Page 8

Chapter Eight

RESCUING A KITTY

~~Junie~~

I’ve been on the job two days. Thankfully, I haven’t worked a game day yet. Game days are going to be long days for me and my staff. We’ll start prep at five a.m. and won’t be done until long after the game. We’ll be serving breakfast and lunch, along with a pregame and postgame meal, which are served at the arena.

Knowing I’ll see Levi every day until the season ends is a challenge I must face. Several years ago, I had a fling with Ziggy, another Sockeye. It didn’t last long. He’s now married to Darcy, a home improvement star, and he’s settled down. I adore Darcy, and I’ve never been jealous of her. Ziggy is the past.

Why can’t I put Levi in the past?

Every time I see him is absolute torture. Adding to that stress is the underlying tension between my assistant chef and me, along with my distrust and dislike for her bestie and the team dietitian, Celeste. I still don’t have a handle on Milo. He does his job without complaint and keeps his head down. He seems like a nice kid, possibly with a learning disability, as he struggles reading complex instructions.

Despite all the obstacles, I’m not a quitter. I accepted this job, and I’ll do it to the best of my ability until the season ends. In the meantime, I’m keeping an eye out for a more permanent position for which I’m better qualified. If leaving means Maddie is promoted to head chef, so be it.

I’ve caught Levi watching me multiple times in the player lounge as I’m serving food or cooking special requests. He doesn’t say anything, just watches. His intense stare makes me squirrelly. I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I wish he’d forget about me so I can forget about him. Or make a valiant attempt. Unfortunately, I’ve discovered a truth. Absence does make the heart grow fonder. I miss the bastard, and I do not want to miss him. He ended it, and I should be grateful. He rescued me from a fate similar to the one I was dealt by my ex-husband, minus the physical abuse.

One of the double doors swings open, and my boss Rose enters. She’s been out of the office, so I’ve only met her briefly.

“I’m hearing good things from the staff and the guys.” She’s beaming as if my hiring was entirely her idea. If I had to guess, she’ll turn on me the second things go sideways, which I hope they never do.

“Thank you. I’m getting acclimated. I’m not up to Chef’s John’s standards, but I’m working on it.”

“Well, the boys will accept some deterioration in quality temporarily, but the honeymoon will end.”

“I understand.” I’m taken aback and hope she doesn’t catch the tremor in my voice. First, she compliments me, then she issues a thinly veiled warning. I’m tempted to remind her I didn’t ask for this job. I’ve had passive-aggressive bosses before, and I recognize one when I see them.

“Celeste tells me Maddie has been a huge help.”

“Yes, she has. Her familiarity with the job has been crucial.” I hate it, but I have to give credit where credit’s due. Maddie is hard at work chopping vegetables on the other side of the kitchen. She doesn’t appear to be listening, but I know better. Every word of this conversation will be reported to Celeste and used to my detriment. Milo minds his own business as usual. The kid is an enigma.

“And Celeste has been helpful?”

“Absolutely.” There’s sarcasm in the word, but my boss doesn’t pick it up.

“Isn’t she a breath of fresh air?” Rose gushes as if Celeste should be nominated for employee of the year. She’s a breath of something, but it’s not fresh.

“We’re working together for the good of the team.” I’m lying. We’re hardly working together. Celeste and Maddie are working together against me.

“I’m glad to hear it. She’s a valuable resource, and I expect you to follow her guidance.” Rose turns as Celeste enters my kitchen. A huge inviting grin crosses Rose’s face. “Oh, Celeste, we were just talking about you.”

“I hope it was good.” Celeste smiles and pointedly ignores me.

“Oh, absolutely. I’ve been singing your praises.”

“I’m so flattered and undeserving.” Celeste’s patronizing of our boss is disgusting.

“Not in the least. You’re a rising star in this organization.”

I want to puke. Instead, I clamp my mouth shut and ignore this mutual admiration society of two.

“I know you’re both busy. I’ll leave you two alone. Let me know if you need anything.”

“We will,” we say in unison before scowling at each other, but Rose has already hustled out the door and doesn’t notice.

“What do you want? I don’t have much time before the next meal.” I drop the fake congeniality and exchange it for irritation.

“Given your lack of experience, I took the liberty of creating menus for the next week, including two home playoff games.” She hands me a stapled stack of papers. I take it from her but don’t look at it.

Celeste narrows her eyes, not appreciating my dismissal of her menu planning.

“The guys prefer variety in their meals, especially breakfasts and lunches. So make sure you don’t get in a rut by preparing the same items every damn day.”

I hear a snort from Maddie and whip around to glare at her. She pointedly smirks before picking up another carrot and attacking it with gusto. I get the feeling she wishes that carrot was me.

“Menus are my purview, but I’ll take your suggestions into account.” I sound like a whiny brat, but I’m positive she’s overreaching.

“Rose and I discussed the situation. We think it’s better you follow my advice until you have more experience.”

“Why didn’t Rose mention it?”

“Why are you fighting this? Do you have an issue with my superior knowledge? I am the trained dietitian here, not you.”

I cringe slightly at her scathing remark, though her dig at my experience ruffles my feathers.

Designing my menus is not her job. She knows it, and so do I. In a perfect world, we consult with each other, but she shouldn’t control what I’m cooking. Unfortunately, I’m not in the driver’s seat here. Celeste has Rose in her back pocket, and I’m on thin ice.

Reluctantly, I accept her menu plan. I glance at it, surprised to see steak, salmon, and chicken served as the after-game meals, but the earlier meals have more variety. I have no choice but to follow her suggestions for now. I should be grateful, but I can’t be because I know she has bad intentions.

“Is that all?” I’m not interested in trading barbs with her. I have work to do.

“That’s all.” Celeste waves to her friend and struts from the room, like a prized peacock who’s gotten her way, and she has. I’ve been cooking basically the same food for breakfast and lunch and mixing it up for dinner, the total opposite of Celeste’s suggestions. I concede she knows more on this subject than I do.

Maddie approaches me. “Is that Celeste’s meal plan?”

I nod and hand it to her. She reads through it before handing it back, but the calculating expression on her face sets me back on my heels. Those two are up to something. I just know it. Regardless, I don’t feel I have a choice but to follow the outline Celeste provided.

The next morning, my staff and I prepare the menu Celeste has suggested. I stand in front of the crepe stations ready to make crepes however they want them.

Ice is my first customer. He walks up and frowns at the board listing the daily breakfast offerings, including crepes and what fillings are available.

“What can I do for you, Captain?” I ask with a smile. His scrutiny of the menu is making me nervous.

“No omelets?” He’s out-and-out scowling now, and my stomach sinks. Did I screw up somehow?

“They’re not on the menu today. We’re changing things up. Would you like a crepe made to order?” I force a mock cheerfulness into my tone. Something’s very wrong.

“I wanted my omelet.” He shakes his head and moves on to the buffet we’ve set up.

“What’s this?” Rex Clarke points to the buffet with a grimace. “Where’s my breakfast sandwich? I always have one.”

“We’re mixing it up a little. You’re looking at spinach-mushroom strata and shirred eggs with leeks.”

He makes a face, bypasses the new choices, and moves on to make a smoothie. I’m stricken but try to maintain a cheerful persona. You know, fake it till you make it.

The rest of the meal goes just like that. Lots of grumbling and complaining. Very few takers on the strata or the shirred eggs.

“They didn’t like it,” I comment wearily as I throw out almost all of the breakfast.

Milo glances up but says nothing, as usual.

“They’re spoiled.” Maddie’s answer is muffled, and I detect hostility.

Lunch goes just as poorly. I chalk it up to them not liking those choices, but the next day is just as bad. The variable menu items aren’t a big hit. The guys are clearly disappointed and asking for the usual fare. I’m horrified at the lack of enthusiasm regarding my efforts at diversifying their food choices. Once again, we throw away the majority of the food.

The next day is no better. Maddie, Milo, and I toss almost everything, except for a few staples. The guys aren’t happy, and they aren’t hiding this displeasure. Their disapproval is reflected in the way they frown when reading the menu board, the grumbled complaints to each other, and the waste of uneaten food. I’m disheartened and discouraged. Maybe I don’t belong in this job. Maybe I should admit defeat and let Maddie take the head chef position. Maybe…

My pity party is interrupted by a tentative knock on the door leading from the kitchen to the players’ lounge. If I ignore them, will they go away? The knocking persists until the door swings open without invitation.

“Can I have a word with you alone?” says a visibly uncomfortable Levi.

I grimace but nod. He’s the last person I want to talk to on this shittiest of shitty days. I follow him into the hallway. He looks up and down to verify no one is near enough to hear.

“What was that?” He points toward the direction of where the buffets are set up.

“What was what?’ I’m defensive and ready to take my frustration out on him.

“Breakfast and lunch? What the fuck?” He keeps his voice down, but he’s clearly irritated.

“I don’t understand. I’m doing everything I can.”

“Junie, hockey players don’t like change.” His tone is soft but gently chastising.

“But change is good. You’ll get used to it. I’m cooking locally sourced, healthy meals. Maybe you need to change.”

“Considering the entire team is grumbling, I don’t think that’s the answer. Junie, hockey players like routine. We know what we need to eat to keep weight on and our energy levels up. We don’t need variety on practice days or before a game. We depend on you to cook the items that fuel us properly.”

“And I’m not doing that?”

“I didn’t say you weren’t. All I’m pointing out is that we need routine. You can be creative for postgame dinners. Other than that, go back to the basics. If you don’t believe me, ask any experienced chef for a hockey team. You’ll find every one of them pretty much prepares similar meals. We’re creatures of habit, and each of us has our particular idiosyncrasies regarding meals. With some guys, it’s a superstition.”

The problem is that I do believe him. I’ve been set up by Celeste and Maddie. They knew the menu plan was all wrong, and I fell into their trap. If I blame Celeste, it’ll sound petty. I have to own my mistakes like an adult. I’m screwing up big-time, and I can’t shake the belief I’m an incompetent failure.

To my horror, a tear slips down my cheek. Then another. And another. Until I’m bawling my head off. Levi steps forward and wraps me in his arms. I should pull away, but instead I burrow my head into his chest and cling to him as if my life depends on it. I feel at home in his arms, cherished and protected. I know it’s a mirage, but I still take comfort in his touch.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, babe. I got you. I’m here. I’ll always be here when you need me.”

His words are all lies, but I cling to them all the same. Levi’s intentions are good, the execution, not so much.

“What can I do to help? The guys will work with you. I can give you a list of items we prefer for breakfast and lunch.”

I sniffle and lift my chin. He wipes my tears away with the pad of his thumb before cradling my face in his hands. He leans in and gives me the softest kiss on the lips, but it’s like a match lighting gasoline. Before either of us has a chance to come to our senses, we’re all over each other. His hands cup my bottom as he pulls me against him. Our mouths and tongues dance with the ecstasy of longing. I grip fistfuls of his too-long, shaggy hair, knowing he likes it when I do that. He rewards me with a moan from deep down.

I have enough presence of mind to sense someone standing behind us. Then I hear a throat being cleared. We jump apart as if that fire we lit is now burning us. I can almost smell the charred flesh.

Thank God the interloper is Milo. He gapes at us. His face glows a bright red before he scrambles down the hall and almost falls down in the process.

“That guy is clumsy.” Levi shakes his head in amusement, while running a hand through his hair, a sure sign he’s nervous.

“He is.” I’m grateful he offered a distraction, or we’d be doing who knows what. “The poor kid seems pretty sheltered. He lives in Mom and Dad’s basement. His social life is video games.”

“Nothing unusual about that.”

We’re talking casually as if we hadn’t just had a mini make-out session in the Sockeyes practice facility.

“Probably not, but he’s socially awkward.”

“I should be going.” Levi backs toward the exit door, seeming eager to escape my presence. I can’t blame him. We have no self-control around each other, and one of us, if not both, may pay dearly for our indiscretions.

“Thank you for your input.”

He pauses. “I don’t understand why you deviated from the meal plan developed by Chef John. Everyone was happy with that.”

I want to throw Celeste under the bus so badly I can taste it, but something stops me. If I start the blame game now, when does it stop? I made the decision. I could’ve ignored her. I could’ve asked the guys or the coaches or even the training staff rather than taking an untrustworthy person at her word.

“I’ll do better tomorrow. I promise. Back to the tried and true.”

“Thanks, we appreciate it.”

“And Levi, thank you for telling me what no one else had the guts to say.”

“I want you to be successful.” He smiles before pushing the door open. I watch him walk out of the building before I hurry back to the kitchen. I have a lot of changes to make before tomorrow’s breakfast.

I don’t leave the SHAC until nine p.m. I’m dragging my ass. Five a.m. is going to come early. I park on the street as the limited parking for my building is full as usual. There are not enough spaces for all the cars, and it’s first come, first served.

I slog down the sidewalk toward my apartment. I’m so tired I feel as if I’m walking in quicksand, but a plaintive sound stops me in my tracks. I turn and attempt to locate where it’s coming from. There’s a set of dumpsters at the side of the building. Warily, I make my way toward them. I hear the sound again. It’s faint, and it sounds like an animal in pain. Maybe a cat? I love animals, and I miss Mr. Bubbles, Inga’s prized baby who lived with me for a while. I can’t ignore any fur baby in distress.

“Kitty? Kitty?”

Another meow in response.

I open the dumpster, and there among the trash is a black kitten with huge yellow eyes. He’s shivering, filthy, and soaking wet. His hair is matted, and his eyes are full of gook. Despite his misery, he comes toward me. I reach for him and cradle him in my arms.

He nestles against me, and his purring vibrates against my chest. I carry him to my apartment. Rescuing this kitty might be the one good thing that’s happened to me in a week.

At least somebody appreciates me.