Page 74 of The Chef's Kiss
“Don’t.” I stepped back out of his reach. “We were building something, Hudson, something good. You and me … were a team. I didn’t like you at first, but now … I don’t want you to go.”
“I can’t—”
“But I know you’ve made up your mind.” Why wouldn’t he leave? What sane person would choose Superiore Bay over New York City? Certainly not someone like Hudson Silverman. “It’s a good opportunity, Chef.”
He started at my formality. “Sure, now you call me that without sarcasm.”
My lips twitched but didn’t tilt into a full smile. “It’s what you are to me, what you have to be. The chef I work for.” I closed the distance between us, reaching up on my toes to brush my lips against his. “Just one more time before you go.”
He tried to kiss me back, but I didn’t let him. “I hope you get everything you want, Hudson.” I turned and walked away, wondering how I was going to salvage this restaurant when the one person who believed in me was leaving.
26
HUDSON
“People are crazy about those apple-braised pork chops.” Stefanie entered her latest order into the computer system that would tell the kitchen staff what to prepare and when. It accounted for cook time and wait time to ensure each customer got their meals promptly and at optimal serving temperatures. It was the most sophisticated system I’d worked with, and part of me didn’t want to give it up.
I had to give it up, though. Didn’t I? Not that Jordan wouldn’t implement the technology if I asked for it.
“Oh, and I need a double order of the roasted duck legs with apple-cherry chutney and the basil risotto for table seven to go.” Stefanie scribbled the orders into her notepad and entered them into the computer. “Fast if you can manage it, they’re nearly done with dessert.”
“Isn’t that what they ordered?” I peered at her through the narrow space where hot dishes waited to be served.
“Yeah, they loved it so much I talked them into taking some home to her parents as a thank you for watching the kids so they could enjoy a date night. His parents came here last night and loved it, so it might as well be a family thing, right?”
“Nice job upselling.” She was a natural at fine dining service, and she seemed genuinely grateful for the job. That was not something I’d find in New York, where the wait staff was constantly turning over. Just the thought about the constant training and new faces every other week was daunting.
But New York was the culinary capital of the world. How could I not jump at Jordan’s offer? I didn’t need to remind myself how long I’d waited for this opportunity.
But it was Jordan, and I didn’t trust her.
I watched as my staff worked together to get through yet another busy night. Throughout our first week, everything had run so smoothly, like clockwork. There was no yelling and bickering among the staff. At least, not yet. It was an inevitability that would come in time. Fine dining was a stressful environment. But I really couldn’t get over how well they were doing. Nor how much the town supported Selena’s new restaurant and her whole Orchard Hill Village venture.
“Chef Silverman, someone is asking to see you when you have a minute.” The hostess peeked into the kitchen through the to-go window at the back, not wanting to get her dress dirty with all the chaos going on back here. I didn’t blame her.
I glanced around to make sure the guys were handling everything okay and turned to wash my hands. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
“He’s waiting in the bar.”
“The bar is closed for the night.” We weren’t yet up to speed enough to keep the bar open every night during the week.
“It’sThe Ashford.”
“The Ashford?” I stared blankly at her for a moment. “Oh, Jorgina’s father.”
“Yes.” She bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder with a terrified look on her face at the very idea that he was here, much less that she had to speak to him. “I’d hurry if I were you. No one keepsThe Ashfordwaiting for long.”
“I’ll be right there.” I dried my hands, checked my chef whites for any obvious stains, and headed for the bar. This probably wasn’t going to go well for me.
“Mr. Ashford? How can I be of service?” Stepping into the dark, quiet bar after the noise of the kitchen was a bit of a sensory shock. It took me a minute to get my bearings.
The man sat at the bar, nursing a tumbler of my best brandy.
“Chef Silverman.” He nodded for me to take a seat, like he was the host and I was the guest in my own restaurant. “You’ve made quite the stir since coming to town.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, but thank you for noticing.” I grabbed a glass and poured myself a scotch before I joined him. I would sit with him only on even footing. The drink would accomplish that illusion.
He smiled and took a sip of his brandy. “From what I hear, the food is excellent. That will keep the people coming. But I also hear my daughter has had a lot to do with getting them here in the first place.”
