Page 15

CHAR HEADED DOWN the hall toward his kitchen the next morning feeling somewhat refreshed. He had slept well, but the crazed, swirling thoughts had returned the second he opened his eyes. And he had definitely dreamed about that kiss.

He stomped firmly on that thought to prevent it from escalating before pushing open the doors. He walked into the kitchen and realized the lights were already on. He froze, looking around, one hand still holding open one of the doors in case he needed to make a run for it. Char noticed a man’s silhouette out of the corner of his eye and a shot of adrenaline ran through him, but when he turned to look, Ralph’s familiar face swam into view.

Char let out a heavy breath, his heart pounding in his chest. “What are you doing here?” he said, trying to sound nonchalant and not as if Ralph had just scared the crap out of him.

Ralph laughed. “I’m on guard shift in the mornings three days a week,” he explained. “Means I have to get up early to beat you here, but I also get out of kitchen duty entirely so I really can’t complain.” He grinned. “And now I get to learn all about everything you complete before your helpers wander in.”

Char laughed, the last of the tension draining out. “It’s not much, really.” He went to the ovens to get them lit so they could start to warm up. “I assume you didn’t see anyone lurking in the dark when you got here this morning?” He pulled three extra-large stockpots down from the shelf and placed them on the stove before heading to the fridge to retrieve the milk. Yesterday afternoon, the dairy that supplied Char’s kitchen had accidentally delivered double the milk of Char’s usual order, and then when Char agreed to keep it rather than force them to lug it all the way back to the dairy where it would go bad before it could be sold, they had only charged him half price with no delivery fee. That meant he had more than enough milk to go a touch crazy with breakfast.

He filled all three pots two-thirds full with milk, added some salt, and left them there. It was far too early to start cooking, but that was one fewer step he now needed to complete.

“Not a soul,” Ralph replied, shrugging. “They could have heard me coming and snuck out before I got the lights on though.”

“Hmm,” Char answered, mostly focused on measuring out oats to put in one of the pots. He was making oatmeal, creamed wheat, and breakfast grits to go with his cinnamon rolls. He would have Karl and one of his helpers set up a make-your-own bar with toppings and flavorings of all kinds to mix into the breakfast cereal. And, once he had a moment, he would also start making both fifteen minute hard boiled eggs and six-minute soft boiled as well.

Once the oats were measured, he set them aside. Char went over to the rack where the servants had placed all the raw bread to come to room temperature and pulled out the largest loaves first. The oven was hot enough, so those went in to start baking.

“Heard you caught a different sort of problem last night, though,” Ralph continued.

Char snorted out a laugh, by now inured to the speed of the rumor mill around the compound. “Yeah, Karl’s little sister paid us a visit. Caught her stealing an apple from the pantry.”

While Ralph was busy chuckling, Char filled two medium stockpots about halfway with cold water and set them on the counter, then pulled out his eggs. He put fifty eggs in each pot, doused them liberally with salt, and put both pots on the stove with their burners on high to get the water boiling.

Next, he vanished into the pantry to pull out all the sides and set up an assembly line with the serving bowls for Karl and the rest of the early helpers to prepare. The morning bell went off, meaning they would arrive in the next fifteen to twenty minutes.

A check on the bread said it needed a few more minutes, so while he waited, Char got a massive chunk of butter out of the cold box and put it in a saucepot on the stove, heating on low to start melting. And then he paused, casting around, but there wasn’t anything else to prep for breakfast.

He ought to start working on any prep for the next meal, then. Although lunch was going to be leftovers. Thinly sliced steak round—since that meat was a few days old and needed to be eaten—as well as the sliced chicken Char hadn’t been able to use for the pot pie. If he had any leftover eggs after breakfast, he would also toss together some egg salad. The sandwich bread was in the oven at the moment and throwing together a condiment of his spiced tomato sauce mixed with mayo would only take a few minutes. Yesterday’s side salad and some sliced vegetables and he had a perfect lunch. In the winter for a lunch like this, he would make a hearty soup too, but it was still far too warm for that.

Dinner was going to be hamburgers, so at some point this morning Char needed to make bun dough, but he didn’t have enough time for that now.

Luckily Char’s helpers started arriving before his indecision made him start working on something he didn’t need to do right now. While they washed their hands and pulled on aprons, Char swapped the bread in the oven with the cinnamon rolls. The butter was melted, so he took it off the stove and set it aside to cool. He also turned the burners on for the milk, setting them on medium high. He poured the oats into one of the pots and found spoons to stir each.

“Hey, Char?” Karl asked, his tone tentative. Char turned to look at him and saw his sister was standing at his side. “Um, commander said she can stay if she contributes? Is there anything she can help with?”

She was still wearing the oversized white shirt as a dress, although the rope had been replaced with a proper leather belt. Both siblings looked so hopeful as they gazed at Char, and Char couldn’t come up with any reason to say no.

“She can keep the milk from burning,” Char said. “Karl, go get her a chair to stand on while I improvise an apron.”

First, Char turned down the heat on the eggs, since they were just starting to boil, and glanced at the clock so he wouldn’t overcook the soft-boiled ones. He then commandeered a drying cloth, poked holes in two of the corners, and used some twine to make a loop. The cloth hung awkwardly across her chest and stomach, but at least she would be protected from hot splashes.

“There’s one spoon per pot,” Char explained as Karl helped her climb onto the chair pressed up close to the stove. “Don’t mix them up.” He handed her the spoon for the oatmeal and she started stirring enthusiastically. Too enthusiastically, as some —thankfully still cool—milk immediately splashed. “Slowly! Slowly,” Char admonished. “Use technique rather than speed. Scrape the spoon along the bottom of the pot to keep anything from sticking, and along the sides to keep anything from clumping. The milk is going to get hot, but when it starts to bubble and froth, call me over. You got it?”

She nodded, clutching the spoon in both hands as she stirred slowly and carefully. Char would keep an eye on her, but she seemed to get it. She put that spoon down on a spoon rest, picked up a different spoon and used it to stir the pot Char was going to use for the creamed wheat. He left her to it, beckoning Karl and Leslie over to his prep station. Char held out the mallet for Karl to take, then pointed at the waiting bag of walnuts.

“I need those crushed. Not powdered; small chunks, please. And if you hit too hard and break my counter, you’ll be doing dishes the rest of your time here,” Char added, only half joking.

Karl nodded, his eyes serious, and when he started banging at the nuts, he tapped slowly the first few times until he got the heft of the hammer. Char explained to Leslie what he wanted for the rest of the bowls before hurrying over to swap out the tray of cinnamon rolls.

By then, the six-minute eggs were done. Char hefted the pot over to the sink and put the full pot directly underneath the faucet to fill it to the brim with cold water. He waited until the pot overflowed, then dumped the water out—careful not to lose any of the eggs. He filled and dumped the pot a second time, before setting the now cooled pot down at the bottom of the sink and letting it fill a third time. He left it there and went to find a large serving bowl.

“Let them cool enough you don’t burn yourself, and then get these plattered. They’re soft-boiled, so if you break one we’ll have a mess,” Char explained to Marcus, who was standing nearby, waiting for instructions.

Marcus nodded and got to work, and Char went to make the icing for his buns. The first batch was going to be served plain, but the rest were getting a lovely coating of sweet goodness. Char combined the melted butter with powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla, stirring until he had a smooth, pourable mixture. That would go directly on the rolls when he pulled them out of the oven.

“Hey, Mister Char, sir?” Karl’s sister called.

Char hurried over and saw the milk was boiling. “Good eye,” he told her. Char measured the grits into one pot, the creamed wheat into another, and left her to stirring. The next round of cinnamon rolls was done. Char pulled them and slotted in the normal rolls Karl had made next. He iced the cinnamon rolls and then went to help set up the serving area.

Explaining how he wanted things arranged only took a few minutes, which was good because the hard-boiled eggs were done. He hauled the pot over to the sink, sticking it directly under the running faucet exactly as he had done for the soft-boiled eggs, only dumping it out when the water overflowed the edges. He filled and dumped the water three times before leaving the pot in the sink. Marcus was waiting again, so Char started explaining what he wanted done.

“These eggs are hard-boiled, so I need you to peel them,” Char explained, picking up one of the warm eggs. Karl wandered over to watch too, apparently done helping Leslie. “You don’t have to worry about a mess with these, but they’re still very delicate, so I need you to be gentle.” He demonstrated by tapping the egg against the side of the sink just hard enough to crack the shell. Using the outside edge of his thumb, careful not to scrape the white flesh with his nail, Char peeled the shell off. “See this membrane?” he explained, holding up a thin white film that had come up with the shell. “If it gets stuck to the egg the shell won’t come off cleanly. See?” He demonstrated, gently peeling the membrane back with the edge of his thumb, revealing the unmarred egg underneath. “Any questions? Try not to rip out too much of the white flesh.”

Marcus and Karl both nodded, reaching for their own eggs to give peeling a try. Char left his denuded egg in another serving bowl and left them to it, their delicate tapping of the cooked shells against the metal of the sink a pleasant accompaniment to the blurp and bubble of the breakfast cereals starting to come together just in time for the main doors to open for the first diners.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of keeping the serving area full. The lull before the soldiers finishing morning drill was ending and Char was elbow deep in peeling even more hard-boiled eggs when Zain walked into the room. Her sheer presence drew the eye, even when she was simply walking to grab a plate, although she paused to take an appreciative sniff of the air. Heady with yeast and the sharp tang of cinnamon, Char sometimes thought the best thing about making cinnamon rolls was the way they perfumed the air, rather than how good they tasted. Zain apparently agreed, since she breathed heavily in and out a second time.

“Whoa,” Karl’s sister breathed out, awe suffusing her tone.

Zain looked up and caught sight of the girl still standing over a pot—a refill of oatmeal, since they were running low—spoon clutched in her hands.

“Girl, front and center,” Zain snapped out, pointing at the ground in front of her.

Karl’s sister gulped, and Karl sucked in a breath. It took her a second to set the spoon aside and climb down from the chair, but she went where directed.

“Name?” Zain asked.

“Em’ly,” she replied. Her head was down and her shoulders rounded, and she was shaking like a chihuahua.

“Back straight! Look me in the eye when you’re speaking to me, Emily,” Zain snapped. Emily gasped but obeyed, standing straight and looking at Zain, her golden-colored eyes wide.

Zain nodded firmly. “You’ll do. I’m Captain Patricia Zain. I’m in need of an aide. After I finish eating, report to me, and I’ll put you to more appropriate work.” She paused to wait for a response, but Emily only continued to stare. “You say, “Yes, Captain!”

“Yes, Cap Tin!”

Zain let out a snort and went to fill a plate, then headed off into the depths of the seats to sit with Captain Wong, who had come in about ten minutes earlier. Emily returned to the other side of the island and looked at Karl as if he had an answer to explain what just happened.

“I think she’s only scary on the outside?” Karl asked more than said, turning to look at Char.

Char smiled. “Yes. She’s a bit rough, but she’ll treat Emily nicely. Just do what she says, and you’ll be fine.”

Emily took off her improvised apron and handed it to Char. She was still shaking and wide-eyed, but when Zain added her dishes to the collection bin and headed in the direction of the training courtyard outside, Emily trotted after her.

Karl returned the chair to the sitting area, Char took over oatmeal stirring duties, and the morning continued.