With that, he heads out, leaving us at the bar.
I glance at Aspen and smile. "I’m sorry. I hope you’re not mad. I know you wanted to snowboard more today, but I felt bad when I overheard you guys talking. And honestly, I really enjoy cooking, so it’s no problem."
"Mad?" He laughs. "You just saved my ass! Thanks, you’re the best. But I’m not taking your money, you earned it fair and square."
"We can discuss that later," I say, knowing full well I’ll make him take it one way or another. Besides, he can always use it for a date with me.
He rolls his eyes. "Okay, well, I’ve got to go set up the cones and stuff at my station. I’ll see you on my lunch break?"
“I’ll be here!” I reply with a grin.
"You sure this is okay? I don’t want you to be stuck in here all day when you could be out there having fun and learning how to ride some more," he says, his concern making him even sweeter.
"Don’t worry about me!" I assure him with a grin. "Just being in a different state is a nice change for me, and I truly love cooking. This could be lots of fun."
"Okay, well, I’ll keep my phone ringer on. Call me if you need anything, but my boss will also be here if you need him. He’s a hugeteddy bear underneath that tough exterior, so don’t be afraid to talk to him or ask for anything."
"Got it, captain!"I say, saluting my forehead. He grins, then leans in to give me a soft peck on the lips before stepping out.
I watch him walk away, the reality of what I’ve just agreed to settling in. I’ve never worked a day in my life. I didn’t tell anyone that, of course, but it’s the truth. I’ve never had a job. I don’t even know where to start. But I’ve watched enough TV, been to enough bars and restaurants, I can guess how it goes.
I’ve been sneaking into bars since I was fifteen, thanks to a fake ID. Perks of being insanely tall; people always think you’re older. Add a ton of makeup, a skimpy outfit, and a pair of sunglasses, and I easily looked twenty-two, just like my ID said.
I’m sure I’ll catch on fast.
As soon as they’re gone, I step behind the bar and into the small kitchen, staring at the industrial stove like it’s some kind of spaceship. There are about five pans I don’t know how to use, three kinds of spatulas, and a fryer that hisses like it’s angry. I can cook, yeah—but cooking in a restaurant? That’s a whole other beast. What if I burn something? What if I undercook a burger and give someone food poisoning? Breathe, Gen. You’re not onHell’s Kitchen, just wing it.
The bar is still quiet, the air smelling faintly like bacon grease and pine cleaner. There’s a window cracked open somewhere and the cold mountain air drifts in, cutting through the heat of the kitchen. I open the fridge and start taking stock of what’s inside: eggs, butter, too many condiments, a massive tub of mayo. It’s weirdly peaceful, being here before the rush. Like the calm before a storm I’m not sure I’m ready for.
I have to stop doubting myself.
I’m Genevieve fricken Brown, after all.
If cooking for a bar is anything like pretending to know wine pairings at Nobu, I’ve got this.
26
Aspen
The sun casts its glistening glow over the mountains, illuminating the peaks and the white snow. The view doesn’t get any better than this here in Silver Lake. But instead of the view, all I can think about is Genevieve working so close to me. How does my boss expect me to teach this class when I know the girl of my dreams is here at the resort, just a few feet away? How can I get any work done knowing that?
I don’t, if you’re wondering the answer to that. I have barely taught my group anything and they’re probably going to want a refund after the end of this lesson. I don’t blame them. They have all been on the bunny hill all morning when they’ve proven they’re ready to move on, and I’m starting to get antsy since I know my lunch break is coming up soon.
I honestly can’t believe Genevieve offered to cook. She saved the day. We would be losing customers left and right if it weren’t for her. I just didn’t know she knew how to cook. I would have never guessed.
Somehow, I make it through the next twenty minutes before slipping away from the group as fast as I can. Practically jogging to the bar, I come to an abrupt stop when I spot Genevieve serving a customer.
Her face is lit up, eyes animated as she speaks. I can’t hear her over the noise, but I don’t need to. Whatever she’s saying, I know it’s something worth hearing. She looks like a natural.
Her hair is pulled up in a loose ponytail. I’ve never seen her wear it like this before, and now, it’s the only way I want to see her. She lookstoogood. All I can think about is wrapping that ponytail around my fingers and giving it a tug.
Her black zip-up jacket is off, revealing a snug long-sleeve shirt. She must be warm from working near the stovetop. She’s also ditched her snow pants for black yoga leggings, with a half-apron tied around her waist, somehow making her look even more adorable.
Her cheeks are flushed, probably from the heat in the kitchen. When she finishes up with the customers she was serving, I take the opportunity to walk over to the bar. Sliding onto a high chair, I watch as she makes her way toward me.
“Hey you, how’s work going?” She asks, smiling.
“I should be asking you about that, working girl. Did I mention you’re a lifesaver?” I say.
