Mocha Me Crazy

by Kristen Flowers

  “I’m glad you have your priorities straight.” Hunter laughed.

  “Oh my gosh,” Alice laughed with tears in her eyes.

  “I have to say, her reaction was fucking priceless and there was no way for her to prove it was me so,” Cal shrugged, devious grin on his lips.

  “That’s some dedication,” I said.

  I spent the evening laughing with the group as Cal recounted the events of that night. I finally learned to take the comedy of his prank and ignore all my thoughts of how childish it was. After all, it didn’t even hold a candle to what Mrs. Christianson did.

  Several years had passed since that night and even if everything felt familiar on this beautiful night in Vail, things were completely different. For one, Alice was no longer making snarky comments about her boyfriend Cal. For another, I was well on my way to applying to med school in Denver. Hunter and I moved to Denver so I could focus on school, but we still loved coming to Vail every chance we got. Cal and Alice were staying at the big log house now. Hunter still playfully gives me shit for making him leave his precious wine tower behind. But he never forgets to remind me that it’s worth it.

  My mom and dad love Hunter. I wasn’t sure what they’d think about him before they flew out to Vail to meet him. But Hunter struck the perfect balance of being a free spirit with my mom, and being a serious business man with my dad. My dad and him actually ended up building the constellation app together. It’s amazing how much my life changed. Hunter and I made lots of new friends in Denver. We invited them out to Vail any chance we could.

  “It’s great to get away to a place like Vail,” our friend Lana said after the laughter of Cal’s story died down.

  “It’s great to be here,” I smiled, looking at Alice.

  “He’s only here on business, don’t fool yourselves,” Cal warned, but his smile gave him away. “And it’s a damn good thing, I’m getting tired of picking up all the slack for him. Would you believe he has me running ragged?”

  “Yeah right,” Alice snorted.

  I cracked up, “It’s not business. It’s just because I dragged him here since I’m on winter break. Don’t let him trick you, Cal.”

  “Hey, whose side are you on?” Hunter cried, pretending to be offended.

  “You know she’s all about honesty and rules,” Alice chimed in.

  “Some things never change,” Lana’s boyfriend Maurice said with a chuckle.

  “It’s all right. We’ve got to have someone to keep us in check,” Hunter defended.

  I rolled my eyes, “I’m not that bad!”

  “That’s true. You were so much worse a few years ago,” Alice grinned.

  “I guess Hunter really knew how to work that out of you,” Cal said deviously.

  “Cal! Let’s not do this,” I stopped him from saying anything else.

  “So how are your classes?” Lana asked, coming to my rescue.

  “They’re great! Studying is amazing and I understand why my father is just so passionate about science now. Granted, we come from two totally different fields. I am in love. But I also found another passion so I’m pursuing that as well now.”

  “So that’s why you’re busier than ever,” Maurice interjected.

  I smiled sheepishly, “I’m actually minoring in Greek Mythology.”

  “Like your mom?” Alice poked fun of me.

  “Yeah,” I smiled, “Some things do change, after all. She’s thrilled that I’ve finally loosened up a bit. She likes to say Hunter helps me find the perfect balance in life.”

  “Yeah, her mom’s so in love with me,” Hunter said smugly.

  I smacked him on the arm, “Oh, you shut it. You can’t get enough of her fawning over you.” I leaned in and, before placing a sweet peck on his cheek, whispered, “But that’s okay because I can’t get enough of you either.”

  The End

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  Table of Contents

  The twinkly lights framed Red Brick Cuisine’s front door with a soothing glow. The dimly lit dining room was filled with crowds of people peacefully enjoying their food.

  But inside the kitchen was a totally different story—complete chaos.

  The kitchen was filled with every sizzling, smoky, and savor scent ever imagined. A million staff members were bustling about and bumping into each other. And the person in charge of all the chaos, the person standing in the middle of the kitchen shouting orders like she was a field general in a battle, was me.

  My dirty blonde locks were tossed into a now-disheveled bun and under a hair net. My chef’s hat practically dangled off my head and I was surprised my outfit was still a pristine white. That was remarkable considering it was already halfway through the evening and it was one of the busiest nights I had ever seen.

  I scurried back and forth in the kitchen, making sure everyone was working quickly. It was my responsibility to ensure all the orders went out correctly and on time. It was a crazy busy Saturday night, a bit more than usual. It wasn’t even a holiday. Of course, being in Chicago always guaranteed bustling crowds, but this was more than our medium-sized kitchen was used to. That didn’t mean I couldn’t handle it though.

  Being the sous chef of the restaurant meant the manager was down my throat to get orders out no matter how well my staff and I did; it would never be fast enough for him. He was an entitled asshole. It wasn’t unusual for a restaurant manager to have an attitude. It seemed to come with the territory of being a manager. It was like the stress of a busy night drowned out any sense of humanity they might have had buried deep down inside of them. Sure, they had to deal with the front of the house and make sure all the customers were happy, but I worked the kitchen. It was the heart and soul of the business.

  “Where’s that escargot for table thirteen, Evelyn?”

  I ignored him. The plate was coming soon enough.

  “Ms. Page!”

  The manager's shrill voice met my ears and it took all my willpower not to roll my eyes and snap at him with a bitingly sarcastic remark. I hated it when he called me Ms. Page. I did, however, turn around and direct his attention to the plate in my hands.

  “Would you like me to start a personal delivery service as well, Jameson?”

  He looked at me with a scowl. I could tell he wanted to assert his authority over me. It was the only thing a self-respecting asshole manager would do. Sure, he was kind of my boss. But I thought of us more as equals, especially in that moment. The head chef of the restaurant was gone for the night, so that meant I was the head chef.

  Jameson stood there fuming for a moment. Maybe I was a little too snippy, but I didn’t care. He snatched the plate from my hand and turned to the nearest server. “Get that damn plate on thirteen will you?”

  Jameson gave one last menacing glare toward me before turning on his heel and walking out of the bustling chaotic kitchen. I pressed the backs of my hands to my burning cheeks, which were hot for reasons more than just the temperature of the kitchen. Jameson always made my cheeks burn red in stressful situations.

  “Don’t let him get to you,” Charlene called out from the salad station, not looking up from the sliced carrots she was neatly arranging on the restaurant’s signature salad.

  I gave her a look of slight resignation and shrugged before heading off to the other end of the kitchen. I reached out and took the growing pile of order tickets with a d
eep sigh. It felt like I was never going to be done with orders no matter how much I kept the kitchen staff motivated. I clutched them in my hand and reminded myself how well I was doing. Despite how busy the place was, everything was going out in an acceptable amount of time.

  With both the head chef and owner of the Red Brick out of town, I was completely in charge of the kitchen. The responsibility didn't frighten me; I welcomed the challenge. So even now that more orders continued to pile in, I knew I would manage to catch up. What I really needed to focus on was keeping my kitchen motivated. I made quick work of distributing the order slips between different staff members before standing in the middle and clapping my hands. I clapped so hard my palms stung, but it was necessary to get everyone’s attention over the sounds of the kitchen.

  “Let me just say,” I spoke loudly over the sizzling food, and the banging pots and pans. “You've all done a great job tonight. You've not only kept up the pace, but you've survived through the stress and the demanding front house. Now we just have to push a little more. We only have a few hours until closing time. I know I can count on each and every one of you because this is the best damn kitchen staff in Chicago. So let’s get this shit done and finish strong!”

  “Hear! Hear!”

  “Whoa Evelyn!”

  I knew a few of the staff members would think I ended my little rousing speech on a cheesy note, but that was just my style. Besides, cheese is delicious.

  The rest of them let out a playful cheer and got back to work. It seemed like my words of encouragement helped their hands move a little faster. I walked up to my station and quickly got to work, feeling confident I could leave everyone to do their own task for a while.

  As I got back to work I drew in a deep breath to calm my nerves. I looked down at my cutting board and imagined it resting on the gleaming countertop of my own restaurant. After having such a crazy-busy night, I felt even more confident that I could handle my own business. I swept my knife across the cutting board and cleaned the surface as I pictured the tasteful sign hanging outside my imaginary restaurant’s door. It would read ‘Evelyn’s’ in a lovely cursive font. The thought alone made me smile.

  I turned to my grill and started throwing ingredients into a pan, loving the way the splash of colors danced around each other before coming together. I already had an idea of what I wanted my restaurant to look like. I loved the intimate feeling of the Red Brick, but I also loved bright and bold colors. I wanted sophistication, that was for sure, but that could come in many shapes and colors. Then again, every time I closed my eyes and imagined my future restaurant something entirely different came to mind. It wasn’t something with tons of color, but it certainly wasn’t plain and boring. It was beautiful and inviting in its simplicity.

  My smile grew when I pictured the name of the restaurant, ‘Evelyn’s’, written out neatly on the window or on a nameplate over the door. Even that was simple, but lovely. I had every intention of making my dream come true.

  As I plated the dish I was cooking I thought about the perfect location popping up for sale. Even from the photographs online I could tell it was exactly the sort of space and location I needed. That place was going to be mine. I was determined.

  The moment I clicked through the photos online I called up my dad to fill him in. I insisted he take a look through the pictures as I told him all about my plans. From one hour spent looking at the picture I had already planned out the floorplan for my future restaurant.

  When he told me he would be more than happy to front me the money, I was over the moon. I was a talented chef, there was no doubt about that. I studied at a top culinary school, was a natural, and had a real passion for it. Now my focus was on gaining experience. I was smart enough to know how necessary that was. I only wanted to practice my cooking a little more to prove to myself that I really could handle opening up my own business.

  I wanted to be involved in everything, right down to creating the menu and being able to cook every item on it. I thought I had a lot more time to build up my experience, but now that such a prime location was available I knew my time was fast approaching. This wasn’t an opportunity I could pass up, especially since my father was willing to provide me the money. Of course, it was something I would have liked to do completely on my own, but there was no shame in accepting help.

  When another order came in I decided to take it instead of delegating it to one of the junior chefs. I had done enough walking around as the head chef for the night and was eager to keep cooking. As I worked on the new order, I looked up from the grill and out into the dining room. It was a nice restaurant, but it looked a lot different from what I envisioned my own place would look like.

  As I looked around and took notice of all the couples enjoying a date night together, I couldn’t help but wonder if romantic couples would like my restaurant.

  My eyes wondered over to a young couple sitting closer to the kitchen. It was obvious how in love they were. They were holding hands across the small table and gazing into each other’s eyes. It looked like a sweet picturesque scene from a romantic movie. I watched them for a moment, noticing how interested they were in what they had to say. They looked genuine.

  There was always a small part of me that felt a little pang of jealously inside my heart when watching couples like them. Even though I loved my career, I always felt like something was lacking in my life.

  I’ll be honest, my love life was garbage. Especially in comparison to my cooking career. My heart ached when I saw the guy lean across the table to kiss his date. I had always been a hopeless romantic, but after what felt like a million failed relationships, I had pretty much given up on the idea of my happy ending. I was never going to find the right guy.

  I finished up the filet mignon and put the finishing touches on the order of lobster macaroni and cheese. Looking down at the plate, I smiled. I always prided myself on my lobster mac and cheese, easily one of my most unique and delicious specialties.

  I looked down at my pristine navy-blue blazer to make sure it was clean and lint free, but it was only because searching for a random piece of lint was infinitely more interesting than whatever my date was blabbering on about. I tugged at the lapel and then placed my hand on the edge of the table. I clutched the table tight so I wouldn’t invite her hand to grab a hold of mine.

  I didn’t care to fake affection with this woman. I looked up at her to see her full, shapely lips blabbering on about nonsense as I tried to remember her name. Jessica? Jenifer? My eyes stared off across the restaurant. It was Elizabeth! But she preferred to go by Lizzie. I looked down at the tablecloth and rolled my eyes as I recalled that little introduction from a couple nights ago.

  Now I was at the Red Brick Cuisine, an authentic date night setting, trying to drown her voice out without being obvious. I knew her type well. If she realized just how little I cared about what she was saying it would be impossible to fuck her. Then the whole night would have been a waste of time—and I hate wasting my time.

  I didn’t even care for what she had to offer besides her big tits, her small but nice ass, and what was between her legs. I tilted my head and thought maybe her mouth would be a point of interest later too, so long as she didn’t use it to talk. I chuckled at exactly the right time; her eyes lit up thinking she had made me laugh.

  “Of course I’ve never had to be on the wait list,” she prattled on. I didn’t have a clue what wait list she was talking about. For a brief moment I thought it was about the bar where we met until she said, “If I don’t land the purse on my own I know people who’ll make it happen. And that’s all it’s really about, right? I mean these purses aren’t just about their price point, they’re a symbol of status.”

  I focused on the humming sounds of other people’s chatter to avoid hearing anymore about her silly measurement of ‘status’. I watched her slender fingers sweep back the bangs of her nearly platinum blonde hair and I instantly pictured grabbing that hair as she finally used her mouth fo
r something worthwhile. I sneered and took a sip of my drink, savoring the smoky flavor of the aged brandy. I made it a point to flash my expensive gold watch as I drank. I knew dear Lizzie would get wet over that sort of thing. She was a one-hundred percent material girl. If she was into status, it made sense she was into me.

  “…And her eye shadow had cracked, opened, and spilled all over the inside of the purse! It totally ruined the lining. Like, oh my gosh, can you believe? I couldn’t even feel that bad for her, really, because who is so careless? I don’t know. She tried to act like…”

  I made an “mhm” sound to make her think I was listening to the world’s most boring story. With the brandy glass placed to my lips, my gaze lingered at her breasts for the umpteenth time that night. If I was going to survive this date to get her back to my condo and see how those tits looked naked, I had to keep myself entertained somehow.

  “So the new line is coming out in the fall, of course, and she asks if we can go together. I mean, we can, but I don’t know if I want to. Everyone who’s anyone knows all about her little makeup mishap and, like, I don’t want to be the laughingstock? I don’t know. I don’t think that’s really mean, you know?”