Page 29 of Forever Home

If we’re really going to make this place the center of the community, and a tradition to keep Mrs. Kendall’s memory alive—we need to do it right.

Picking up my phone, I dial Knox’s number. His voice comes through after the third ring.

“Hey, Jaxson, did you forget something?”

“No, no,” I mutter in amusement. “I had an idea… something I want to contribute to the project.”

“Oh, what’s that?” he asks, the sound of talking in the background lets me know that he and some of the others are more than likely still together.

“I’d like to draw up plans for a new kitchen for the house. I’ll supply everything for it. All the equipment, everything.”

He’s silent for a moment. A low heavy breath releases slowly. I can almost picture him, eyes wide running his hand through his hair with a smile on his face. “Are you sure? I mean… that’s a huge contribution. It would mean a lot.”

“I’m sure.” I laugh, a smile on my own face imagining the ideas of how I can design the kitchen and the events that can take place in it. “As long as it’s okay with you and everyone else.”

“Hold on a sec…” Knox is quiet for a moment, the sound of muffled voices talking in the background before his voice finally registers once more. “Everyone’s on board. If you want to do it, the kitchen is all yours.”

“Great, we can talk more about it when I get back.”

Chapter Twelve: Jaxson

The heat of the kitchen has always been a welcoming feeling. To be back in my element, to feel the equipment beneath my figures. For some, a paintbrush or pencil are the tools they use to make art. For me, it’s my knives, spoons, and other utensils. Each of them has their own special purpose and each of them adds to the masterpieces I create.

It’s day two of interviews and I’m at Skyline, my baby for all intents and purposes. The restaurant has become one of the best in New York after many years of pushing myself to perfect my brand. Known for its unique cuisine and outstanding service, this place has brought more than awards. It’s the place that gave me my sense of purpose, of fulfillment.

I never quite understood why Caitlin would get so pissed about me spending all my time here in this kitchen. The idea of working too much was something she could never get behind, and honestly, with her gone, it’s made me realize just how much my work means to me. I couldn’t give it up for anyone, even if I wanted to.

“Chef, the delivery guy just arrived with your market order,” Travis, my Chef de Cuisine says coming from the back entrance to my kitchen. His sandy blond hair is pulled back into a net as he sets a small wooden crate on the stainless steel table next to me.Truffles.

“You found them.” I grin, meeting his gaze as his smile widens.

“I told you I would. Though, are you sure this is what you want to serve them?”

Only three people have ever questioned me in my own kitchen, and one of those is Travis. Taking a moment, I collect my thoughts and consider what he’s saying. It is risky. Truffle season is usually September to December and if these weren’t harvested properly, it could completely throw off the taste of my dish. But I trust my supplier.

“I’m sure. Carry on with the menu. The signature dish I will make myself.”

“Yes, Chef.” He nods, before disappearing towards the small gathering of my other employees. Vicki, my Sous Chef, and Collen, my Chef de Partie, I met when I opened my first place in Paris. Travis though, I’d known longer. The two of us met in college. I’d dropped out after tearing my ACL and losing my football scholarship. After backpacking through Europe and ending up in France, I found my purpose again while working at a local restaurant. When I ended up back in New York, Travis reached out, having just finished culinary school himself. Since then, he’s been with me every step of the way. All of us are masters in our own way. Though, if it wasn’t for Travis and Vicki sticking with me over the past few years and putting up with all my crazy bullshit, I wouldn’t be where I am now.

It’s because of them I had the drive to never give up. To keep creating, and to make something of myself. They believed in me when no one else would.

With every stroke of my knife against the wooden chopping block, I prepare the signature pasta dish I became famous for in Paris. I’ve only made it a dozen times during special occasions, but it was remarkable. Though, in the states, it could be considered a risk.

I suppose we shall find out though.

“Pomegranate?” Vicki’s voice causes me to glance over my shoulder, a single pomegranate in her hand as her other arm crosses over her chest.Her blue eyes meet mine with a mischievous gaze. “You’re really sure about this? I mean, it’s your call and I’d never usually second-guess you… but I know how important tonight is for you. I mean, you’re cooking for the guys who just interviewed you. Are you sure you don’t want to stick to what’s popular?”

A chuckle escapes me as I slide my knife under the small slivers of Truffle that I’ve managed to shave off, placing them onto a white ceramic dish. “I’m sure, but I’m starting to wonder if you guys are losing faith in me.

“Us?” she gasps, acting surprised. “Never. I just wanted to bring you a pomegranate.”

Walking towards me, she sets it on the counter before leaning against it. The sound of voices communicating through my kitchen swirling around me, putting me at ease as I continue with my work. “Did you need something else, Vicki?”

She shrugs, a smile lining the corner of her lips. “Well, I was going to run over the menu with you one more time. If you want?”

She knows very well that I want her too. But her playful tone, though she is very serious about her work, is always refreshing. “Fire away, oh faithful organizer.”

Though I’m the boss, it’s Vicki who keeps me on my toes. Even if Travis is my second in command. Without Vicki, the two of us would be lost.

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