Page 5 of Good Taste
“I can do this, you know. I don’t want to put you out.”
“Shush.” I kneel before her, and put on a plastic glove before splashing a little alcohol on her wound. She winces, and I pull away. “Sorry. It may sting.”
She lets out a little laugh. Her smile is like magic. “It’s fine.”
I can feel her eyes on me the entire time. I’m lost in the fantasy that she’s not one of the servers here. That I’m taking care of her because I’ve chosen to do it. My heart beats fast in my chest as I twist the bandaid around her finger, then meet her gaze.
“All better.” I say, my voice weaker than I expected.
“Thanks.” Taylor’s voice isn’t much louder as she takes the finger condom from me. I know I should stand, to get out of this position that puts us face to face. Mere inches may not be enough to stop me from taking her face in my hands and kissing her, like I’ve been imagining doing since the day we met.
what the hell?I think. Maybe this—maybe she’s—what I need to keep calm for the next twenty-four hours. I lean forward but a loud booming noise stops me.
“What was that?” Taylor asks.
The ground rumbles. My vision shakes. Plates clink against each other on the shelves. Pots and pans fly off their hooks.
Earthquake. I’m not sure if the words make it out of my mouth before I grab Taylor’s hand and pull her up. The ground rolls beneath us as I lead her under the steel prep table. “Cover your head.” I shout over the increasingly loud vibrations.
A tiny yelp escapes her mouth, but she does what I say. I too wrap myself into a ball and cover up as the entire kitchen begins crashing all around us.
Chapter Five
Taylor
I can’t breathe.I’m almost certain the shaking has stopped but my body hasn’t gotten the message. Tremors roll through me, fingertips grasping at my scalp.
“Taylor.” Nick’s voice echoes. “Taylor.” His hand finds mine; their warmth giving me the strength to open my eyes. “Hey.”
My breath comes in ragged bursts. “Is it over?”
“Yeah. I think so. Are you okay?” We’re still under the metal table, a godsend in a situation like this.
“I’m not hurt.” Is all I can say, because I’m not sure yet if I’m okay. In all the years I lived here I’ve never experienced anything like this. “You?” I finally find the strength to turn and face Nick.
“I’m good.” He holds my gaze for a beat, then turns his attention outward. “But the kitchen’s a fucking wreck.”
It’s as if my surroundings move from a fuzzy picture to pristine definition. Glass and ceramic litters the floor. A light fixture hangs askew. The swinging door is still in motion. “Whoa.”
“Stay here.” Nick wiggles out from under the table, which is no easy feat considering his size. “Watch your hands.” I instinctively reach out to him. “Glass.”
He glances over his shoulder and nods. The soles of his boots scratch against broken debris as he surveys the area in front of the table. “This is bad.” He groans. “This is very bad.”
Oh my God, the opening. It hits me like a ton of bricks. There’s no way this place will be ready by tomorrow night’s dinner service. My heart sinks for him. It’s been expressed how important it is that tomorrow go off without a hitch. I pictured all sorts of things that could go wrong, but never in a million years did I picture this.
“Nick.” I whisper his name, not knowing what else to say. “I’m coming out.”
“I think it’s safe.” He bends down and offers me his hand. I take it, feeling the warmth and comfort of this big, strong chef. The man who made sure I made it to safety during a natural fucking disaster. Tingles shoot up my arm as he helps me to my feet. The look on his face is heartbreaking, pure and unadulterated defeat.
I want to say something to make it all better, but there’s nothing. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, me too.” Nick hulks his way around the kitchen, taking in each horrible scene. The onions splayed all over the prep station. Fridge doors standing wide open, cartons fallen from the shelf and leaking onto the floor. It looks like the place has been ransacked.
“I guess I’d better call someone.” He reaches into his pocket for his cell phone, and my heart sinks. We’ve never talked about it, but that someone he’s referring to might behissomeone. A girlfriend, a lover, a friend with benefits. He scrolls on his phone and I brush the stray strands of hair away from my face. Then think better of it and take my hair down, letting it spill around my shoulders. What does it matter at this point. There’ll be no more work here today.
“Shit.” He taps his cell phone a little harder.
“What?”
