Page 18 of Bed and Breakup (Dial Delights #15)
Robin
I wake up bright and early on Friday morning and tote my crates of produce to Counterculture, figuring Jesse will be there even though they don’t open until eleven.
Everywhere else is, of course, closed. Eureka’s a bit of a sleepy town, where shop hours change based on when the owner leaves to walk their dog or go visit with the bartender next door.
But when you own a restaurant, you pretty much spend every waking minute there. Some of your sleeping minutestoo.
I find the kitchen door in an alley halfway down one of the flights of stairs built into the mountainside next to Counterculture.
Jesse answers, aproned and covered in flour.
I offer him the lot for free, but am relieved and grateful when he insists on paying me like any of his local vendors.
After I admit to having no plans until the garden store opens, he invites me into the kitchen to help him clean and prep the fruit and veggies for lunch service.
It feels surprisingly good to be back in a professional kitchen, slicing rhubarb and chiffonading basil as Jesse tells me about this week’s chef’s special, chanterelle étouffée.
“How much longer are you in town?” he asks while caramelizing onions on the stove. “A celebrity chef like you must have a packed schedule.”
“Not exactly,” I say, shooting for confidently casual. “I came for a bit of a career reset.”
Jesse looks up from his pan for a moment, giving me a knowing smile. “So you have something exciting brewing, huh? Knowing you, you’re probably going to make a big announcement soon that blows the culinary world’s mind.”
It stings a little for Jesse to have so much faith in me when I don’t deserve it, but I appreciate his vote of confidence.
“I’ll actually be around town for a while,” I say, not confirming or denying.
“I just agreed to renovate the Hummingbird and sell it to Clint.” Leaving Molly out wasn’t an intentional choice, but our weird housing situation feels like too much to explain at the moment.
“Dude!” Jesse yells, turning toward me. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in years! If it can’t be you and Molly running it, Clint’s definitely the best person in town.”
“Totally,” I agree. “He was there in the beginning.”
“Have you seen One More Round since he took over?” Jesse asks. “It’s like a whole new bar. Swanky.”
“Not yet.”
Jesse’s eyes light up. “We should go! And bring Caro! Oh, Caro’s gonna do a happy dance when they find out you’re fixing everything the management company ruined.
” Jesse shakes his head grimly as he starts inspecting mushrooms from a bin by the sink, then says in a quieter voice, “We fought like hell to stop them, but there was only so much we could do. Especially once they replaced me and the other cooks with dry-ass premade pastries.”
My cheeks heat with guilt for putting Jesse and Caro in that shitty situation.
I mean, Molly chose the management company, but that doesn’t let me off the hook.
I sent Jesse a lengthy email after I moved, apologizing for leaving him to run the kitchen alone without warning, but I didn’t realize how bad things got.
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that, bro,” I say, rubbing the back of my head.
“You deserved better. And you found it! Look at this place.”
Jesse looks around the kitchen, his frown shifting into a proud smile as he turns back to stir the onions. “Yeah. It’s pretty great, huh?”
An idea strikes me like lightning. I need cash.
And I owe Jesse for leaving him high and dry.
Maybe I can make things right with Jesse by helping him out during this busy summer season and also get paid.
If Molly’s got another gig going, it’s fair game for me to have one too.
“Since I’m here for a while, what would you think about hiring me part-time? ” I ask. “To keep my skills sharp?”
“Are you kidding, dude?” Jesse says, knocking his hip into the handle of his pan as he turns around, nearly sending it careening off the stove.
“Having you here would be incredible for business. A Robin’s Egg residency!
Or Kindling, but it involved open flames, didn’t it?
” Jesse starts pacing the kitchen, popping his knuckles.
“We’re probably not coded for that kind of thing, but I’m sure we could get creative with the concept.
Maybe butane torches? God, the regulars will be ecstatic. ”
“Whoa, slow down.” I move over to Jesse’s pan of onions and stir them before they burn.
“That’s very generous of you, but a pop-up wasn’t really what I had in mind,” I say honestly.
I can’t afford to buy my own ingredients or pay any staff, and at this point, just getting a job at Counterculture feels like a big enough favor to ask, even if Jesse doesn’t know it.
I suggest, “Maybe something more like sous-chef. You’re the vegan expert here.
I could learn a lot from you. It wouldn’t have to be full-time.
A few days a week would be great.” Normally, it would take a massive dose of humility to go from owner/head chef to line cook.
But if there’s anyone I want to see thrive, would do anything to help succeed, it’s Jesse.
I can proudly be his sous-chef. And I need the job, especially if Molly expects me to help pay for the renovations.
Jesse pauses near the dishwasher and gives me a questioning stare. “We do need a sous. But you could be a guest chef at any restaurant in the world. Why would you want to be second-in-command at some small-town place no one has ever heard of?”
“You’re selling yourself short,” I say. “I’ve seen the online reviews—people are planning whole trips to Eureka for a dinner reservation here.
I respect the hell out of what you’ve built.
And second, I’d love to be back in the kitchen with you.
Like the good old days, only you’re in charge this time.
” I mean every word, but can’t help feeling guilty about hiding the rest of the truth from Jesse.
Deep down, I know Jesse wouldn’t judge me if he knew the truth of my money woes.
But I also can’t stand the thought of him hiring me out of pity.
“It’s not a glamorous job,” Jesse says, seeming to hear my arguments, but his forehead is still wrinkled with concern. “A lot of laminating pastry and julienning carrots and cleaning artichokes. You’re sure you don’t want to do a pop-up instead?”
“Maybe someday,” I say. “But for now, cleaning artichokes sounds amazing.”
“All right, then.” Jesse comes closer and gives me a heavy pat on the shoulder. “When can you start?”
I look down at the pan of onions sizzling in front of me, giving off a sweet, earthy scent. “It seems like I already did,” I say.
Jesse laughs, and I feel lighter than I have in weeks. “Amazing. We open in three hours, and we’ve got a reservation for a group of twenty, so let’s get chopping.”