Calla's Kitchen

by Teresa Crumpton

At some point during the middle of the night, I wake up screaming, but I am unable to recall the nightmare I was having. Still a bit unsteady, I reach for the water on my nightstand and manage to knock the glass over. Grumbling, I quickly roll out of bed to find a towel. I clean up the mess and walk to the kitchen for a new glass of water. On my way back to my room, I take in a few deep breaths to try to calm myself before climbing back into bed. Thirty minutes pass before I am able to fall back to sleep, however, my sleep is fitful the rest of the night. After two hours of tossing and turning, I give up on getting any more sleep, crawl out of bed, and dress for an early morning run.

  My pace is sluggish as I head down the street toward UT. When I hit the corner of Martin Luther King Boulevard and Guadalupe Street, Wes is standing there, waiting for me in his running gear. I do a double-take as I spot him in his old, tight UT athletic shirt and gray shorts. I slow to a walk as I approach him.

  And this is what happens when you have friend locator apps on your phone.

  “Don’t look so surprised that I'm running with you today. It’s not like I haven’t done it before.” Wes stretches his arms.

  I raise an eyebrow but only nod and begin walking quickly, preparing to run again. We run around campus twice before stopping at a small café. Wes buys me breakfast, and we sit down to eat.

  “So what brought this on?” I gesture to his clothing and the food.

  “It's been too long. The two of us never hang out like we used to. I thought it would be nice to start that up again.”

  “It’s kinda hard to do this kind of thing when you’re so busy. Plus, I haven’t really been in the best frame of mind to do anything.” I smile, pat Wes's hand, and take a bite of food.

  We both finish eating before Wes attempts another conversation.

  “So the menu--” Wes starts.

  “What now?” I interrupt. Why does he have to keep bringing this up? Are they trying to beat a dead horse?

  “I'm not joking when I say that we need to get Torrance's influences off the menu. Your creations….” he reaches for my hand.

  “Suck! I know my food is lacking, and I know it's because of him!” I snatch my hand away and angrily stand up.

  Wes follows me as I start toward home. Catching up, he grabs me, turning me to face him.

  “Calla, stop! Your food is fantastic when he's not emotionally involved. What you made yesterday was amazing. Both dishes. And he wasn’t a part of any of it! That’s only one of the reasons I want you to take another night off and go out again. Look what happened when you did something for yourself. You’re starting to get your cooking mojo back!”

  “Oh.” I play with the hem of my shirt, not looking at Wes. “What’s the other reason?”

  “That’s a topic for another day.” Wes lets me go, and we walk back toward my loft, breaking apart at Martin Luther King Boulevard. I turn left as Wes continues down the street.

  I stroll into the kitchen, putting down the bag of ingredients I picked up before arriving at Belladonna. I empty the contents of the bag and begin creating another meal for the guys. Not much time has passed when Wes, Trey, Foster, and Adam walk through the door. They are all smiling and laughing when they spot me.

  “Whatcha cookin’?” Trey asks, striding toward me.

  “I smell bacon.” Wes glances at my work space.

  I smile but don't answer. I start plating the food as the guys lean against the other side of the counter. I push the plates toward them, and they each take a bite.

  “Hmmm. This is great. I hadn’t thought of bacon wrapped purple asparagus,” Wes remarks before taking another bite. “I’m not sure what I love you for more... the BLT with avocado, or this asparagus.”

  I laugh before taking a bite of my own creation.

  “Thanks, Calla. This is just the pick-me-up I need.”

  “Yep,” I respond as I swallow.

  Wes smiles slyly before rounding the counter. He picks me up and sits me on it, and I jump slightly as the coldness of the metal table seeps through my jeans.

  “Hey, Calla,” Foster says as he finishes his last bite. “Do we have any more of the bacon? Wes and Trey were telling me about changing up the menu, and I have an idea for a dessert if you’re game.”

  “There are a few pieces left. I would have gotten more if I had known you were thinking of using it,” I tell him. “It’s in the lowboy.”

  “Thanks.” Foster picks up his plate and takes it to the dishwasher. On his way back, he grabs the bacon from the overnight storage.

  “Hey, you remember the restaurant I told you about last night?” Trey asks me. “The name is Nectar. I called on my way in. We need you to try it out tonight and tell us about it. You should get a table quickly, even though I couldn’t make a reservation. The owner's name is Caleb. He couldn’t wait to meet you.”

  “Thanks.” I slide off the counter and start to head out.

  “What do you mean he couldn’t wait to meet her? He’s a bit of a player isn’t he?” Wes questions Trey, trying to keep his voice down but failing.

  “Try to have fun,” Trey calls out to me. “And if you’re so inclined, get freaky!”

  “Men,” I growl in retort. “Why the fuck are you kicking me out of my own restaurant? On a Friday night, no less?” I murmur to myself.

  Trey and Adam burst out laughing, and I spin around to glare at them. Both men grip their stomachs with one arm and cover their mouths with the other. From the heat radiating up my chest to my cheeks, I surmise my face is a bright shade of red. I flip them off as I turn back toward the door and head out.

  “Darlin’ please... just let your hair down and have fun,” Trey calls after me.

  “Fuck off, Trey!” I shout and walk out the back door.

  About halfway to my car, my phone buzzes with an incoming text.

  Wes: I think a few of us might hit up Rex’s after work tonight if you want to join.

  Calla: I wouldn’t mind going back to Rex’s. Teagan was pretty fun.

  “And why do they keep kicking me out of my kitchen? What the hell is going on?” I ask myself.

  Calla: When’s the next poker night? I think I want to start coming again.

  Wes: Sunday night.

  Calla: Just the 5 of you?

  Wes: Yep

  Calla: K. See u later

  Unlocking my Jeep, I slip into the car, plug in my phone, and pull up my playlist. I start the engine before pushing play and cranking up the volume.

  Since arriving home after Wes and Trey pretty much kicked me out of my own kitchen, again, I raid my fridge and pantry to work through a few recipes that are running through my brain. Today’s creations are more for brunch on Sundays, which gives me an idea. I grab my phone and send off a text.

  Calla: Guys, I think I want to have 2 or 3 different menus.

  Wes: Run that by us again.

  Trey: Three? Darlin’ I can see 2. But 3?

  Calla: I’m thinking a dinner menu during the week, Saturday’s menu, and Sunday brunches.

  Wes: On top of specials?

  Trey: We might not have to do specials everyday then.

  Adam: Would you want special drinks for each menu as well?

  Forest: How many desserts would you want for each?

  Calla: Yes, Wes, with specials. But Trey’s right. We wouldn’t need them everyday. Adam yes @ least 1 drink for each menu, like how we do the specials now. Forest, I’ll leave that up to you.

  Trey: Darlin’ I like this idea.

  Wes: We could do more of the comfort food & smaller plates for brunch or vice versa.

  Calla: Exactly. I was thinking brunch, but still smaller portions.

  Wes: Before poker, let's sit down and work some of this out.

  Trey: While we’re talking, what about closing all day on Sunday, since we’re closed Monday, or closing on Tuesday and keeping brunch?

  Adam: We’d need to look @ the books, but having two days off in a row with Nessa would be nice.

  Calla: I r
eally need to add her to this chat.

  Adam: Nah, she just reads my phone.

  Calla: LOL. Trey, I think we should look into it. Tuesday would probably be a good day. There are two options: keep brunch and close on Tuesdays, or close all together on Sunday.

  Wes: Let's have Nessa look @ the books. I’m sure Nessa & Adam have a better idea of the business side than we do. Shouldn’t you be getting ready?

  Calla: I have plenty of time.

  Trey: Go relax for a bit. We’ll talk all this out on poker night.

  Adam: See you later, Calla.

  Sometime later, as I stand in my bedroom half undressed, I’m trying to figure out what to wear. Even with autumn in full swing, Austin is still warm. But jeans are a must when going out with the guys. I have the perfect comfy pair laid out. They even hug my hips and ass. The only issue left is my shirt. I pick out two as I let my long dark auburn hair out of its bun.

  I scan my phone for my music app, press play, and finish undressing to jump in the shower. Since the guys are bound and determined for me to get laid, I need to get all dolled up and look hot. At least, according to Trey and Wes. I roll my eyes just thinking about it.

  Fuck. I need to shave for this.

  I stand in the middle of the shower just letting the hot water run over my body, trying to relax. I shave my legs, trim my bikini area, and wash my hair so I can curl it for the night. When the water starts to cool, I get out, dry off, and rub my body down with lotion.

  Thirty minutes after my shower, my hair is dry and curled. I’ve even put on a little make-up. Not that I think it will help, but I’m not about to let the guys think I’m not trying. I’ve just shimmied into my jeans when a knock sounds at the front door. I quickly throw on one of the two shirts and walk down the hall.

  “Baggie, move baby. You’re going to trip me.” I step over Bagheera as he winds in and out of my legs.

  Tripping twice, I finally pick up Baggie as I answer the door. A delivery person stands on the other side holding a rectangular box and a bouquet of orange calla lilies.

  “Calla Bond?” the man confirms.

  “Yes.”

  “Sign please, ma’am.” He holds out his device and stylus.

  Sitting Baggie on the entry table, I take the stylus and sign before taking the box and flowers out of the man's hands. I gently push the door closed with my foot then walk toward the kitchen, with Baggie following close behind me.

  “Who sent this?” I wonder aloud as Baggie jumps up on a chair.

  Baggie stands on his hind legs, placing his front paws on the table and peeking at the box.

  “You stay right there while I put these in water.” I step into the kitchen in search of a vase.

  When the flowers are cut and the vase filled, I put the flowers on the table and open the box. On top of black and pink tissue paper, I find a note:

  Calla, I know you don't have anything to wear tonight, so I bought you this. Put it on and have fun. You can do this. You're stronger than him. It's time to let him go. We will meet you after closing. We love you. WES.

  Under the tissue paper is a sexy, black satin dress. It’s one I tried on the other day when I was out with Nessa. If I remember right, it is way too short for my comfort. I pull it out of the box and notice that this dress is slightly different. This one has only one shoulder strap. Wes, or more likely Nessa, made sure the tattoo going down my right arm will be on full display, unlike with the last dress. And someone also made sure the skirt is similar to the dress I bought the other day.

  Damn it! He’s going to make me cry.

  Chapter 13

  Calla

  City lights fill the night sky as I stroll down a bustling Sixth Street. With the street being closed off to vehicles for the night, I am able to do a little people watching. Crowds line the sidewalks with people attempting to get into the bars. A few whistles and catcalls sound as I pass by. Unused to the attention, I flinch slightly as heat warms my cheeks, and my steps quicken. Two blocks later, I find the restaurant on the left and cross the street.

  There is a line of patrons out the door, waiting for tables. I pass them as I make my way in the front door and approach the hostess stand. A tall blonde girl stands off to the side behind the round, wooden stand, glancing behind her. A shorter hostess nods in my direction, holding menus and silverware in her hand.

  “How long's the wait? I don’t have a reservation. At least, I don’t think I do,” I say when the blonde gives me her attention.

  The blonde hostess rolls her eyes.

  “We don't take reservations.” The hostess looks me up and down. “It’s an hour wait.”

  “Wow, okay.” I look down at my watch.

  The hostess sighs, her impatience radiating off her body. I take in a deep breath, as I try really hard not to be rude.

  “Can I sit at the bar, or is there a wait for that as well?”

  “The bar itself is first come, first serve. The tables in the bar area are not. Would you like to give me your name for when a table opens?” the blonde inquires rather rudely.

  “Calla.”

  Both of the girls’ jaws drop, as realization fills their eyes.

  “Calla? As in the head chef of Belladonna?” the shorter one confirms.

  Everyone within hearing distance turns to face the three of us. With so many eyes on me, I start to fidget.

  “Yes.”

  “Um… Calla, we might have a table for you sooner.” The hostess leans closer, the rudeness now gone as she speaks quietly to me only. “I was told to seat you as soon as you arrived. This way please.”

  “Seriously, I’ll sit at the bar. It’s fine. Let someone else have the table. Y’all have a big crowd. It’s pointless to waste the seating on just me.”

  The short hostess smiles and leads the way to an open bar seat.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” The hostess places the menu in front of me. “Max will get you whatever you need,” the girl adds and heads toward the kitchen.

  The bartender saunters over, smiling charmingly at me.

  “Hi, I'm Max. What can I get you to start with?” He leans against the bar as if giving me his undivided attention.

  “Hi Max, I’m Calla. My friends said I'm supposed to have fun tonight. Just try not to get me too drunk… deal?”

  “Calla. You wouldn’t happen to be friends with the guys over at Belladonna would you?”

  “I would. Which one of my partners in crime do you know?” An evil grin pulls at the corners of my mouth. Oh I bet you have some interesting dirt on one of my boys.

  “I went to bartending school with Adam, but I’ve met Wes and Trey a few times,” he responds, placing a square napkin on the bar top. “If I remember right, I think I read somewhere you have a thing for whiskey?”

  I nod.

  With a big, mischievous grin, Max pushes off the bar. I’m sitting at the end of the bar, away from the majority of people, watching the patrons out on their dates. Max gathers the bottles he needs and starts creating something just for me. I watch his mixology skills in fascination. I never get to watch Adam work his magic behind the bar, and he makes fucking amazing drinks. Finished mixing my drink, Max quickly returns. He sits a highball glass down in front of me.

  “You’re a people watcher aren’t you?” He tilts his head toward the full dining room.

  “Sometimes. I tend to peek out of the kitchen to see what the patrons are doing in the front of the house, instead of walking onto the floor.” I smirk as I take the glass.

  “You prefer the chaos be in the kitchen, rather than out?” he questions, pulling orders from the printer.

  “I do. The heat and chaos of the kitchen is a bigger thrill.” I sip my whiskey. “So what would you recommend?” I open the square, leather-bound menu.

  “Either the Ahi or the Tri-tip. Caleb does both extraordinarily well. Get the roasted brussels sprouts with spinach, bacon, and garlic, and add a side of the tempura cauliflower.” Max
shakes the shaker in his hand, before pouring the dirty martini.

  “I haven’t had Ahi in a while, so I’ll take that with the sides you suggested.” I close the menu, placing it on the bar.

  “Good deal. I’ll put that in for you.” Max sets the martini over by the pickup counter.

  I watch as he swipes a card and enters something into the computer. The bar starts to fill, and Max’s attention is drawn away.

  So I don’t feel stupid being alone at the bar on a Friday night, I pull out my phone. I’ve missed a few messages and emails. I take another sip of my drink and dive into my texts.

  Uncle GR: Calla, I need you to call me. I want your impression of Canaille. I’m going next Friday. You know I like to see how the chefs handle the pressure.

  Oy, he really wants to live up to the nickname, Grim Reaper.

  Calla: Do you want to meet for lunch tomorrow, or would you rather I just send you my impressions in a text?

  I start to open the next message, this one from Nessa, when my phone buzzes with an incoming text.

  Uncle GR: Lunch tomorrow would be lovely. I’m dining at a restaurant right down the street from Belladonna. I’ll send you the name later tonight. I don’t have it in front of me.

  Calla: Okay, I can’t wait to see you.

  I close out of that text, and dive into Nessa’s.

  Nessa: I’m not sure what the guys are playing at to get you out of the restaurant on a Friday. We are slammed tonight, and I want you here so I can vent! We’ve had a couple of assholes come in. Also, I got a strange request after you left for a large group for next Friday night. They wanted to make sure you would be in. The name they gave was Abbie. Does that ring any bells?

  Calla: Wes wants me to get out and get laid. Therefore, I’m getting kicked out of my own kitchen to check out these other restaurants in the hopes, I think, of finding someone to fuck. Sorry you’ve had some asses tonight. Come out and have a drink later. I don’t recognize the name Abbie.

  A new glass is placed next to my almost empty one.

  Glancing up, I meet Max’s crystal blue eyes. How did I not notice those before?