A few minutes later, Anton’s hands are washed, his long hair is pulled back, and an apron is covering his grimy clothes. Karl, John, and I are sitting on stools on the opposite side of the counter while Anton inspects each ingredient carefully, like he’s preparing to build something magnificent. K
Abby My heart hammers in my chest as Anton’s words hang in the air between us. “Everything comes at a price,” he said. I’m hooked, completely sold on whatever secret culinary world he comes from, but his cryptic statement sends shivers down my spine. What could he possibly mean? “Alright… what
I look into Karl’s eyes. “What, like I did with you?” I murmur. Karl’s eyes widen for a moment. His expression shifts from skepticism, to anger, and finally to understanding before his gaze drops to the floor. I can tell I struck a chord with him, and maybe it’s for the best; to remind him that I
Abby I walk into my restaurant the next morning, the scent of fresh coffee and baked bread filling the air. The morning sun casts long beams of light through the windows, but the atmosphere inside feels oddly electric, tense yet filled with a strange and unexpected kind of exhilaration. It’s the
I can already taste the financial stress paying a professional like him would put me in if I hired him for good, but I’m already thinking of ways to foot the bill. I still need to give Anton time to prove himself, but if he does, I know I want him to stay. And I think everyone else does, too. Even
Abby It’s been a few days since Anton first stepped into my restaurant, and already Anton is fitting in perfectly with the team. That morning when I walked into the restaurant, not knowing whether I had been taken for a fool or not, now seems so distant. Anton and John are running like a well-oi
“No hard feelings,” Anton adds. “Besides, you gave me the fire I needed. Every kitchen needs a little heat, oui?” … The evening rush is in full swing, and I’m feeling that exhilarating mix of adrenaline and contentment that comes from seeing the restaurant function like a well-oiled machine. The
Abby The restaurant door clicks shut behind Karl, sealing off the outside world and its nosy journalists. Karl brushes off his hands as if he’s just dealt with a minor annoyance, but his eyes meet mine, full of concern. “You okay, Abby?” he asks, walking over to where I’m standing. “I’m fine,”