“Sounds like I’ve been missed.” I forced a smile as I headed back to the kitchen. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to prep dinner before I leave.”
The ladies cheered, knowing they wouldn’t be stuck with another bland meal. While some of the residents did have specific dietary requirements that I followed to a tee, there were many more who could have a healthy diet that included flavor. I saw no reason why we couldn’t cater to both.
After interning for the past six months, I’d implemented a coding system to let residents know which meals followed their diet plan. Residents who could eat salt were finally able to eat salt. And those who needed a light sodium diet found their meals enhanced with other seasonings that kept them healthy and engaged. As a result, more residents were choosing to eat in the dining room instead of in their rooms.
Doug wasn’t happy, but the residents were, and I felt like I’d made a difference. And I was gaining valuable experience that I would eventually transfer to my future catering business. If nothing else, suffering under Doug was motivation to become my own boss. I only had another month to go, but I was hopeful my changes would stick.
I returned to my station in the kitchen and reached for my binder. Brushing the flour from the cover, I traced the letters on the front: Limitless Catering by Lexie. I flipped through the pages marked with pink flags and found the recipe for Fettuccine Alfredo. After adding a check and a star next to nutmeg, I closed the book and began prepping for the evening meal.
3
LEXIE
It was another bright Saturday morning as I parked my Vespa in the far lot of my favorite place on Earth—Costco. I loved coming here, where I could wander the aisles and look, touch, and if I was lucky, sample the products. With ten minutes until opening, I sat on a bench out front and worked the knots out of my ponytail.
With the amount of time I liked to spend with each item, it was best to get in right at opening before the crowds got in my way. I sighed as I watched a few lucky souls saunter into the warehouse club early, courtesy of their executive membership card. One day, that would be me. My fingers itched in anticipation as I pulled my binder from my bag. I double-checked that my markers were in place and my Post-it flags had been replenished.
Today, I was planning a backyard graduation party. My imaginary clients were celebrating their son’s high school graduation with thirty of their closest friends and family. Theyhad a mix of vegetarians and meat eaters, so I needed to price out ingredients for a good veggie burger. Of course I could buy frozen veggie burgers, but my pretend clients didn’t hire the great Chef Lexie for pre-made food.
I chuckled as I ran through the recipes and double-checked my master list. This was a game I liked to play, and what that said about my social life, I chose to ignore. There was always a family celebration of some kind, with anywhere from five to two hundred guests. I would come up with a menu, then wander the store hunting down ingredients and prices. Once that was done, I’d calculate the cost and time and come up with a final quote for the imaginary family. And then I’d go home to my studio apartment and cook a few of the dishes for my party of one.
Some people might find that a little pathetic, but it was better than sitting at home alone for the millionth time. It gave me purpose, and I felt like I was moving toward my dream rather than treading water.
“What the fuck do I know about vegetarians? If his old lady doesn’t want to eat a beef burger like everyone else, she can bring her own fucking food!”
My eyes widened at the burly man yanking a cart from the corral. At five-foot-three, I was so short I was sometimes mistaken for a kid pushing her mom’s cart. This man was so huge he made the cart look like a toy. His giant hand wrapped around the handle, causing my mind to wonder what else he could wrap that hand around. My gaze traveled up his tattooed arm to his broad chest covered with a black leather vest with a giant ‘Exiled Reapers’ patch on the back.
My chest tightened as I realized this mountain of a man was a member of the local motorcycle club. That vest was called a cut, worn by bikers to identify their club and rank. I’d managed to avoid interacting with them, unlike most of the other twenty-two-year-olds in town. The girls in my classes were obsessedwith the Exiled Reapers and attended parties in hopes of snagging a biker boyfriend.
Even if my absent father hadn’t been a biker who’d abandoned my mother after she got pregnant, I still wouldn’t have gone to the parties. I wasn’t good with crowds and certainly wasn’t looking to date.
I was completely on my own. I managed to pay my bills and tuition, but one unforeseen disaster and I’d be on the street. The last thing I needed was a boyfriend to distract me from my goals or an unplanned pregnancy. I declined every invite but enjoyed listening to their stories in pastry lab.
“Fine!” the biker roared into his phone. “I’ll buy her a stalk of celery and she can put that on a bun and eat it. Hell, I’ll even buy some ranch. It’ll be just like a hotdog.”
I covered my mouth to hide a giggle. If he was here and shopping for food, he was probably getting ready for one of their infamous cookouts.
His mouth formed a tight line as he listened to the person on the other end. I pulled down my sunglasses and took a moment to ogle the man while I had the chance. His dark beard was neatly trimmed, and his brown eyes reminded me of amber. This was probably the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life. No wonder the girls went to MC parties. I was starting to regret turning them down for so many years. I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end of the phone was saying, but based on the fact that the mountain man looked about to explode, I figured the celery dog idea was not going over well.
“Yeah, got it, VP.” He shoved the phone in his pocket. “Mother fucker!”
He lowered his head, taking in deep breaths and trying to calm himself, which I appreciated. Costco was my happy place, and I’d hate for it to absorb any of his angry energy.
A cheerful employee stepped through the large opening and waved to the small crowd.
“Welcome to Costco! We are now open for Gold Star members.” His smile wavered as he caught sight of the biker joining the line of shoppers. He hurried back to his post to scan IDs.
I bit my lip, mind racing as I looked at my binder, then back at the grumpy biker. He seemed overwhelmed, and that was a feeling I knew well. He needed help, and I would have loved for someone to help me register for culinary classes. Or fill out the application for my apartment. Or open my first bank account.
An idea formed in my mind, and if it worked out, it would be a huge opportunity for my business. Before my courage ran out, I pushed my cart forward and stepped next to him in line.
“Um, sir? Excuse me.”
He looked down, his eyes narrowing. I thought he might have growled. Like actually growled like an animal. I planted my feet and stood strong. I’d seen a hell of a lot worse. But it was rude to judge. He might have allergies. Pollen season in North Carolina was no joke.
“I couldn’t help but overhear you’re planning a cookout,” I said, raising my voice over the noise. He grunted. Probably not allergies, then. Seriously, how old was this guy? He was as bad as some of the kids I used to babysit.
“No.” He turned and pushed his cart toward the door, waving his large hand over the card scanner as he walked through.
