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Paisley looks down at her work again and her smile fades.
I feel suddenly like a terrible employee for just leaning, and Paisley’s story rings in my brain as I feel Nolan’s attention. I grab a towel and start wiping a pointless circle on a perfectly clean stainless steel countertop.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Uh,” I say, panic taking completely over. “I had time to lean. So I thought I should clean.”
I hear Paisley trying to hold back a snort of laughter beside me.
Nolan moves closer. “Good work today, Calloway. You didn’t entirely suck.”
I frown, pausing to look up at him over my shoulder. “Thank you?”
He looks like he wants to say more, but he just nods stiffly. He takes two steps toward the door, then hesitates. He comes back again and lowers his voice so only I can hear. “I’m going to wait in the dining room until you finish up.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I’m going to be in the dining room until you finish up,” he says again, and this time, I see his eyes are focused on Zander, who is rolling balls of dough and placing them on big white trays for proofing overnight.
“Okay,” I say quietly. “I’ll be finished soon, I think. I just need to ask Zander if he needs me to do anything else.”
Nolan nods, then heads toward the walk-in freezer instead of the dining room.
I watch him go and wish I didn’t feel this blossoming appreciation for him. Yes, he’s clearly not the man I knew two years ago, but there are some shreds of the old Nolan in there. The considerate, caring Nolan who wouldn’t have wanted me to be uncomfortable here. I can at least appreciate that, even if I don’t like the way he has changed.
Nolan emerges a few minutes later while I’m finishing up the last task Zander has for me. Nolan is carrying a large brown paper bag that seems heavy with pilfered items from the fridge.
“What are you doing?” Zander asks.
“Taking some things to cook tonight back home at the rental.”
“From my fridge?” Zander asks.
“Your fridge that’s stocked with my money.” Nolan squares up with the younger man. Nolan is taller by a few inches and obviously an athlete, while Zander has more of the lean build of somebody who visits the gym regularly, but not like it’s a religion.
“You can’t just take random shit out of the freezer,” Zander says. All the barely contained animosity from the day is clearly boiling over. He’s letting it all out in his tone. “I know you’re a hotshot in the NHL, but this is a restaurant. This is my kitchen, now. You may not understand how these things work, but we order the food we need. You can’t just walk in the freezer and grab whatever you want.”
Nolan takes a step closer, exaggerating the difference in height and size between the two men. “You work for me, Zander. And my dumb NHL ass marked exactly what I took on the inventory sheet and already called our suppliers to make sure it can be replenished before service tomorrow.” He lifts a clipboard and presses it a little too hard into Zander’s chest. “Feel free to check my work, chef.”
Nolan brushes past me without looking my way.
If this is a preview of what working at Taste is going to be like, I’m suddenly worried all the testosterone in the air is going to rub off on me and I’ll wind up growing a mustache. Then again, maybe I’d look cute with a little red mustache… Okay, no.
“Boys,” Paisley whispers under her breath once both men are out of earshot.
9
NOLAN
Am I hoping to get under Mia’s skin? Definitely. Am I also surprised to be enjoying myself a bit? Yeah.
I stir the sauce. It’s a salmoriglio sauce I’ve tweaked and perfected to be absolutely killer with salmon. Tonight, I’m taking a risk and pushing the recipe even further. Instead of simply mincing and incorporating the garlic, I’m giving it a bath in hot oil until I’ve got garlic confit. I’m also frying up razor-thin slices of garlic until they’re crunchy and browned to sprinkle over the salmon when it’s finished. I know adding more variations to garlic is hardly a risk, but I’m having fun in the kitchen for the first time in a while.
I tell myself it’s only because I’m an asshole, and getting under Mia’s skin can make even the most mundane task fun. But I can’t hide from the fact that I used to love cooking as much as I loved being on the ice with my teammates. It scratched the same itch for me–that endless pursuit of perfection. The challenge of performing under pressure and excelling.
I’m lost in the craft of what I’m doing as I manage a few tasks at the same time, knowing I’ve only got a few minutes left before Mia comes back to our grudgingly shared cabin. She’s going to be starving. I know as much because I saw she didn’t eat all night. I also tried to suggest she stop to get something in her stomach, but she blew me off, probably out of stubbornness, and went hungry.
The thought of her working all night on an empty stomach was driving me crazy. Call me soft, but I’ve always had an odd compulsion to make sure the people in my life are well fed. The guys used to joke that I was like their pushy grandma at Thanksgiving, but fuck them. I just don’t like the thought of people neglecting their bodies like that. And sure, Mia probably isn’t supposed to even qualify for the “in my life” category at this point, but it bothered me seeing her skip a meal all the same.
