Page 21 of Long Shot

“Danny just talked to me about the chips and salsa you made the other day.” He glances around uneasily. “They were really popular.”

I smile with satisfaction. “Yeah.” Then I wrinkle my nose. Except with Dussen.

“The guys want me to keep making them.”

By “the guys” I know he means Cade, Beck, and Marco. “Oh.”

“I, uh, might need some help.”

I gaze at him impassively.

“I was thinking . . .” He trails off, twisting a towel in his hands.

“What?”

“I’ve tried some new things and they haven’t worked out that great. So I was thinking, maybe you could help me with some other ideas, too.”

I frown. “That’s not my job.”

“I know.” He glances around. “But if you could maybe just give me some ideas . . . tell me what do to . . . nobody would have to know.”

My forehead tightens even more. “I don’t know . . . that’s kind of weird.”

“Look, I’m gonna lose my job if things don’t get better. I know that’s what’s coming.”

I tilt my head, sympathy for the man softening me. The poor guy . . . he has good intentions and he tries, but yeah, his skills are limited. It’s also tempting . . . oh, so tempting . . . to get involved with the menu and cooking and food . . . lovely, delicious food . . . “Oh, man,” I say. “I don’t know.”

“The guys are all out. They won’t know.”

“Everyone else will know.”

“They won’t say anything. We’re all a team.”

I purse my lips. Then I sigh. “What are you thinking about doing?”

“Hell, I don’t know. I’m not super-creative. Tell me how to make something, I can do it, but coming up with ideas is hard.”

I nibble my bottom lip. “Let’s go look in the walk-in and see what we have.” I’m not optimistic that there’ll be a lot of good ingredients to choose from. “We can do the chips and salsa again.”

“Yeah, we have to do that.”

“And maybe a dip . . . with queso.” I inspect the cheeses we have on hand. Not much. “It would be nice to get some great cheeses . . . cotija and Oaxaca . . . parmesan.”

“I don’t even know what those are. I mean, I know what parmesan is. We have that. And Monterey Jack.”

I grimace. “Yeah. And some peppers . . . chorizo . . . let’s put that together.” I wish I could go to the wholesaler and pick out ingredients. “I’ll try to make a list so when you and Danny go to the wholesaler tomorrow you can pick up the things we’ll need.”

“Yeah.” He bobs his head eagerly. “That would be great.”

Sparks flow through my veins at the opportunity to create in the kitchen. Sid and I get busy; me giving him directions on the salsa while I create the new dip. “I can’t stay here that long,” I say. “Things are getting busy out front. But I’ll come check on you.”

I have my own job to do, which is what I was hired for. I hurry out front and check in with Danny about sections.

While I work, my mind races with ideas. The things I could do! I’m still not sure how this is going to work. I can get the ingredients, I can give Sid instructions, but whether he can carry it all out is questionable. But if I’m in the kitchen all the time, Danny and the three Conquistadors are going to wonder what the hell is going on.

Guacamole is a must. Not the kind we usually buy in giant tubs, but fresh, with beautiful avocados, lime, serranos, red onions . . . God, I want to go buy the food, too. I’m off in the morning . . . how would Danny react if I suggest I tag along with them?

Maybe Danny would be okay with it. They want to improve the food. If I help out a little, he won’t mind . . . will he?

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