Page 66 of Accidental Doctor Daddy

You got this, chef. Amanda’s top-notch.

Me:Yeah, but I feel like a shitty mom.

Dom:They’re in safe hands. You deserve to get to do your job.

I breathed in, letting his confidence buoy me.

Fine, I’ll trust your fancy nanny.

Monday was the perfect day for stepping back into Suivante, that chaotic dance of knives, sauce, and a staff that functioned like a machine. A machine that felt like a memory that didn’t belong to me.

I walked into the kitchen itself, scanning the stainless-steel counters, the stacked produce crates. People bustled, but not in the frantic way of a dinner service. Mondays were for shipments, cleaning, reorganizing. The restaurant was closed Mondays, so it was the slowest day we had.

Standing there awestruck, I didn’t know where to begin. Abruptly, Carrie ushered a thickly built blonde woman into the kitchen, catching my attention with a quick wave. "Ella," she said, beckoning me over. "Meet Grace Winstead. Everyone calls her Winner."

At first glance, Grace’s imposing stature—broad shoulders and a firmly planted stance—screamed confidence. A few strands of hair escaped her tight bun, framing a face that seemed both approachable and razor-sharp in equal measure. Her eyes flicked around the busy counters, taking in the clamor of pots and pans with a calm, assessing gleam. I caught a hint of challenge there, like she was sizing up not just the workspace, but me as well.

Grace chuckled softly when Carrie mentioned her nickname, a sound that held just a touch of mischief. "I do my best to earn the name," she said, flashing me a wry smile. “But nobody’s perfect.”

Carrie laughed. “Says the woman who finally made Mrs. Oberndorf happy.”

It was like hearing a record scratch. “What?”

Carrie’s head bobbed proudly, and Grace—Winner—explained, “She’s like any other society woman. Give them something they’ve never had, and they’ll love you for it.”

My head swiveled to the new kid on the block. I’d thought pleasing Mrs. Oberndorf was akin to finding truffles on Mars. That woman had been coming to Suivante since it opened, and every single time, she found something to complain about. We didn’t understand why she kept coming back, so we decided she merely enjoyed complaining.

I asked, “What did you?—”

“Salisbury steak!” Carrie said, still laughing. “That old bat thought it was this exotic thing, not 1960’s TV dinner filler.” She turned to Grace. “Not that yours was that quality?—”

But Grace humbly waved her off. “It was the Salisbury steak my mother used to make us. Nothing too crazy.”

“I guess I’ll have to try your Salisbury steak some time.”

She smiled, nodded, and assumed her work, leaving me and Carrie in the dust. I had to ask, “Who is she, really? Does she have blackmail on Oberndorf?”

Carrie shook her head. “I’m telling you, Ella, I’ve never seen that woman smile. I thought she was born without smiling muscles. But that night, she smiled at Winner. She’s been a polite good tipper ever since.”

“No fork throwing?”

“None.”

“Huh.” I didn’t know what to make of that. “Well, I better get into the swing of things.”

“Once you’re comfortable again, we’ll figure out what to do with Winner.”

“What do you mean?”

She explained, watching Grace work, “I’d hired her on temporarily, but I don’t know. She meshes really well here.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “Well, I’m back, so she doesn’t have to stay on.”

“We’ll see,” Carrie said. “Chat later. I’ve got a meeting with distributors.” She left me standing there.

As I dove deeper into the kitchen, a few bussers and dishwashers gave me nods of acknowledgement, each too busy with their duties to say more than that. But Jean-Paul raised a ladle in greeting. “Welcome back, chef. You good?”

I forced a half-smile. “Never better,” I lied, mind drifting to the twins. “What’d I miss?”

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