by Easton, Meg
He nodded for her to come back, and then flipped over the steak strips he was grilling and looked at the next ticket.
He dropped a basket of fries into the fryer, grabbed a fish fillet, cut it into three strips, breaded it, and then dropped it into a different fryer basket before using the tongs to put a piece of chicken on the grill.
“Are you seriously alone back here?” Brooke said when she rounded the corner into the kitchen.
“Yep.” He tossed some onions, mushrooms, and peppers in with the steak on the grill. “Ann was supposed to work the twelve to eight shift, but she’s violently ill, and so is Hani, who’s supposed to work the dinner shift.”
He cut open a hoagie bun, buttered it, and put it on the bread grill, then glanced again at the tickets and put seven hamburger patties on the grill.
“Lori already worked the opening shift and her kid has a dance performance tonight. I even called Bill—he’ll come out of retirement if I’m in a tight spot, but he’s away visiting grandkids. So of course that’s when a tour bus comes into town.”
“Two tour busses. I saw them parked in the dirt lot past Main. Joey’s and Keetch’s are just as packed.”
Cole groaned, turned over the steak and vegetables, drizzled on the sauce, then put two slices of cheese on top. “I dusted off the simplified menus, so everyone only has seven items to choose from, and they’re ones low on prep. Still, though, this crowd is insane.” He put the steak and everything on the bun and plated it, then pulled up the basket of fries and the basket with the fish, and added fries to the steak and everything plate.
“You need help.”
“Clearly. I even tried calling in a couple of my wait staff, but everyone who isn’t here is sick. But I’ll be okay.”
Brooke was quiet for a moment. He glanced her direction as she put her phone on the back table and put on an apron. Then she was pulling that beautiful brown hair back and wrapping a band around it that he swore had appeared out of nowhere. She was washing her hands when he said, “Brooke, you don’t know how to cook.”
“True. I probably wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you feeding me. But I take direction well.”
He paused a moment, wondering if she even had time to be here, but then decided he couldn’t turn down any offer to help on a day like today. “Okay, watch me make these fish tacos, because there’s half a dozen more of them on the current tickets.”
As a friend, Brooke leaned in much closer than an employee ever would as he demonstrated how to put together the tacos. And he was certain that he’d never had an employee before who smelled as good as she did.
“Got it,” she said. “Tortillas, coleslaw, avocado, pico, queso fresco, limes on the side. Want me to make them now?”
Cole put them on the pass-through counter with their ticket, and said, “Not yet. See that sourdough bread over there? Cut three slices about half an inch thick, butter with that garlic butter over there, then put them butter side down on that bread grill. Then dish up three bowls of tomato basil soup. When the bread’s done, place it butter side up in the bowl.”
He had trained employees dozens of times over the years, but never had he trained them on a day like today, and at first, it seemed to take just as long to explain what to do as it would’ve been to do it himself. And Brooke, for as confident as she seemed in virtually any situation, was getting flustered at every mistake she made or thing she didn’t know how to do.
“Wait, you can’t pull the ticket until we have all the items made on it. That one still needs a stuffed baked potato.”
“Right,” Brooke said, whirling one direction and then the other.
“Potatoes are warming in the oven,” Cole directed. The nice thing about training Brooke was that she had eaten practically every item on his menu, so she at least had a general idea of how it was supposed to look. “And the pulled pork is in that warmer. Sauces are beside it. Green onions and shredded cheese is over here.”
As Cole cut, breaded, and dropped into the fryer enough fish to feed half a football team, Brooke worked behind him. “Doing okay?” he asked. “There are a lot of frustrated grunts coming from your side of the kitchen.”
“This potato is fighting me.” She turned and flashed him a grin. “But don’t worry, I’m going to win. If you had any music playing back here, you wouldn’t hear my frustrated grunts.”
“We also wouldn’t hear the things we need to say to each other.” He put three more sets of beef strips on the grill and chopped at them with the spatula to separate the meats. “The kitchen is all about communication.”
Brooke brought the plate with the baked potato to the counter next to the grill and sat it down next to him. “Well, I’m going to communicate to you right now that people work better to music.” She reached out for the green onions at the same time he reached for the sliced onions, and their hands bumped, and for the first time in the kitchen since Amanda died, Cole felt a charged heat race through him at the accidental touch.
Brooke batted his hand out of the way. “Guests first.”
She sprinkled the green onions on the stuffed potato then turned to face him, her hip resting against the counter, while he grabbed the sliced onions and put some on each pile of beef. “If you’re not going to have the professionals provide the music, then we’ll have to provide it as amateurs.” She turned and placed the baked potato on the pass-through counter, put the ticket under the edge of the plate, then said, “Hmm...what’s a food song...”
Then, as she got out two salad bowls for the next order and filled them with romaine, she started belting out the chorus to “American Pie.” She actually had a great singing voice. He didn’t know why that surprised him—everything about her seemed polished. “Come on, Cole, sing.”
“I don’t sing.”
“You’re supposed to humor the volunteer help.”
He grunted. Then he took a deep breath, knowing that he might as well stop fighting because she would eventually talk him into it. He sang the next line of the chorus. If he was going to sing, he figured he might as well do it right, so he belted it out too, as he moved two pieces of chicken to the cutting board and started slicing them.
Brooke put the tomatoes and corn and black bean salsa on the salads as they sang the last two lines together. She sprinkled the shredded cheese on the two salads and drizzled them with honey-lime vinaigrette, and he finished them off with the sliced chicken and a flourish as he held out the last note.
Cole laughed out loud. It never ceased to amaze him the kinds of things Brooke could get him to do that he never even thought he’d do.
She put the salads on the counter and placed the ticket just under the edge. “See what music does for you? What’s next?”
As they continued to work, Brooke humming when she wasn’t singing out loud, they started to get more in sync with each other. The tickets kept coming in fast, but they were keeping up with them better than he’d have guessed they would. It didn’t take long to get into a rhythm. She still made little newbie mistakes that made him chuckle, like not taking care of the tickets in the right order, or not knowing how to cook the pasta correctly, but he liked being in the kitchen with her. It fit. She fit.
“Why don’t you advertise outside of Nestled Hollow?”
Cole turned over the hamburgers, chicken, and steak he had on the grill, then shrugged.
“Maybe it’s time you did,” Brooke said, bringing the plate with the stuffed potato over to the counter next to him to sprinkle on the green onions. “You’re an incredibly talented chef, Cole. You could get the extra business easy.”
He tried to keep the smile from crossing his face. “So I can have more busy nights like this?”
“Exactly.” She sliced more bread for the soup, and then started singing the chorus to “Firework.”
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that he had been left with no help on such a busy night.
He put meat on the grill for four more steak and everythings, and realiz
ed he was going to need more green peppers. He turned toward the walk-in and bumped right into Brooke as she headed toward the bread grill. They both froze for a moment, chest to chest, barely an inch apart, and Cole was struck, once again, by how beautiful she was. He was as experienced dowsing his feelings for Brooke as he was at making a flawless soufflé, but just like with a soufflé that fell even when you thought you did everything right, the heat of those feelings resurfaced like someone fired up a blowtorch.
He wanted to get married again, for his sake and for Sam’s. And so he wouldn’t have to break his promise to Amanda. But he didn’t know how he’d ever be able to move past Brooke. He was no longer sure he even wanted to. Being around her made him happy, and he liked who he was with her in his life.
They both attempted to move out of the other’s way, but stepped the same direction. Instead of giving the standard “would you like to dance” comment, without a word, Brooke grabbed his hand with hers, lifted it high, and then she spun around in a circle before dropping his hand and curtseying. He couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face as he gave her a bow.
While he walked toward the fridge, she said, “Do you realize that after nearly three years of friendship, that’s the most dancing we’ve ever done?”
“It’s a travesty,” he said before pulling open the door and walking inside to get the sliced green peppers. He stopped inside the walk-in and closed his eyes, breathing the cool air in slowly and out slowly, trying to put out that fire of attraction and reclaim his ability to dowse feelings for Brooke.
It can’t work, he reminded himself.
He took another small moment to fix that in his mind, and then he grabbed the green peppers and headed back into the kitchen and the long list of tickets that awaited him. “Are you in town for a bit?”
She nodded. “My next trip isn’t for a week.”
“Do you know what’s as fun as dancing?” he asked as he got back to the steak and everythings. “Painting.” He turned to see Brooke’s confused face. “Nate says he’s had more fun working on the lift for Sam’s party than he has building anything in a long time, so he expects to be done by late tomorrow night. Are you up for a painting party in two days?”
“Oh, wow! That’s fantastic! Um, yes. Of course I’ll be there.”
He didn’t miss the hesitation in her voice, though. Brooke was normally excited about things like this, and he wondered what could be holding her back.
Chapter Eight
Brooke ladled up bowls of soup and wondered why she had ever said yes to a night of painting when she had so much going on. She had gotten so caught up in the rhythm of the kitchen—once she finally got the rhythm—that work hadn’t even crossed her mind.
Once she got the basics of helping with this smaller menu, she got in the flow of making each plate, each one an individual creation that went from start to finish within a couple of minutes. The sense of fulfillment from finishing things and clearing a ticket and sending food off to hungry stomachs was intoxicating. And, actually, rather fun. For the first time, she truly understood why Cole loved what he did so much.
Since he brought up something that would demand her time, though, everything she needed to do and everything she currently should be doing raced through her head like they were tumble-running down a hill.
And the list of the items that she wasn’t going to be able to get done today because she’d spent more than two hours here was growing by the second. Maybe she could cancel painting with him. It was definitely the wisest choice. She couldn’t exactly make a clone of herself, and there was simply more to do than what would fit in the time she had.
Staying focused meant saying no to things she wanted to do but didn’t fit with her vision. Growing her business and taking advantage of opportunities, especially ones as big as a possibility with Van Zandt, had been part of her vision since the beginning.
Cole looked at the tickets, seeming to count the number of burgers he needed to put on the grill, then ducked down to look through the pass-through, and waved at someone. Brooke leaned back from where she worked on preparing four plates of fish tacos to see who it was, and saw Roger Havrilo contemplating the texture on the table in front of him.
Cole chuckled. “Whenever an order for a medium-well burger, pickles only comes in, I know that Roger’s here.”
Brooke reached for the onions, and Cole leaned over and grabbed her wrist. “Pico next. No onions.” She shook her head. She knew that.
“You okay?”
She flashed him a smile. “Yep.” Focus, Brooke.
Cole put the burger on the bun with only pickles, and added fries to the plate. “Roger’s been struggling ever since his dog died. I’m going to take this out to him. Will you keep an eye on things for me?” Five plates with buns sat next to the grill, and Cole pointed to each one in succession. “Medium, medium-rare, well, well, medium-well. This one has no tomatoes, and this one no mayo. Got it?”
Brooke nodded, and repeated back what Cole had just said, then he took Roger’s plate and headed out to the lobby.
As she dressed the buns, Brooke started thinking about the look books she needed to take to her presentation. Delbrina had let the designer know about their new timeline, but it suddenly occurred to her that she wasn’t sure if that meant she’d also let the photographer know. The designer couldn’t do much without the photos. And she needed to check to make sure that all the items for the book were ready for the photographer.
“Wait, no,” she said out loud. “This one doesn’t have mayo.” She switched plates with the last one, since she hadn’t gotten to it yet. Which one was without tomato again? Was it the second or the third?
She glanced at the grill, then jerked her hand forward, grabbed the spatula, and turned over one of the patties. She normally ordered her burgers medium, and the cooked side looked the way she liked it. Maybe if she didn’t leave it long on this side, it could work as medium-rare. She had no idea.
One was supposed to be medium, though, right? She flipped a second burger, and tried to remember. How did she know when one was medium-well or well?
And oh! They weren’t the only thing on the grill! She flipped over the steak strips for two sandwiches, and then turned the three chicken breasts. “Buns, buns,” she said as she grabbed two hoagie buns and sliced them down the middle, buttered them, then put them on the bun grill.
The chicken must be for salads, and she hadn’t even started them. She ran to the prep station and pulled out three salad bowls and started putting in the lettuce.
Sam’s dress pattern was coming right along, but there were some tweaks that needed to be made before cutting out the actual fabric and sewing it.
She let out a choked sound when she realized she’d probably left the burgers too long, and ran to the grill. That was definitely not medium-rare. Maybe that could be the medium-well one, and she could put on a new medium-rare patty. She peeked under the medium one, and tried to guess if it could still count as medium. She put a slice of cheese on both of them, like she’d seen Cole do, then reached for the bottom buns on the plate. Which ones went to which plates again?
Putting her fingertips on the bun, she scooped the patty up with the spatula and went to put it on its top bun, then realized she never finished dressing them. But she needed this burger to stop cooking. She hovered the spatula between the plate and the grill, and then left the patty on the spatula and put it on the side of the grill, leaning up a bit, hoping it wouldn’t fall off.
The steaks were done, and she hadn’t even added the veggies. She threw some on the grill and then went to the buns, no clue which one wasn’t supposed to have tomatoes. Cole had been gone for less than five minutes, and everything had already turned to chaos.
“Thank you, Brooke,” Cole said as he walked back into the kitchen. “He really needed that. You okay? You look a little flustered.”
She nodded and stepped back, letting Cole survey the damage. With an uncanny calmness, he finishe
d dressing the buns, started a new burger, got all the other burgers plated, along with the two steak and everythings, finished the salads and topped them with the chicken he just sliced, and got all the plates in the pass-through with their corresponding tickets tucked underneath.
She had gotten so far out of the groove of the kitchen that she couldn’t seem to just jump back in without causing more chaos. So she just watched Cole work for a moment. No motions were wasted—he moved with grace and efficiency, like he instinctively knew what needed to happen in precisely what order. It was mesmerizing to watch him in his element.
She admired his calmness—his ability to be at peace, knowing he was doing exactly what he should be doing. He even seemed to know that stopping for a moment to go comfort someone in need, even with so many tickets waiting, was exactly what he was supposed to be doing. Cole may schedule his life to a near-obsessive amount, but he also scheduled people in. It was that quality that always drew her to people. It was the thing that had drawn her to Cole when she’d first moved to Nestled Hollow.
And suddenly she realized that her admiration of Cole had crossed from friendship into something more. Why had that been happening so often lately?
She stepped up to the line of tickets, trying to figure out what to do next. Her head was a swirling mess of confusing feelings for her friend and all the lists of things she needed to do for work. Adding in the items on these tickets was throwing a bowling ball at her mental list, scattering all the pins.
She glanced through the window at Roger. The pensive look he’d had before was gone and his whole demeanor had brightened. Cole found a way to schedule people in even during his busiest times. She could help him paint the lift for Sam’s party and still find a way to get things done. People mattered.
Just like with everything else, this was a mind game, and she always won mind games. She went through the items for work that were at the front of her mind and decided when she was going to work on each of the items so her brain could relax and know that everything was going to be taken care of. Right now she was in the kitchen of Back Porch Grill, working alongside one of her favorite people, and that was where her mind needed to be.
