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Like he needed an excuse.
I looked at myself darkly in the rearview mirror as I pushed the button to start the engine and buckled my seatbelt.
Thacker Morris might be sexy in a rumpled, salt-and-pepper, Zaddy kind of way, but he was a control freak who could get fucking ugly when things were going sideways in the kitchen.
4.
Hope
I was shoving my hair back into a high and tight ponytail as I pushed through the doors into the kitchen, ready to start my shift. I stopped short when I realized that Thacker was standing by the prep table, waving around a stack of papers as he berated my sous chef. Ronnie was on the verge of tears.
“What’s going on?” I asked warily, taking my chef’s coat from the hook on the wall and shrugging into it as I eyed Thacker Morris, the owner of Speedgoat Steakhouse.He whipped around, his lips curling into a snarl.
“Nice of you to finally make an appearance,” he spat at me. “I just found out that Ronnie has been serving the guests unsalted broth in their beef and vegetable soup.” I frowned.
“Does anyone even order that?” I asked skeptically. He waved the sales printout in my face.
“Three customers received unseasoned soup yesterday. One of them was kind enough to leave a nasty review online about it.” He turned back to Ronnie, and she cowered under his withering glare. “Let me guess. You weren’t taste-testing food before you sent it out.”
“I—I—,” Ronnie stammered, her pale cheeks flushed bright red. The dishwasher and busboy were lingering near the walk-in freezer, doing their best to pretend they weren’t listening as Thacker ripped Ronnie a new one. It was like he got some sick, twisted pleasure out of making her cry.
“All right, that’s enough,” I snapped. “I think you’ve more than made your point. I’m sure she won’t forget to taste test anytime soon. Ronnie, take five. Go outside and get some fresh air.” Her frightened brown eyes darted back and forth between me and Thacker. We were now locked in a glaring contest. Unlike Ronnie, I met his burning gaze head-on and held my ground. After a long, tense moment, he growled and stormed off, ducking into his office and slamming the door behind him.
“I’m sorry,” Ronnie gasped, staring at me like she was afraid she was in for round two. I sighed, but when I spoke, my voice was soft.
“Take five,” I repeated. Ronnie was new to the kitchen, but she was a quick learner. She didn’t make me tell her a third time. A burst of sunlight poured through the back door as she pushed through it, and then it closed with a heavy metal thud behind her. I shot a look at the dishwasher and busboy, and they cleared their throats and hurried back to their prep work.
With that, I turned on my heel and narrowed my eyes at Thacker’s closed office door.
I didn’t bother knocking. His head shot up when I barged in. His office was cramped, even without the large, cluttered desk and the multiple stuffed filing cabinets. I snapped the door shut, and the tiny room became instantly claustrophobic.
“Can I help you?” he asked, leaning back in his chair and looking up at me coldly. For a second, I just took him in. He was on the other side of forty, his dark hair starting to streak silver at the temples. But his good looks were as sharp as ever. As sharp as his stubbled jawline.
Dark eyes studied me. He was waiting.
“Was that really necessary?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. Being this close to him unnerved me.
“She has to learn,” he said, suddenly calm and collected.
“People learn in all kinds of different ways. Very few people learn by being screamed at in front of their colleagues.” He scoffed.
“That’s fundamentally untrue. Social censure is one of the most effective catalysts of personal change.” I wanted to stomp my foot and pitch a tantrum like he just had. Judging by his chill demeanor, it had done wonders to relieve his frustration. I couldn’t understand why he insisted on coming into the restaurant every day just to make everyone jumpy—and mistake-prone—when he knew I could run the place with my eyes closed by this point. Sure, Ronnie needed more training. Okay, a lot more. But this was Casper, Wyoming. What the hell did he expect? No Michelin-star chefs were jumping on a plane to prep twice-baked potatoes at a steakhouse in Casper. This wasn’t Jackson Hole. Not even close.
“Can you just take it easy on her? I need a sous-chef. If you keep scaring them off, I can’t do my job.”
At that, the stubborn glint in his eye dimmed. He’d run off four sous chefs since I started. Two of them were actually talented chefs who had shown promise.
“You need to double-check everything she sends out the door,” he said. The bite was gone from his voice but I still knew he meant business. I nodded, and he dismissed me with a tired wave.
Ronnie was back at her prep table, her hands shaking and her face blotchy but her tears dry.
“Get started on those potatoes,” I told her as I walked by on my way to the walk-in. Over my shoulder, I tossed, “Make sure you add salt!”
5.
Jamie
I gazed at Hope like a love-sick puppy while she stood at the stove and stirred her marinara sauce. I was trying to shed some of my off-season pounds so, instead of noodles, she roasted a spaghetti squash. It smelled incredible. She gestured for me to come to the counter and shred the roasted squash into ribbons while she added the last sprinkle of fresh herbs to the sauce. I jumped up from the island stool and hurried around, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back against me. She giggled when I planted a kiss on the side of her neck, and then I picked up the two forks she’d set out and went to work.
