Page 5

Chapter 5

Sawyer

The following morning, Sawyer was still fuming over yesterday's fiasco. She couldn’t understand how someone she’d had the misfortune of meeting twice could get under her skin so detrimentally. McCoy— whatever-her-name-was —had slithered under her skin and plagued her thoughts. Thankfully, however, she’d never warmed Sawyer’s bed.

“If only she didn’t have that stupid, cocky smile,” Sawyer griped, slowing down at a red light as she made the daily commute to work. The problem was that she couldn’t figure out how to remove said smile from her cerebrum. It should have been illegal to smile that wide and with not one dimple but two. Yes, something about McCoy set her blood thrashing, and not in a good way.

Her phone rang through the Rover’s speakers as she drove through the intersection. Glancing at the display on her dash, a smile that only her daughter could pull out of her stretched Sawyer’s lips from ear to ear. McCoy was forgotten as she pressed the steering wheel to accept the call. “Hey, love! Don’t tell me you’re just getting up!”

Bree’s soft laughter from the Range Rover’s speakers was the missing warmth in Sawyer’s frigid heart. Her emotions were waking with the melody, sparking to life, and she was beyond grateful for their close relationship. “Good morning, Maman . You know habits are tough to break.”

Ugh. You can say that again. Case in point, she’d dumped a full carafe of coffee into the sink that morning after remembering it was just her and Patches in the house. As much as she’d grown to resent Olivier, for years she’d had a purpose around the home. No, more than that. She’d had an obligation to fulfill, and now that it was no more, Sawyer felt unsettled. She didn’t know who she was anymore outside of work.

“Indeed. How late were you up last night?”

“Ohhh, ‘til about two. I watched the entire season three of The 100 with Scott. We baked pouding ch?meur between breaks, but it never turns out as well as when you and I make it.”

“I miss bringing you with me to work.”

Sawyer winced as the truth spilled out, not wanting Bree to feel sorry for her. Their after-school routine may have ended a couple years ago, but they were still some of Sawyer’s fondest memories.

“Me too. I miss cooking and baking in the backhouse with Barb and everyone. I always felt safest at the restaurant with you. I … I hope you know that.”

Sawyer’s throat and sinuses burned as she forced herself to remain calm. Walking into work with tear-stained cheeks just wouldn’t do. Neither would sobbing into the phone to her daughter. Bree witnessing her come apart was the last thing Sawyer needed. It hadn’t happened in years, but Sawyer knew her daughter would rush back to Vancouver if she thought her mom wasn’t coping. Sawyer couldn’t let that happen. We’ve both sacrificed too much to just throw it all away. She would do anything to make sure Bree’s future wasn’t in jeopardy. Just as she had for the past twenty years.

Despite her best efforts, Sawyer’s vision blurred. Fuck, she was crying. Silently, but there was no way Bree couldn’t hear it in her traitorous voice. She wiped a lone tear from her cheek, and said in a tight voice, “I … Thank you for the call. I’ve gotta go now, Bree. Talk tomorrow, love, okay?”

“Sure, take care, Maman . I love you. Je m’ennuie de toi. ” I miss you.

Sawyer swallowed, the thickness in her throat making it difficult to speak. “You too, baby,” she rasped, dropping the call lightning fast. “Pull it together,” Sawyer scolded, her voice rough in the vehicle’s silence. “There’s not a damn thing to cry over anymore.”

“Where’s my beef filet! That Michelin star isn’t working for itself, people.” Sawyer checked the timestamp on the chit hanging on the line. She hated when orders were late going out to the dining room. It was unprofessional and usually resulted in Sawyer or her manager kissing someone’s ass and giving them a percentage off their meal. An utterly avoidable compromise if she had a competent team working with her.

“Hot behind!”

“Here you go, Chef.” Two plates of steaming beef filet with a Rossini-style sauce slid in front of Sawyer, waiting for her final inspection. Micah looked up at her expectantly, wisps of blue hair tumbling from their cap. Unshed tears brimmed past their long eyelashes. “Sorry, Chef. I-I had a little mishap with the seasoning.”

Sawyer gritted her teeth, exhausted from all the excuses this shift. All it took was firing Dustin to throw her team out of sync the entire supper rush, but it couldn’t be helped. Kelly, her front house manager, had caught him in a compromising position with a server mid-shift. There wasn’t enough time for fraternization on the best of days, let alone using a fleeting “bathroom break” to screw a coworker in a storage closet.

“Hold on a minute, Micah,” she replied when the young cook turned to leave. Sawyer focused on the plates, giving any smudges of sauce an efficient wipe before sprinkling garnish over the top. She handed them off to the waiting server. “Give table twenty-seven our sincerest apologies and discount both meals.”

“Certainly, Chef.” Connor thanked her and took off out front.

“Barb and Shane, cover the line, okay?” Sawyer held up her hand, indicating they’d be gone for five minutes or less.

“Come with me,” Sawyer instructed the young employee, not waiting to see if Micah followed. She walked swiftly through the kitchen, heading into her back office, where she leaned against the desk. Micah entered, dragging their footsteps. Their head hung low, and every few seconds, Sawyer caught the quick squeeze and release of their fists against their pant leg. Hell, Micah looked as if they were headed toward their own execution. Which was ridiculous, considering Sawyer couldn’t afford to let more staff go during service. Despite what everyone on shift might have thought, Sawyer didn’t make a habit of firing the help so close to rush hour.

“Problem-solve with me, Micah. How can we ensure I don’t have to apologize to any further customers tonight? Do you need to take your break and regroup?”

“I’m … wait, you’re not firing me?” Micah blurted, their flushed cheeks and wide eyes the epitome of confusion. Sawyer silently shook her head, and after more sniffling and tear wiping, Micah continued in a low voice, “I’m good, Chef.”

“Are you certain? Because I need you at your best out there, and I’m not just talking about the recent dish. Accidents happen when your mind isn’t in the game.” Sawyer shot a pointed glance down at the fresh burn mark on Micah’s wrist. Gauze covered it now, but the wound was a not-so-subtle reminder of how dangerous a busy kitchen was.

“I didn’t know Dustin was cheating on me,” Micah sobbed, stepping closer, and Sawyer stiffened when it looked as if the young person might try to hug her.

“Excuse me?”

Sawyer breathed in, trying to find the sympathy required in her role as head chef. Some days it was harder than others, sympathizing over trivial bullshit when the personal lives of her staff had no business there in the first place. “Micah,” she said, aware of the hardness still in her voice. Ah, fuck it. Sawyer was who she was, and sympathetic wasn't it. “I’m sorry about Dustin, but workplace romances are overrated, not to mention the distraction can lead to accidents in the kitchen. I hope you’re able to learn something from this incident.”

Cis men are not to be trusted.

No, that wasn’t right. Not all men were like Dustin and Olivier. Some out there surely treated their partners with the respect they deserved.

Micah nodded, accepting the tissue Sawyer handed them off her desk. They gestured to their face with one hand, looking demurely up at Sawyer. “Did that happen when you weren’t paying attention?”

Sawyer scowled, her own hand reaching up to touch her left cheek. The thick layer of foundation hiding the jagged, rough edges usually dissuaded questions from her staff. She gave Micah a small nod, just enough of a reply to satiate their curiosity. Swallowing down a lump of unease from the reminder, Sawyer marched past to the door. “Let’s get back out there.”

“Tonight went well despite everything, don’t you think?” Barb said two hours later as she waited for Sawyer to lock up Desmarais. “Shane seems to be catching on, and the customers left happy.”

“It was a good day,” Sawyer agreed, shouldering her duffel bag. They started out to the parking lot. The rest of her staff had left about ten minutes before, but Sawyer liked to do one last check throughout the restaurant before leaving for the night. Barb always waited for her, even though Sawyer had told her before how unnecessary it was. She loathed small talk even more than watching people squirm during awkward conversations with her.

Her SUV came into view, the shiny black of the brand-new back tire stealing her focus. Just like that, the irritating mechanic who had helped came to mind. McCoy, with her endless flirtations and annoying, know-it-all grins. Sawyer had been so thrown off by the day before, she’d forced herself to stay put in the rain to prove a point. There was no way she would have let that arrogant womanizer get the upper hand and see how flustered she’d been. Sawyer could have reached for her umbrella in the back seat, but when her retort of loving the rain slipped out, she didn’t have the gumption to go back on it.

Now, Sawyer couldn’t help but revel in the irony of her predicament. It was true she was searching for someone knowledgeable to rebuild the McLaren, but McCoy could be the last mechanic on the face of the earth, and Sawyer still wouldn’t call on her.

“Good night, Barb. Thanks for today,” Sawyer told her, unlocking her car. She gave her sous-chef a small wave before climbing into the Rover. She watched Barb do the same and waited for her to leave before following her out of the parking lot.