gets rid of your old shit as a courtesy."
"Two hundred...? That's ridiculous. I'll help you get rid of it."
I said this almost as a reflex, with no actual idea of how I could help. But the look on her face made it worthwhile. She smiled, a little disbelieving at first, but then it just lit up.
"Really?" she said. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely," I said, making a dismissive hand gesture. "It'll be no trouble at all."
"Well...thanks," she said, the confusion starting to temper her initial gratitude. "Just let me know when you can come over."
"Tomorrow afternoon?" I suggested.
"That would be great," she said. "Thanks, again, really. I have to go - but thank you."
She hurried out the door. Back in his corner, Liam made a small, disapproving grunt.
"Liam, my man," I said, walking over to his station and clapping him on the shoulder. "Listen - you wouldn't happen to have a pickup truck, would you?"
***
As it turned out, Liam did not have a pickup truck - but his brother did. I had to take him out for drinks to ply it out of him, but it was a worthwhile endeavor.
I missed the turn to Jill's place about three or four times, cursing bitterly as I had to turn the massive vehicle around in some poor person's driveway, trying not to knock over their mailbox and flowerpots. And, ideally, not ruin the truck. Although from the state of it, I doubted that Liam's brother would even notice.
Regardless, I would have to give Liam his pick of shifts and overtime for the next few months to repay this favor. But, again - a worthwhile endeavor.
Jill lived in a bank of townhouses, painted in '70s beiges and browns. There was ample parking, and I pulled up as close as I could, backing into the space so that the bed of the truck hung out over the sidewalk.
When the doorbell echoed through the house, a loud, resonant barking came as the answer.
A few moments later, the door popped open.
Jill had her hair down, and she was smiling.
To say that I realized I'd never seen her like this would be an understatement. It was more than that; it was that moment when you see someone you know, but can't immediately recognize them because of some dramatic change in their appearance. Obviously I knew who she was. I knew what she looked like. Logically, I understood that simply wearing her hair down couldn't possibly change her appearance that much. It didn't justify the way my brain stuttered.
"Hi," she said, her voice softer and brighter than usual. Her mouth was still slightly open, like she'd been planning to say something else, but her eyes were drawn to my arm - more specifically, the ink markings on it. "Sorry," she said, after a moment, dragging her eyes back up to my face.
"It's all right," I said, amused by her sudden bashfulness. "You can look."
I stepped over the threshold, extending my arm to give her a better view. Some of it was an abstract design that had been drawn by a girlfriend at the time - that was my compromise, for not actually getting her name done, and it turned out to be a good decision on my part. The words had been added later.
Ever tried, ever failed, no matter.
Try again, fail again, fail better.
Not the most original, but it had seemed profound at the time.
It had captivated Jill, though. Always supposing her interest wasn't just an excuse to stare at my arm.
"I almost got that tattoo," she said. "The quote, I mean. In the end, I never got up the courage."
"Never been under the needle?"
She shook her head.
"Well," I said. "Don't believe the hype. It's not nearly as bad as people say. If you've been hurt in a kitchen before, you've gone through much worse."
"Yeah, but that's different," she said. "You don't expect it. Isn't the anticipation the worst part?"
"It is," I agreed. "But once you realize it's not as bad as you thought, everything gets easier."
Suddenly, she seemed to snap back to reality. "Oh, shit - I'm sorry, you're just standing there. Come in, please. I don't know what's wrong with me. Thanks again for doing this."
"Please," I said, as she stepped away from the doorway to let me in. "Please don't be silly - it's nothing."
"It's not nothing," she said, her eyes ducking down to the floor. "But I won't argue with you over it."
I followed her inside, onto a wood laminate floor that was buckling slightly under my feet. It was something to look at - something other than the sway of her hips. She was wearing jeans, had I ever seen her wearing jeans before?
"I should warn you, I have a dog," Jill said, over her shoulder. "I promise she's friendly."
As if on cue, I immediately heard the click cli
ck click of canine nails on the floor.
"You don't say." I smiled as the mottled gray pit bull trotted up to me, tail swinging high, a hundred and forty pounds if she was an ounce. She snuffled at my hand curiously, then sat down to lick, her tail thumping on the floor.
"Go to your bed, Heidi," Jill said, after a moment, in a gently authoritative tone that Heidi immediately responded to. She ran over to a bed in the corner and curled up, even as Jill unnecessarily added "Stay. Good bed. Good stay." She glanced at me. "Don't want her underfoot while we're moving heavy objects, trust me. She always thinks she's helping."
The old sofa was already pushed close to the door, with the new one in what I assumed was its proper spot. It was still shrouded in plastic, but from what I could see, it was a definite upgrade.
"Here," I said, "I'll take the end by the door. I don't mind walking backwards."
"Fine with me," Jill said, letting out a puff of air in the direction of her forehead, which carried an errant lock of hair out of her eyes. "Thank God we're on the first floor, at least."
She lifted her side without so much as furrowing her brow. I don't know why it surprised me; I'd seen her heft heavy food crates and cases of wine without breaking a sweat. She was stronger than she looked.
We had the sofa loaded in no time. Anti-climactic, overall, though I wasn't sure what I'd been hoping for.
"You want a coffee, or something?" Jill asked, brushing her hands off.
"If you're having some anyway," I said. "Not if it's any trouble."
"Of course not."
I followed her back inside, and sat scratching Heidi behind the ears while Jill fiddled with the coffeemaker. A warning bell was going off in the back of my head, but I stubbornly ignored it. We can handle this. We're both adults.
She had to move a pile of junk mail from the other chair before she sat down.
"Thanks again for this," she said, looking at the mail, rather than at me. "I know, you keep saying it's no big deal, but..."
I shrugged. "To be honest, I hoped it would work as an olive branch of sorts."
"I thought that was what the boxing match was for."
"Well." I smiled at her, and she smiled back. "I think that may have taken on a life of its own, to be honest."
Jill blushed, the pink tinge on her cheeks making me wish I could throw caution to the winds. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said. "At all."
Careful, careful.
It always seems so innocent, that moment when two people suddenly acknowledge a mutual attraction. Why hide it, after all? Why not just talk about the elephant in the room?
But after that, nothing's ever the same.
After that, things happen. It's unavoidable.
The silence was starting to stretch too long. I heard Heidi yawn in the corner, and took the opportunity to ask about how Jill had found her. A rescue, it turned out, which didn't surprise me - she had almost certainly saved the sweet-faced girl from a short, brutish life in the ring. She beamed with pride when she talked about her dog, and I felt a little twinge of jealousy. Pets were one more thing that my lifestyle simply didn't allow.
We talked for a long time, and I had a feeling she would have let me stay longer. But I had work to do, and she probably had plans as well. But I didn't ask.
After we said goodbye, she stood in the doorway for a long time, watching me as I drove away - and, I suspected, for some time after.
***
After I got home, I pulled out my phone, and finally started looking at all my notifications. Barbara had texted me five or six times. I scrolled through them, leisurely, knowing she would have called if it was something truly important. I was right. It was the usual stuff, some observations on annoying people in line at the store, a funny picture of her cat...
Normally I would have answered as soon as I got them, but after I tapped my thumb in the reply box, I realized that trying to think of a response was taxing. After a few minutes I set the phone aside.
It could wait until tomorrow.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Risotto
Risotto is deceptively finicky for the impatient chef. Care must be taken to tend it constantly, no matter how tedious.
- Excerpted from Dylan: A Lifetime of Recipes
***
Jill
***
"How's your...headaches?" My new doctor was flicking her eyes up and down my chart, looking for anything that stood out, I suppose.
I cleared my throat. "Actually," I said, "I haven't had one in a while."
"Well, that's good news." She smiled distractedly, flipping a page. "Did you work on your...uh, stress management?"
In my mind's eye, I saw Max pitching backwards after I'd punched him right in the face. I saw the sheen of his skin, accenting every muscle in his body, and the snaking tattoo that I didn't dare look at for long enough to understand.
"Yeah," I said. "I guess you could say that."
"Great." She smiled. "Well, whatever it is, keep it up."
***
Before I even walked into the kitchen, I knew something was wrong.
At first I couldn't place it, but then I realized. Max's coat was still hanging up by the door. And sure enough, when I walked in, he was nowhere to be found. Liam was dutifully chopping his vegetables in the corner.
"Hey," I said, going over to my station. "Chef's not here yet?"
Liam just shrugged.
"Okay then," I muttered, pulling my phone out of my pocket. No missed calls. But it was absolutely unheard-of for him to be missing this close to lunch service. Something had to be wrong.
It was likely to be a quiet day, so we could limp along without him if we needed to. If I was being honest, that wasn't really what worried me. Unless he was lying dead in a ditch, I couldn't imagine why we'd be in this situation in the first place.
As I did my prep work, I kept imagining that I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. But every time I checked it - nothing. If Max were here, he'd snap at me for even keeping it in my pocket. Oh, the irony.
Twenty minutes later, it was time to admit to myself that I was really worried.
Finding a good stopping place, I stepped away from my work to call Lydia. I figured if anyone knew what was going on, she would. But if she knew, wouldn't she have called already? I chewed my bottom lip while her phone rang and rang.
She finally answered. "Hello, this is Lydia."
"Hi, it's Jillian Brown. I'm at the Trattoria and it's almost time to open up, but Chef's not here. Have you heard anything from him lately?"
"Not since yesterday morning," she said, her tone instantly worried. "That's not like him at all. Have you asked the others?"
"Well, the prep cook doesn't know anything - hold on, some of the servers just walked in." I turned the mouthpiece towards my shoulder. Aiden, Holly and Cat were all crowding in towards the back room. "Have you guys heard anything from Chef Dylan?"
They all shook their heads.
"He's not here?" Aiden asked, disbelieving.
I shook my own head in response, going back to the phone. "No, nobody's heard a damn thing. This is...concerning, right? What should we do?"
"I'm calling his mobile on my other line right now," Lydia said. "No answer. Listen - I'm going to hang up with you and call Beckett, maybe he knows something we don't. In the meantime, if you hear anything at all, please let me know."
"Will do. Thanks, Lydia."
"Man," said Aiden, still staring at me, wide-eyed, his bistro apron in hand. "What are we gonna do?"
I looked around the kitchen. All the servers and Liam had stopped what they were doing, and were just staring. Looking to me. Looking to me, of all people. For guidance.
"We're going to open the restaurant," I said, firmly. "Cat, please go unlock the door. Nothing needs to change just because Chef's absent. Okay?"
"Okay," said Cat. "Sounds good."
The rest of them filtered out to the dining room. So that was taken care of. I w
ent over to Liam's area, where he was hunched over the meat grinder.
"Hey," I said. "Listen. I know this is kind of..." I sighed. There was no use beating around the bush with him. "I know you've never been happy with this position, and you only took it because you needed the job. I know how that feels. I used to be a sous chef before I started working here. Tonight's your chance to prove that you're more than just a prep cook. I'm going to need your help. Can I count on you?"
After a painfully long silence, he finally looked up at me - making sustained eye contact, I thought, for the first time since we'd met.
"Okay," he said. He wasn't even scowling.
I allowed myself to bask in my triumph for just a moment, before I remembered why I was in this situation in the first place. I glanced at my phone again, compulsively. Did Max even have my number? It was far more likely he'd call the restaurant itself, if he even knew that number off the top of his head.
Or he might call Lydia first, in which case I'd be hearing from her on my cell.
I checked it once more, for good measure.
Aiden came bursting into the kitchen like his hair was on fire. "I've got the first ticket!" he nearly shouted, waving it at me.
"All right, calm down," I said. "That was fast."
"I know." His eyes were like saucers. "They're in a hurry. They need to get across town for a show."
"At eleven o'clock in the morning?" I stared at the order. It was relatively simple, thank God.
Aiden shrugged. "That's what they told me."
"All right. Okay. Doesn't matter. I'll have it out as fast as I can, okay? Make sure they get some bread if they want it, and the dipping oil."
Forcing myself to switch off any thoughts of what had happened to Max, I focused on getting the entrées prepared as quickly as possible. Before I knew it, I'd slipped comfortably into a slightly supercharged version of my normal routine. The undercurrent of worry was still there, but whatever was happening, the best thing I could do for him was keep the restaurant going.
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