Page 135 of Neap & Spring

“Callum, that’s insane,” Roman protests. His voice is strained now, pain breaking through. “You can’t —”

“Frannie!” I call toward the dining room, cutting him off.

She appears in seconds, quickly taking in the scene. “Oh, Roman, are you okay?”

“He’s fine,” I answer for him. “I need you to grab Wesley or Hayes. Someone who can drive him to urgent care like, right this second.”

“On it.” She’s gone before I can blink.

I turn to Amara. “Can we finish these twelve?”

She looks at me for a long moment, calculating, then nods decisively. “Yes. But after that —”

“After that I’ll figure it out.”

She looks at me with worry etched all over her face before she nods. “Okay, Chef. Let’s finish third course.”

Frannie reappears with Hayes, who takes one look at Roman’s hand and doesn’t ask a single question before jumping into problem solving mode. “Come on,” he says, taking over the towel and grabbing Roman’s elbow to support him. “My truck’s out front.”

“I can keep going,” Roman whines, but he’s swaying slightly now, shock settling in.

“It’s okay.” I squeeze his shoulder. “We’ve got this. I promise.”

Hayes guides him toward the back door and they’re gone.

I grab a clean towel and wipe down Roman’s station. My mind is already three steps ahead, and my hands are just doing what hands do in a kitchen when there’s blood without thinking about it.

We plate the last twelve in near silence, the kitchen suddenly too quiet. My hands are steady but my mind is racing with what the hell we are going to do for the rest of the event. Fourth course is the duck breast with cherry gastrique. Fifth course is Cora’s dessert, but I still have to plate it and coordinate with her. I still have to oversee the whole rest of the night.

Two courses. Eighty-five covers each. One hundred and seventy plates.

Without Roman.

The last plate of the third course goes out, and Becca comes back looking worried, her usual confidence shaken. “Chef? Is Roman okay?”

“He’ll be fine. He just needs stitches.”

“What do you need?”

“I need you to keep running food exactly like you have been. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Chef.”

“Good. Then go.”

I take a breath and look at the tickets for fourth course already printing, the small machine spitting them out relentlessly.

This is manageable. I’ve worked understaffed before. I just need to breathe.

The kitchen door swings open, and Vivienne walks in.

“I saw Roman leave with Hayes,” she exclaims, her eyes scanning the kitchen immediately. “What happened?”

“Cut his hand. He’s fine, but he’s out for the night.”

Her eyes scan the kitchen again — the empty station, the tickets printing. I can see her doing the math.

“You’re going to run two stations.”