Page 19 of Unexpected Pickle
“Provolone. I can get it.”
“Okay.”
When she comes out to replenish the line, I’m back to my red onions, but my ears are steaming. I chop too fiercely, and the mince isn’t fine enough.
Gah. See what all this romantic drama gets me?
Hex comes back through. “I left it on the desk.” He seems like he’s going to hover.
“I’m busy,” I say. “And you’re not washed or gloved up to be near this food.”
He grins. “I love your thoroughness.”
I set down my knife. “I have to rearrange the walk-in. Good day, Hex.”
He doesn’t move, but watches me with an amused expression as I jerk open the door to the fridge. Only when I’m inside the cool, dry, solitary space do I start to calm down.
This feels like high school, maybe junior high. I should just talk to him.
But none of this adds up. Hex is bordering on a celebrity. The perfect picture of a man.
What could he possibly see in a curmudgeonly, oversized, underemployed onion chopper like me?
7
HEX DRAWS BLOOD OUTSIDE THE RING
Ilimit my visits at the deli to one per week, making sure I don’t wreck my rather precarious situation with Max’s head chef before I get a chance to ask her out for real.
We talk about easy things. How to make chicken less dry. Which vegetables last the longest in a fridge. I’ll listen to most anything just to look at her, to be in her kitchen.
But I can’t risk making any waves, because Max has figured out a way to get me to Montreal. He couldn’t get me on with the awards ceremony. He didn’t have the clout.
But he found a high-level chef’s retreat focused on sports nutrition and convinced Jeannie to attend it while she was there. She jumped at the chance to extend her time in a new place, even if it is Canada in winter.
And he got me in, too.
But not as a bodyguard or a busboy.
As another chef.
I don’t know how to so much as turn on an oven, but I’ll figure that part out when I get there. Anything that gets me close to Jeannie is worth trying.
Besides, I learned how to make crepes in one night. How hard can it be to bake chicken and chop lettuce? I eat sports nutrition all day long. I can do it. I’m confident.
My manager Humphrey tries to book a meeting with sponsors for that week, but I tell him it has to wait. After a bit of cussing and anger at my sudden lack of availability right as I’ve leveled up, he agrees to reschedule. February is for Canada.
But on the last visit to the deli before the trip, I almost blow it.
Jeannie is more stressed than usual, trying to make sure everyone knows their roles in her absence.
“Vera, I want photos of the bins to make sure chop sizes don’t creep up when I’m not watching. Mitchell, I need your assurances that you won’t mix up the mayonnaise for the line and the one we use in the potato salad.”
“Got it, boss.” He heads out of the kitchen.
She turns to me. “What are you doing here?”
“Just saying hello.”
