Calla's Kitchen

by Teresa Crumpton

  I grab my bags off the passenger seat and my phone out of its holder before heading into my building. Once inside, I opt for the stairs instead of the elevator, unlike this morning. On the way up, I mentally run through everything I need to finish before I head out for the night.

  Shit! I don’t even know what time my reservation is. Not to mention, I’ll need a ride home tonight so I can give Trey his car back.

  The door to my floor opens, as I am just about to push it.

  “Oh.” I shift slightly, as the man holding the door startles me.

  “Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t think anyone used the stairwell,” the man remarks.

  He is a couple inches short of six-feet, with light brown hair, stunning pale green eyes, and scruff. The man is maybe thirty, but I highly doubt that.

  “I’m probably the only one that does. Did you just move in?” I wonder.

  “No, I’m just here visiting. Do you need help?” he asks, finally stepping aside and keeping the door open for me.

  “Cool. No, thank you. You’re doing enough by holding the door. Thanks.” I step through the door and take a step toward my loft ,when he stops me with his next comment.

  “By the way, my name is Jason. Just in case I see you around again.” He holds out his hand.

  “Calla,” I reply.

  With my free hand, I shake his. A door opens about three doors down, and a woman sticks her head out.

  “Jason, what are you doing? I thought you had to be somewhere?” The woman has her hands on her hips as she glares at us.

  “It was good to meet you, Jason. Thanks for holding the door.” I smile at him briefly and head to my loft.

  The chick glares at me as I walk past, and I chuckle the whole time. At my door, I glance back to see what might happen between them, only to see the guy slip out the door into the stairwell. The woman slams her door, muttering.

  In my entryway, I drop my bags and kick off my boots before moving around the loft to set up my laptop. Facing the cityscape, I open my computer on the coffee table, pull up the programs I use for making orders, and finish the last little bit of work I have left for today. Twenty minutes later, I have everything ordered for the weekend and for Tuesday.

  I close out of the programs, shut down my laptop, and fall back into the leather couch, slouching.

  Where’s Bagheera?

  I scan the parts of the room I can see without having to move. The black furball is curled up on a pillow next to the window, sunbathing.

  “Why didn’t the guys schedule me for an afternoon in the sun instead of going out? And knowing my luck, they’ll want me to go to a club, too! They’re going to be the fucking death of me.” I pull on my ponytail.

  “Fuck. I forgot to call Trey about the reservation. Damn Jason and his girl.”

  I feel around for my phone but can’t find it. So I drag myself off the couch and head for the front door, where I’d dropped my purse.

  I grab all the bags off the floor and head down the hall to my bedroom. Once in my room, I toss everything on the bed and dig in my small purse for the phone.

  Phone in hand, I dial.

  “What do you need, Darlin’?” comes Trey’s deep voice.

  I can picture his athletic frame standing at one of the stations, telling the staff to shut the hell up as he answered the phone.

  “It could be due to my lack of brain cells, but I don’t remember you telling me when my reservation is?”

  “Oh, shit! I actually don’t think I told you. Let me check. Wes, what time did we set up the dinner for Calla?” Even though his voice is slightly muffled, I can tell he is yelling across the kitchen.

  “Calla, be there at six thirty. We think the reservation is at seven. Try everything on the menu. We already settled the bill. This was originally to persuade you to want to make some changes, but that’s out the window since you already want to start making them,” he quips.

  “Yes, well, it only took a year. Anyway, I’ll be there early just to be on the safe side, since I need to bring back your car.” I unbutton my jeans, which causes a rustling over the phone.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Undressing, so I can shower again and put on makeup. Joy.”

  “I can’t wait until you’re all dolled up. After work, we’re all going to a bar on 7th. I better see you there. I want to see this dress you love to hate.” He chuckles.

  “I don’t want to stay out too late. And you know I despise crowds. I don’t need strangers grinding up against me. And don't start on me about Rex’s place. I only go there because it's his, and he knows it.” I tap my foot, even though he can’t see it. “I’ll be there just to make a point. Then I’m out and coming home to sleep.”

  “Only if we let you. Go get your shower, snack, and get ready. I’ll see you tonight. Gotta go, Darlin’. Not sure if Wes is about to kill one of the staff or not. We got some disturbing news today.”

  “What happened?” I demand.

  “We will talk about those details in a few days. We are not talking about that situation right now.”

  “Trey! What the fuck happened? This is exactly why I don’t take time off!”

  “Torrance happened. Now, we will talk details on another day. Stop obsessing.”

  “Fine.” I cock my hip and begin tapping my foot again. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “Calla, Darlin’, you will have fun. Promise. And if you don’t, I won’t force you to go out again.”

  “Don’t you dare lie. You know damn well you’ll try again. The guys will make sure of it. Now let me get a snack and get ready.”

  “You need five hours to get ready?” He sounds amazed.

  “No. I need five hours to mentally prepare myself for this outing. I may take a nap,” I respond.

  We say our goodbyes, and my stomach starts to growl. My shower can wait. I need food. I stroll out of my room to the kitchen. I pull out my notepad and pencil that I keep handy then get to work making my snack. I decide to make a grilled sharp-white cheddar sandwich.

  When I finish cooking, I stand in the kitchen and quickly eat my grilled-cheese, while making notes on the cheese, the time it took to cook, and other ideas for different comfort foods I might want to add to Belladonna’s menu. Then I glance at my watch.

  Well, hell. That only took thirty minutes. I think I will take a nap.

  I walk toward the couch, grab a blanket off the back, and curl up on one side of my soft leather sofa.

  “Baggie, come here baby,” I call.

  He saunters over and cuddles up next to me. I sleep for two and a half hours, and for the first time in a year, my sleep is restful, and I wake up refreshed.

  Chapter 7

  Calla

  I pull into Belladonna’s parking lot at five forty-five and park in Trey’s spot. Since everything that has been planned for me is within a three-block radius, having a prime parking spot is ideal. I push open the door and head into Belladonna, locking the car behind me. Bypassing the hostess, I sidle up to the bar and order a whiskey and ginger with a lime twist.

  “Can I see some ID ma’am?” the bartender requests.

  A fit of coughing erupts from my throat.

  “Are you okay ma’am?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I wheeze out, as I pull my ID out of the clutch I’d placed on the bar.

  I pull out my cell phone at the same time and shoot off a text to Adam.

  Calla: I have to hand it to you, you’ve trained the bartenders well. I just got carded.

  Adam: Thank you. Wait, what? What do you mean you just got carded? And how the hell do you know I trained the bartenders well?

  Calla: Think about it.

  Adam: Why are you in Belladonna?

  Calla: Returned Trey's Roadster. Plus, I figured it was safer to park here and have one of y’all drive me home.

  “Well, shit! Girl, you look amazing. I told you that dress would look gorgeous on you.” Nessa leans against the bar.

  The b
artender places a coaster and my drink in front of me then glances at Nessa.

  “Nessa, you need anything?” She shakes her head, and his attention focuses back on me. “Ma’am. Uh, Calla. You have a beautiful name, and I know I shouldn’t say this in front of my boss, but I’d love to get your number.”

  Nessa bursts out laughing.

  “Tom.” She snaps to get his attention. His brows furrow, and he frowns, but he makes eye contact with her. “I’m not the boss you need to worry about. She is.” Nessa points to me and winks at him.

  His face pales and he sputters. “Miss Calla, I’m so sorry, I--”

  I wave him off. “Tom, is it? Thank you for the offer, really. And if I wasn’t your boss, I’d give you my number,” I smile at him.

  “Fuck me. I carded you.” He lowers his head, his cheeks flushing.

  Nessa and I both chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?” Adam wonders, putting his arm around his wife and kissing her temple. He does the guy chin-lift thing that they all do.

  “Tom realizing how well he’s doing his job,” I respond, taking a sip of my drink.

  “Great. Keep up the good work, Tom. Calla, grab that whiskey and ginger, and let's go back to the office for the twenty minutes you have remaining. I think I heard Trey tell you to be over at Canaille by six thirty. Right?” Adam asks, squeezing Nessa’s hand before stepping back and letting me and Nessa go ahead of him.

  “Yep.” I slide off the stool, pick up my drink and clutch from the bar, and head to the kitchen.

  I weave my way around the restaurant, passing Nick at the pizza oven, to the kitchen entrance. I rarely come out of the kitchen during the work day except to come and go from the restaurant. Therefore, I never really see the dining room full like it is now. In the spiked heels Nessa had me buy this morning, I am moving slowly as I pass through the swinging door into my sanctum. Or what used to be my sanctum.

  The kitchen is in full swing, with servers and chefs alike bustling around the space. This, too, is an aspect that I never get to see. Mark, one of the sauté chefs, stands behind the shoulder-sized wall that separates the wood-burning pizza oven and salad stations. He passes something hot between the windows to Nick. Wes has the wood-burning grill raised, with two others running it with him. My mouth waters as the aromas from the grill and smoker hit me full force.

  I’ve never stopped to pay attention to the smells while in the kitchen, unless something is burning. Tonight, my senses are in overdrive. Standing off to the side, and not in the thick of things, makes me a spectator for the first time in I don’t know how long. It isn’t a comfortable experience though, and I never want to feel like this in my own kitchen again.

  I need to get my shit together. Starting tonight, Torrance’s ghost is gone. Screw that asshole!

  Long, drawn-out whistles echo against the tile walls and the chrome surfaces. A few of the servers say, “Hi,” as we pass, while others just nod. A few do double-takes, and one or two ask who I am, and why I am in the kitchen.

  “Are you kidding? That’s Calla, you idiot!” someone remarks.

  “No, it's not,” the original server retorts.

  A throat clears.

  “Get back to work before Calla decides not to take the night off,” Wes tells everyone.

  I down my drink, setting the glass off to the side where I know someone will grab it so that it gets washed. With careful steps, I move further into the kitchen where I can see a few of the plates waiting to be expedited. The aromas filling my kitchen have my stomach growling, despite my earlier snack.

  “Damn, woman! Didn’t you eat a snack or lunch today?” Trey’s voice comes from behind me. “I shouldn’t hear you rumbling all the way over here.”

  “Ass. Yes, I had a grilled cheese not too long ago.”

  “How the hell do you eat that junk and still keep an amazing figure? Remember, I know what you put in your stomach.” Trey comes up behind me and picks me up in a big hug. “You look gorgeous. I’m glad you stopped in. I think I would’ve had a heart attack if I saw you out in public with that dress on for the first time.”

  “Yeah, right. You guys wanted me in a flipping dress and all dolled up, so don’t give me that.” I kiss his cheek, and he sets me back on my feet. Trey heads back to his station. “So, Darlin’, did you park over here so we could walk you back and take you home after the club?”

  Wes doesn’t say anything, and from what I can tell, he hasn’t even looked at me. After everything I’ve been through, I won’t let his disinterest get me down. Or cause me to doubt myself. I’d done that for too long after “the incident” with Torrance.

  “Yep. I thought it would be safer, and you guys won’t kill me.” I give a tight-lipped smile. “I guess I should head out. It looks like y’all have everything under control.”

  “Don’t we always?” Wes mutters loud enough that I hear.

  Taking a deep breath, I respond, “I guess you have been.” My words are sullen. “Thank you. I’ll be picking up my slack. Don’t worry.”

  I turn and walk out as fast as I can in these damn heels.

  It takes me about eleven minutes to get to Canaille. When I arrive, I am pleasantly surprised to find a line still outside. I stride past the line, pull open the glass-and-black walnut door with its extra-large brass handle, and walk inside. Home by Marc Broussard is just ending as I make my way down the ramp to the hostess stand. A few minutes later, Ca C’est Bon by L’Angelus begins. A group of people are gathered at the hostess stand, giving me some time to take in the interior. The walls are exposed brick, while the ceiling shows off the wooden beams. Yet, the décor is classy and upscale.

  Uncle Chris will appreciate those touches.

  The group moves off, and I step forward. I study the hostess for a few seconds, measuring her against the one I’d seen at Belladonna. This one looks like she might be slightly younger than the girl Nessa has working our door.

  “How many in your party?” the hostess asks, not even looking up from her stand.

  “One.”

  That gets the girl’s attention, as her head snaps up to look at me.

  “Ma’am, do you want a table, or would you like to eat at the bar? As you can see, we have a pretty long wait.” Her words are pleasant enough, but something tells me she isn’t actually being kind.

  “I have a reservation. It’s most likely under Calla.” I shift my weight to my left foot and rock my right foot onto the heel. “I was told to be here at six thirty, but the reservation could be for seven.”

  The owner better hope this girl’s not on the door when Uncle Chris comes in. He’ll ream them a new one, even if he likes the food.

  She flips through a book that is open next to the table chart.

  “Can you tell me your name again?”

  “Calla,” I repeat.

  The girl’s face turns beet red. She blinks up at me then glances back down at the book and swallows hard. I guess something is written next to my name, because this is not the reaction I was expecting. I’d wanted low-key tonight, but it’s becoming pretty obvious that isn’t going to happen here.

  “Calla… The Calla…?” Everyone begins to stare my way as the young lady makes a big deal about me.

  I really wasn’t trying to make a big to-do about who I am, and now I wish the girl would go back to not paying attention to me.

  “Yes, that would be me. Can you let me know when my table is ready? I’ll be waiting outside.” I turn to walk away from the attention the hostess is now giving me.

  This is exactly why I never come out of the kitchen. I don’t like people watching me. It's also the reason I didn’t create a completely open concept for my restaurant. No one can see very far into my kitchen.

  “Actually, we have a table for you now,” the hostess says.

  I glance at my watch and back at the woman in front of me. It isn’t even six-fifteen yet.

  “Isn’t my reservation for seven?” I question.

  “Yes, but I
was told to seat you as soon as you arrived.”

  “Excuse me?” I squeak.

  “This way please.” The young lady smiles, turns, and leads the way to a table that is out of the way but close to the kitchen and bar.

  It makes me feel like I am on display, and I fidget, rubbing my free hand up and down the opposite arm as if to warm it.

  In some respects, I am on display. Goosebumps had formed once the girl started making a big deal about who I am.

  “Thank you. Really, I don’t mind waiting at the bar until my reservation time, so you can seat another group,” I try again, half smiling, half wincing at the location of the table.

  What exactly did Trey say when he made the reservation? Or maybe it was Wes that made the reservation. Speaking of Wes, what the fuck was his problem tonight? That man always has had me in knots. Ever since the day we met. But, I’ve always been Ben’s kid sister, so he keeps me in the “friend” zone.

  “Calla, Cole will be taking care of you tonight.” The hostess places the menu on the table saying, “Enjoy your time with us.” She heads back toward the front, stopping next to a few people wearing suits.

  I guess the hostess is letting the “important” people know I’ve arrived. I pull out my chair and take a seat, placing my clutch on the side of the table before picking up the menu and hiding behind it.

  When I’d agreed to take the night off and go out, this was so not what I was wanting. I don’t even really mind that the guys wanted me to get dolled up, but I wanted low-key. So far, Canaille is anything but low-key. Even after the past two years of building Belladonna into what it is, I don’t see myself as a big deal. I am a chef. A cook doing something I love to do. Nothing more, and nothing less. Yet, that is not how everyone else sees me.

  There are some that are waiting for me to fail, as that’s the nature of this business. You can only go so far before something happens and you crash. If they only knew. Others see me as a very determined, beautiful lady who can cook anything, and does it perfectly every time. I am known by many chefs, and they all agree I am damn good. Most of that is because of the awards I’ve won in a very short amount of time. I’d been on the fast track to fame. Until a year ago.