Page 75 of Sunrise

Vault’s still back at my place, setting things up.

I promised to only work for a few hours and then I’ll come home so we can spend time with our girl. It’s Friday and we’ve got the whole weekend to have fun.

“Where’s Tristan?” He’s nowhere in the kitchen.

“Called out sick,” says the dishwasher.

I’m fucked.

No one else can run the kitchen but the two of us. Quickly shooting Vault a text, I let him know, thenstuff my phone away and get to work. I’m flying so high I can’t be upset about this little hiccup. Vault and I are on the path to happily ever after, and we’re taking Sophie with us. One night of working late won’t hurt.

By nine, I’m in such a groove, it’s glorious. Pressing my finger on the filet to test the doneness, I finish it off by spooning more melted butter onto it before I plate the fucker.

Mila rushes in. “Chef!”

“Yeah?” I shimmy the pan on the right front burner to work on the risotto.

“I think there’s a food critic here.”

Now she’s got my full attention. “How do you know?”

“I don’t. Not for sure. But he’s ordered a ton of dishes off the menu. What else can it be?”

“A dude who’s hungry?”

She shakes her head. “It’s got to be a food critic. I bet Tara put some feelers out and they’re starting to take the bait.”

I don’t know about that. Tara would have warned me first. “Point him out to me.”

We slink to the door and poke our heads outside.

“There,” she whispers, directing my attention to a middle-aged suit daddy in the center of Midnight Run. He’s drinking something in a crystal glass.

“He ordered a Negroni from the bar before he was seated.”

He would have needed a reservation. “What’s the name?”

She opens her iPad and checks. “Max Born.”

Never heard of him.

I pull back and shut the door. “What did he order?”

Mila checks her iPad again and runs down the list. “Risotto, filet wellington, lasagna, eggplant parm napoleon, calamari with a garlic aioli instead of spicy marinara, the truffle fries, and the lobster tail with double butter.”

“Holy shit.”Damn you, Tristan, for not making it in tonight!“Okay, I can do this.”

Let’s be so for real. Even if Tristan was here, I wouldn’t let him make a single one of these dishes. I’m practically buzzing as I get the order going.

Some people cave under pressure. I do my best work during these moments.

Everyone in the kitchen scrambles to keep up with the rest of the orders coming through, and I plate every last dish and serve them all together, per Max Born’s wishes.

Mila struggles with the huge tray but gets it to him.

“Atta girl,” I whisper from the door.

“What are you doing? It’s bad luck to watch,” a line cook hisses. “Get away from the door, Knox. You’re never supposed to see the critics. Back away, before you’re screwed.”

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