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Quirking a brow, he vanishes back into the hall and moments later I hear him whistling to himself. He’s happy. I’d know it if he weren’t.
“Mama,” Emily coos and I see her chubby little arms straighten as her legs stretch so high the toes of her right foot hit her lips.
“Emmy!” Dillan yells and scrambles from me to help his baby sister off the sofa.
I love them both, so much.
“Yes, Chef!” I yell for the thousandth time in ten minutes.
“You’ve got this, Gwen,” Ahmet whispers in my ear as he passes. Ahmet is the name of the Executive Chef. We finally got an introduction in between all of his arguing with Kerim. Though considering they fight so much, there seems to be no love lost between them. Apparently they’re cousins but they have such a brotherly bond. It’s nice. I can understand why Kerim wants to keep everyone separate. This place, though they yell a lot at each other, is such a well-oiled machine. One kink in the cogs and it’ll fall apart. Anyone can see how much effort Kerim has put in to create the perfect team.
I can’t be the one person who screws that up.
“Good,” Patience tells me when I slide the tray of sliced vegetables towards her. “Another week and you’ll be laughing.”
I sure hope she’s right.
“Prepare the duck,” Kerim yells and at first I ignore him because he can’t possibly be speaking to me.
“Sorry?” A duck in a small metal dish is practically thrown my way.
“How would you prepare it?”
Holy fuck. This is happening.
The problem is, I’ve never cooked duck before. As if sensing this, Kerim steps beside me. The bustle of the kitchen is louder than his voice. “You have only half an hour. Prepare it how you like it. Go crazy. I want to see what you’re made of.”
“No pressure then.”
“Don’t panic; just have fun. The whole point of doing this is because it’s what you love and supposedly you’re good at it. Rely on your instinct, your talent. If it exists, we’ll soon see.”
With that he wanders away, leaving me and the bald duck in the middle of the kitchen.
Crap.
I cheat and keep it simple. If I was to have duck, I’d want the skin to be crispy and salty and the rest to pull apart like string cheese.
Or should I follow the recipe Kerim has taught the others? I’m not totally sure what the formula is.
When it has finished cooking and it comes time to taste it, Kerim does so but gives me no feedback other than the fact he doesn’t spit it out. It isn’t terrible in my own personal opinion. Could use some potatoes and gravy.
“Back to chopping and rid the fat from this beef. There’s too much. My error.” Kerim yells from across the kitchen. “Jamal, wash your fucking hands before you touch the equipment, you idiot.”
“Yes, Chef.” The man darts past with red oil covering him to near elbow.
I’ve never handled so much raw meat in my life. There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere.
Chapter Five
Nathan climbs into the driver’s seat, a happy smile on his face. Flexing his glove covered hands, he looks at me and then beats a rhythm on the steering wheel. “Are you ready?”
“After the week I’ve had, is that a serious question?”
He pulls me to him and places his lips against my forehead. “You’ve worked so hard.”
“As have you.” He so tirelessly puts my needs before his own.
“I’m used to it and the stores are doing so well, I’m thinking of opening another.”
Grinning, I throw my arms around his neck, leaning over the console so as to hold tighter to him. “That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you.” He seems uncomfortable, not with the way I’m holding him but with the subject. I feel as though he has something to tell me. When I get this feeling, it’s usually correct.
“Where were you thinking of opening another?”
His phone startles us both at the same time as a car, wanting to pull into the space we’re about to vacate, blares its horn at us.
I reach for his phone, as is normal while he’s driving. Normally I’ll answer and ask them to call back. Just as my fingers touch the edges, he snatches it away and drops it into the hollow pocket on the door, beneath the handle.
What just happened?
“Umm… what was that all about?”
“Just some company calling. Probably wanting to help me claim back my PPI,” he laughs and I immediately know he’s lying. “Nothing to worry about.”
He backs out of the parking space, glancing at Jeanine’s car as we pass. We’re so lucky to have her only an hour away; she’s always eager to help out when we need it.
“Nothing to worry about?” I repeat, tasting his words on my tongue and willing them to actually banish my worry.
