Page 7 of Tripped By Love
Cassidy
FLAVOR
“Making a mess, straight out of scratch,
Think what you think about that.
Oh, I'm just tryna make good a little bit greater.”
Performed by Maren Morris
Written by Robbins / Veltz / Morris
The restaurant’s kitchen was buzzing withnoise and action. Cliff and I were chopping at a fiery pace as we scrambled to substitute items on our menu with things we had on hand. My order from one of the farms had been delayed, and while we were missing ingredients we sorely needed, I refused to serve any dish that was decreased in quality or taste because of it. I fought daily against the image people had of “health” food. They expected it to be bland, dry, and cardboard-like just because it was good for you. I loved surprising them. I loved when they found more flavor in my meatless products than those loaded with it.
Being a farm-to-market restaurant meant my menu was changing constantly with the seasons and availability. It also meant I was never bored with what I was cooking and got to experiment on an almost daily basis. The downside was I had to plan for things to go awry occasionally. Like today.
My bigger problem at the moment was that I wasn’t in the best shape for the challenge. Not only did my elbow and shoulder still ache like someone was constantly yanking at them, but I also hadn’t slept well. It usually took a long time for my brain to shut off once I landed in my bed at the end of the day, but last night, I’d been haunted by Marco’s hands on me as he’d held the ice to my arm. I’d been haunted by the scent of spice surrounding him as he sat close enough for his breath to coast over my neck, and his heated gaze watched my chest rise and fall with my arm angled above my head. It had all been a tantalizing hint of what it would be like if we were actually tangled together for a very different reason.
The appealing visual of us skin to skin had burned itself into my mind. I wanted to feel and taste the contours of his abs that I got peeks of as we lifted weights together. Most of the time, I thought the desire was one-sided. He usually treated me like some recruit in the military he’d once served in and never talked about. But occasionally…occasionally, I saw a flicker of flame in his eyes, and it always kept me awake after seeing it. Made me wonder if there could ever be something more to the spark that drifted between us.
Even though Marco had been in our lives for years, what I knew of him was barely more than I’d known the first time we’d met, because he never talked about his family or his past. Instead, the pieces of knowledge I’d gathered had come from seeing him in action, protecting Brady, pushing me, and playing the hero when I slipped on the ice.
Willow’s voice brought me out of my thoughts. “Hey, Cass, one of the customers wants to talk to you.”
I slid two dishes that were ready to be served out the pass-through toward her. If it had been Laney telling me a customer wanted to see me, I would have rolled my eyes because Laney couldn’t handle someone saying their coffee needed creamer, let alone a more strenuous complaint. But Willow was not only my best waitstaff, she had an innate sense of how to deescalate things—a sense that she was honing as a restaurant management major at Wilson-Jacobs.
I sighed. We were in the middle of our breakfast rush, and I still had recipes to switch out with new ingredients. I didn’t have time to be pacifying anyone. But it was part of the gig. Part of owning and managing a restaurant. One of the parts I disliked.
Willow smoothed a hand over her long, red ponytail, looked out to the crowd, and then back to me. She leaned in and said as quietly as she could through the open window, “I think he’s some bigwig. He’s got a suit and that look, you know.”
My eyes followed hers to the corner booth that was barely visible from the kitchen under the dripping branches of the Tree of Life.
“What’s he upset about?” I asked, wiping my hands on a towel.
She frowned. “That’s it, I’m not sure. He kept saying how much he liked everything. He ordered five different dishes.”
I’d seen the orders come in and thought it was a family. He’d ordered some of my regular items that, thankfully, we’d had all the ingredients for, but I’d also had to substitute his carrot pancakes with zucchini.
“You explained about the order change?” I asked.
She nodded.
I looked back at Cliff, who was my second in command. “I need five minutes to take care of a customer. You got this?”
He eyeballed the orders and the dishes being prepped before giving me a thumbs-up. Cliff had more experience in restaurants in one pinky than I did in my entire body, but he’d never once treated me like I didn’t know what I was doing.
I washed my hands, dried them on a towel, and headed out into the restaurant.
I had to stop twice before I got to the booth in the corner as locals greeted me, asking about Chevelle or my parents. The man there was an older gentleman, not quite in his sixties like my dad, but still with wrinkles around his eyes, mouth, and forehead. Like he’d carried too many expressions on his face throughout his life. His hair was almost pure snow with hints of a soft brown that must have once been barely a shade over blond, and he had eyes such a startling blue that they stood out against his pale, white skin.
“Hi, I’m Cassidy O’Neil, the owner. Is there a problem?” I asked.
Surprise flitted over his face as he glanced over me. I was used to it. People?who weren’t local?were always astonished by how young I was. They’d ask to speak with my boss as if I was dense and hadn’t heard the request to talk to the person in charge.
“No. No problem, Ms. O’Neil,” he said, a smile widening his face.
Willow was still hovering nearby, and I shooed her away. She left with some reluctance. Her curiosity had been piqued, and she’d definitely demand the scoop when I returned to the kitchen.
