Page 8 of Unraveling with You

I grin just as wide. “O-okay.”

“Okay.”

We stare at each other for the longest second of my life. But after it ticks by, we both let out a laugh.

“Later then, gym buddy,” Remington waves.

“Later.”

With Remington’s final smile, my heart lifts so high into the sky that I don’t know if I’ll come down from this one without crashing hard. But as we wave goodbye, the tug in my heart tells me I don’t care.

CHAPTER 2

“HURRY THE FUCK UP WITHthat soup! I’ve got ten on deck!” Our head chef, Giuliano, shouts at Gabby.

She doesn’t spare him a glance, stirring faster until her messy, dark brown bun wobbles in her hair net and another bead of sweat trails her neck. “Lily, you didn’t tell me how it went at the gym last weekend!”

“O-oh, it–” I bite my lip. I’d rather not tell Gabby how horrendous Josh was at the start of my first day or that I got a refund for her gift card, especially now that I’ve made a new friend out of it. “I have a gym buddy to go with now.”

Her eyebrows jump. “What?! Who? What are they like? Why are you blushing already?” She gasps. “Is it someone cute?”

I sigh, but I’m smiling. “His name is Remington. He’s really sweet.”

Tossing her spoon in the sink, Gabby yells, “Lily has the order out! It's hot!”

Ready with heat-resistant gloves up to my elbows, I hoist the pot off the stove by the handles. Gabby immediately replaces it with a fresh pot, and Paolo swarms to take my place at the stove. But I hobble, my back straining by the second as I penguin-walk with a vat of boiling soup.

“Jesus, fuck, Lily,” Giuliano hisses. He snatches the pot from my arms, effortlessly hoisting it to his waist. “Just say you can’t do it and stick to what you’re good at. You could burn yourself, and it’d probably be blamed on me. You’re lucky you make shit taste better than any of us can. Otherwise, I’d stop fighting for your job.”

I swallow hard, left standing empty-handed with a stinging heart. On top of insulted, I feel stupid. I’ve witnessed how boiling water can rip through skin, and I’m not trying to do anything dangerous. I just want to be helpful.

Throwing my gloves beside Gabby, I speed-walk to the sink. After washing my hands, I hurry back to the clean cutting board table. Fetching vegetables by the armful, I dice 15 onions, skin and chop 12 carrots, and smash as many garlic cloves as possible in under five minutes. Normally, Gabby, Ben, or Paolo would handle smaller tasks like these, but Ben already peeled over fifty Roma tomatoes, and Giuliano swears our menu’s “Lily’s Hearty Minestrone” tastes better when the Lily-in-writing can get her hands on every ingredient. I love cutting my own vegetables, so I don’t mind either way.

“Behind,” I say.

Like me, Paolo is quiet despite his Italian roots. He nods, spinning to the fire-brick oven to pull out another pizza. His face flushes dark red from all the steam, just like mine is about to. Entering the stove’s wall of heat, I dump seasoning into my fresh broth.

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