Page 2 of Defended By the Lumberjack
I have a lot riding on making sure I bring in good reviews and repeat business in order to prove I deserve to keep my kitchen.
Levi
The fucking bosses sure do love their dress-up dinners.
I tug at the tie that feels like a noose around my neck and follow the hostess across the grand dining room to the private room where the company part is being held.
"Wasn't sure you were gonna show this year, man." Jake slaps me on the shoulder, over the fabric of the suit jacket that's nowhere near as comfortable as the lined flannel I left hanging on the peg by the door at home.
Jake knows how much I love getting dressed up for the events our company holds a few times a year. He laughs at me as I search the tables done up with the deep burgundy linens and ornate center pieces of poinsettias and pine boughs, looking for my name engraved on one of the little cards sitting among the cloth napkins.
"Adam and Phoenix here yet?" I grouch, pulling at the Windsor knot at my throat a little more forcefully than necessary.
Our buddy's a newlywed, with a baby on the way already. Apparently he found himself a damsel in distress, played the hero, won a bride. Lucky son of a bitch.
Appetizers start appearing as I find my assigned seat. Shedding the suit jacket and draping it over the back of my chair, I grab a couple before they're gone.
"Food's better this year," I mention aloud as Adam and his wife make their appearance,
"Yeah, I thought maybe it was just me." Adam says, popping one of the tiny puff pastries in his mouth.
"I heard they have a new chef this year," Phoenix says, accepting a glass of ginger ale off a tray and taking a delicate bite of one of the stuffed mushrooms.
"He deserves a raise," I say, snagging another morsel from a passing tray. "I hope dinner's as good as these things are."
The banquet room fills up. Too many people for my taste and it'll be a while yet before we start sitting down for the meal.
I find myself wandering away from the main dining room, into one of the corridors that skirt this building, connecting the various areas with floor to ceiling windows looking out over the snow-covered mountains.
Fucking magic, man. It's early December, snow's been falling all week and a near-full moon has the rugged peaks lit up in a soft blue light.
I hate that my work is seasonal. Not being out in the woods for months at a time every year makes me itch more than the suit I'm wearing.
Adam got lucky. He's got somebody now. Phoenix looks at him like he's her whole damn world. Maybe if I had that for myself, being cooped up in the cabin all winter wouldn't feel like torture.
But last I looked, there weren't any more women hanging off of cliff-sides.
Behind me, I hear a door open. Must lead directly into the kitchen. The sounds of voices frantically talking about canapés and sauces, punctuated by sounds that remind me of my grandmother's kitchen on holidays like this-- lots of people all whisking and chopping at once-- fill the empty hall, and then the sounds fade as the door closes.
The air is suddenly charged. An extra presence takes up some of the space that was all mine a second ago, soft soles muffling footsteps walking up to the window beside me.
The hall we're in is softly lit, intended to let the view outside take center stage, but I can make out the shape of her feminine curves under the garb that identifies her as one of the chefs. Her hair appears to be a soft shade of brown, maybe a dark blonde. It's hard to tell with it pinned up close to her head the way it is.
"Tough night?" I ask, desperate to hear the angel speak to me and at a loss for anything more clever to say.
"A little." She sounds tired, worried maybe, as she stares into the moonlit landscape before us, talking more to it than to me maybe.
"Tough party tonight," she says to the mountains. Her voice is melodic and soft despite the tone of despair present in it. "They haven't been happy with anything I've sent out. Probably going to lose my job after this."
"You're the head chef?" I wonder out loud, the flavor of those little bite size hors d'oeurves lingering in my memory.
"For now." She seems to snap out of her thoughts, realizing she's talking to another person. A professional demeanor slides into place, masking her sullen thoughts.
The girl turns to face me, a smile plastered on lips that have my full attention.
She's so much younger than I expected. Making me feel like a dirty old man for the things I've been thinking about her. She crushes her fancy chef hat in her left hand and extends her right for a shake.
"July West."
