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He chuckled. “Nah. I didn’t follow in my dad’s footsteps. Don’t laugh, but I came here to go to cooking school.”
“I should have known!”
Donovan shrugged. “It’s dumb.”
The more we talked, the less I felt embarrassed. We were just two neighbors sitting on their balconies, chatting during dinner. And hewaseasy to talk to, so long as I stared out at the view and not at his chiseled, charming profile.
“I don’t think it’s dumb.” I put down my fork. “You’re good at it. And I’m not just saying that because anything is better than the supply package sandwiches they’ve been giving us.”
“Thanks.”
“So you want to be a chef? When did you know that’s what you wanted to pursue?”
He chewed his food, swallowed, and took a long pull of wine. “It took me a while to figure it out. The problem with moving a lot is that everything changes too much. I had a really good history teacher in San Diego, but then we moved and my new history teacher sucked. So I got into astronomy at my new school.”
“Youwere an astronomy geek?” I asked skeptically.
He frowned over at me. “Why do you say that?”
Because you look like a cologne model.
“No reason.”
“I wasn’t one for very long,” he said in a voice that was deep and smooth. “Just when I was getting the hang of it we moved to South Korea. Always jumping from one place to the next before we could put down roots. I couldn’t keep a part-time job like that, either. My resume looked thin. When I was old enough I did handyman work, or construction. Manual labor. The kind of thing you didn’t need a lot of experience for.”
“So how did you get into cooking?” I asked.
“Well,” he said, “no matter where I went, the one consistent thing was food. Everyone eats. Restaurants have the samefeelno matter where you go. People eating, drinking, smiling. So, I took a job as a line cook. The only shift I could get was working at night at a diner by the freeway, which was good because it meant I could keep my day job in construction. Bacon, eggs, pancakes. Not a lot of variety, but that just meant it was a good place for me to learn. When you cook the same eight dishes over and over again, you get pretty good at it.
“I loved it,” he went on. “Creating something from scratch and then watching hungry people eat… It felt like I was accomplishing something.” He gestured with his hand. “People come in hungry, and they walk out happy. Simple, but satisfying. I looked for jobs at other restaurants so I could learn more and expand my repertoire, but nobody was hiring. That’s when I heard about this big cooking school here in Rome. So I saved up my money for a few years and finally flew out here. Guess I got lucky that my classes ended the day before everything shut down.”
He’s chasing his dream,I realized. I found it endearing. He knew what he wanted to do and was going for it. Knowing his story also made it easier to forget about the lobby incident.
“It paid off,” I said, flashing him my empty plate. “That was delicious.Everythingyou’ve made has been really good.”
He shrugged. “The stuff I learned is still fresh in my head.”
“What’s next?” I asked.
He pulled his mask over his face and carried his glass over to the railing. “Now I’m going to enjoy more wine while waiting out the pandemic.”
I filled his glass and said, “I mean, what’s next for your career? What are you going to do when you get home?”
He leaned his elbows on the railing and looked out over the city. “I don’t know. I’m not good with long-term planning.”
“Saving up to go to cooking school in Rome seems awfully long-term,” I pointed out.
“Trust me: that’s the exception to the rule,” he replied. “I guess my next step is trying to find a better job. There are a couple ofreallynice restaurants around Boston I’ve had my eye on. They’re picky with who they hire, but with something like this on my resume? Maybe I can finally get my foot in the door.”
He glanced at me and shrugged like it was no big deal, or was embarrassed that he had revealed so much to a total stranger.
Him? Embarrassed?I almost laughed at the idea. He seemed so much more confident than me.
“The other day, you said you were between jobs,” I said.
“Yeah, my boss at the diner is kind of a dick. I told him about the trip months ago, but he pretended like he forgot. He wouldn’t approve the time off. So I quit.”
“That sucks,” I said.
