My Bittersweet Summer (11 page)

Kareem chuckled, the lines around his eyes crinkling with his smile. “Now that I know, it should be easier,” he said in his deep baritone. “I don’t understand his complaint about the seasoning, though. I follow his recipe to the letter.”

I leaned in conspiratorially. “Wanna know a secret?” I giggled. “He over-salts nearly everything. Reduce that by a third, and if he calls for garlic salt, use powder instead. If you can sneak it by him, use the garlic paste I keep in the back. I make it every night before I leave and stash it in a jar in the walk-in. All the way in the back, top right corner.”

He laughed. “You’re smarter and more talented than he gives you credit for.”

I grimaced. “I wasn’t aware he even knew my name, let alone that he’d talk about me.”

Waving a hand dismissively, he grabbed a water bottle, taking a long drink. “He sees plenty, and I think he used to be very good at what he did, but he got a little full of himself somewhere along the way. He forgot that a chef can only be as good as he’s trained those around him to be.”

“Then he should be looking pretty good by the time I get through with everyone,” I said with a giggle. “Between me and my dad, we might not need him at all in a month or two.”

“Need who at all?” My dad rounded the corner to the line from somewhere in the back.

I grinned at him. “No one in particular.”

He settled a slightly displeased gaze on me. “Be nice, Margie. We hired him for a reason.”

“For the rec letter I’ll never get because he can’t remember my name?” I asked helpfully.

My father sighed and shook his head. “His reputation carries a lot of weight. He didn’t get where he is now by pure luck.”

“Yeah, I know.” I relented. I wasn’t going to win that one. “I’ll be nice.”

“Thank you. Now, about the flour situation…”

I blinked at him, taking a minute to remember what he was referring to. “Oh, right. Yeah, he asked if I could show him some stuff, so I started him at the beginning. How’s he doing?”

“He looks bored. Might want to show him flowers or something with the carrots we’re tossing today. Might make him feel like he made some progress then.”

Resigned to my fate, I headed back for the walk-in cooler, grabbing the top bin of carrots from the stack. Zach’s eyes followed me as I went, though he looked like he was trying to hide it.

I set the bin in the sink with a thud and craned my neck over his shoulder. His marks in the flour were nowhere near uniform, but his technique was slightly better, so at least there was that.
 

“Ready for something else?”

He pushed aside his hair from his forehead, leaving a smudge of flour on his skin. “Sure.”

My eyes lingered on the smudge, but I decided not to say anything about it yet. “Simple garnishes. Interested?”

“Does it involve flour?”

A small smile turned up a corner of my mouth, and I shook my head. “No flour. Actual vegetables this time.”

He grinned at me. “Then, yes. Definitely.”

Sliding away the white-powdered mat, I dumped the flour in the trash, setting the silicon sheet in the sink. After rinsing off the carrots, I handed him one, taking another for myself. “Peel it first.”

The peeling was a messy affair of flying orange bits, one of which landed in his hair and added to the hilarity of the flour smudge. Paring knife in hand, I showed him how to trim down the thicker end of the carrot, whittling it into a pentagon shape. Next, we cut the corners off at thirty-degree angles, creating a scalloped pattern a little more than an inch from the base.

“Now,” I said, “you’re going to keep making those same thirty-degree slices, only stop about a quarter inch from the end.”

I slid the paring knife under one of the scallop shapes, forming the first petal. I repeated this on all five sides, then watched him. Zach was completely focused, replicating every cut I made precisely.

“Okay, the next step is trickier.” I set the blade against the orange flesh. “Tilt it a little more towards the center. If you do it right, all of the slices will meet in the middle and the main portion of the carrot comes free.”

The last cut made, I set down the knife and gave the carrot a twist, freeing the carved flower from the bottom, and held up the finished product. “See?”

He grimaced, as if trying to picture what his hands were supposed to do, but didn’t say a word as he picked up his carrot and set to work.

“Careful, if your angle isn’t deep enough you’ll—”

The first petal fell to the floor.

“Cut it off,” I finished, desperately trying not to laugh. After all, I’d been a beginner at one point, too.

“Damn it,” he said under his breath, then made the first slice again.

“Try not to cut your thumb off or anything, okay? I’m going to see what else my parents need me to do. Keep practicing.”

Leaving him again, I wandered off in search of my mom or dad. I only had so much tolerance for alone time with Zachary Robinson.

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The stucco panel slid into the latching side of the banquet room archway, closing it off so no one would track dirt onto the floor I’d finished mopping. With a satisfied nod, I took hold of the mop handle and used it to push the bright yellow bucket and wringer across the main spaces toward the kitchen.

“Finished the floor in the other room, Mom!” I called as I backed into the kitchen. “I’m gonna change out the water and do the other one in a minute.”

Kareem and the bartender left around two, leaving three waitresses and Zach the only other people there with me and my parents. By four, Lana, Tori, and Isabelle had enough of menu review and took off as well. Rounding the corner to the prep area, I wheeled the bucket towards the cleaning station past the walk-in to change out the water.

I paused. Zach wasn’t at the cutting board anymore, though it looked like he was finished practicing. The knives were in the sink, and all of the carrots, save for a few bits on the cutting board, were gone. Had he left without cleaning up? That would be exactly what I’d expect of someone like him.

When I passed the back exit, however, I noticed the door propped open. Curious, I took a closer look, noting a broken brick keeping it from closing. As I bent to pick it up, I heard voices outside in the parking lot.

“Holy crap, man.” I cringed. I’d know Matt’s voice anywhere. No way was I sticking my head out to verify it, though. “I can’t believe it’s true. This is why you’ve been ditching us the last week? You’re hauling trash out of a restaurant?”

“Working, douche,” Zach said, and I heard the smack of someone landing a light punch. “You know how my dad is, always on me about responsibility and junk.”

I bristled. That wasn’t the story I’d heard.

Matt laughed. “So they put you on trash duty? What the hell? And I thought they were closed on Mondays?”

“I do whatever. And it was a training day, or something. I dunno. It’s only for three months. Like I care. I’m only here because my dad is making me.”

He was only what? Anger frothed in the pit of my stomach. So who was Zach lying to, Matt, or me? Either way, it was pretty gross of him.

“So you about done or what?” Matt asked. “Frank Durn’s got the game on at his house. Beers and barbecue from the North Carolina joint he had flown in for that thing at Christmas break. You ready to blow this place off for the day?”

Disgusted, I didn’t wait to hear Zach’s reply, going back to what I was supposed to be doing instead of eavesdropping. I rinsed out the bucket and filled it again, stewing the whole time about the conversation outside. The mess at the cutting board irked me, so I stopped on my way to the main floor to clean up.

After washing the knives, I pulled out the whetstone and sharpened them, finishing the two paring knives and putting them away before starting on the chef’s knife. The back door closed as I started in, and I pretended not to notice when Zach strolled up, acting like nothing had happened.

“What’re you doing?” He peered over my shoulder.

The blade slid across the dark gray stone with a metallic hiss. “Cleaning up your mess.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Since you were otherwise occupied, yes, I did,” I said, cutting him off without even looking at him.

“I was taking out the trash. Your dad said to toss the rest of that bin of carrots, so I did that, too. Why are you acting weird?”

I flipped the blade and sharpened the other side. “I’m not acting like anything, Zach. I figured at least one of us should be honest.”

A quick glance at his face showed me nothing but total confusion.

“Don’t you have a party to get to? I’d hate to waste any more of your time today, when there’s clearly other places you’d rather be.”

“A party? Wait, did you—”

I slammed the whetstone on the cutting board along with the knife so I didn’t lose my temper and gut him. “It’s a lot easier to tell you to get lost when I know why you’re really here.” I turned and grabbed the mop, leveling one good glare at him, carrot piece, flour, and all. “But it’s not like you care.”

Unable to defend himself, I left him speechless, heading up front to mop the main room.

I was still stewing forty-five minutes later as I dumped out the last of the dirty water.

“What’s the matter?” my mom said as she watched me wring the filth out of the mop.

“Nothing.”

“I know angry cleaning when I see it, Margie.”

“I’m fine.”

She watched me for a minute, then seemed to decide something. “All right. Well, if you’re almost done, we’re nearly ready to go. You might want to check the prep station one last time. We’ll meet you at the car after we shut down out there.”

I nodded, and she let me be.

Mop and bucket stashed, I went through one last inventory of the cleaning supplies, checked the walk-in was firmly closed, then made my way to the prep station. The entire area was spotless, save for one thing.

A single carrot flower rested on the counter beside the sink. Frowning, I picked it up. Rather than the choppy, irregular petals I was expecting, beautifully rounded edges lined the top of the flower, the sides tapering down to create a heart shape when you looked at it from the side.

I didn’t know who taught him that, but I really didn’t care. Yay for him for carving a flower out of a carrot.

It didn’t make him any less of a jerk.

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As I reached over to silence the alarm on my phone, I groaned. My entire body ached from three weeks of working every day without time off. It wasn’t that I was complaining about the work. When you love what you do, it isn’t really work. My muscles, however, were greatly displeased with my personal dedication. On the bright side, my arms were probably going to be ripped by the time August rolled around.

Swiping at the screen of my phone, I glared at the text message. Yet again, my parents ditched me, insisting I ride with Zach to work at ten. As it was only eight, I decided firmly in favor of walking. Even if there was another mistakenly delivered package, I would not be going up to the main house.

Upon peeking out the blinds, however, it seemed Mother Nature had other plans for me. Dark clouds were already rolling in, and it didn’t look like they’d wait for me to get safely to work before they opened up and drenched me. I considered texting Destiny, but remembered from our conversation the night before that she was scheduled to open the cake shop that morning.

As I pulled back from the window, something caught my eye. My mood already foul, the object outside on the sill didn’t improve it. Growling to myself, I hopped out of bed and stepped into my flip-flops, stomping through the house and out the back. Before I made the turn, I peeked around the side and scanned the trees for any sign of Zach, not about to let him catch me by surprise again. When it looked clear, I continued my fuming trek to my bedroom window.

A bright orange carrot flower, considerably more complex than the type I’d taught him, rested on top of a folded note. Two layers of petals looked up at me as I considered whether or not to pick the thing up or leave it for an animal to gnaw on. Or maybe it would just mold there, and take whatever was written on that note with it. I told myself I didn’t care what it said. It was probably another batch of lies anyway.

Muttering a curse, my curiosity got the better of me. I snatched up both items and trudged back to the house, tossing them on the kitchen table when I was back inside. My parents left enough coffee in the pot for one more cup, but it was cold. Sticking the mug in the microwave, I passed the time glaring at the folded note. Really, I had no idea why Zach even bothered. I wasn’t interested in a friend who was only as much when no one else was looking. Children behaved that way, and I didn’t have time to mess around with two-faced idiots.

The microwave beeped and I removed my mug, added milk and sugar as always, and wandered over to the table. The spoon clinked against the porcelain sides of the cup as I stirred my coffee, still staring at the paper. After one sip, I said screw it and unfolded the thing.

I do care. More than I can tell him.

His number was written at the bottom again, but I ignored it. Taking another sip of coffee, I set the paper aside, picking up the carrot flower. Did I believe him?

Really, why should I? Zach was insistent he was a changed man one minute, and then acting like his job at Le Beau Tournée was some kind of punishment the next. Nothing except his annoying presence was ever consistent.

Even so, the flower he left spoke of hours of dedication and practice, probably looking at videos on the Internet, or Rosie’s help, too. Why go to all that trouble if he didn’t mean it? Of course, it was always possible that Rosie made it for him, but that would be stupid, as he’d know I might want him to prove he could repeat it later. Unless he was an absolute moron with no foresight whatsoever, the carrot flower was totally his creation.

The first few raindrops hit the window as I tossed the carving and note in the trash. One way or the other, I’d know soon enough.