Page 87 of My Merry Mistake
“She’s only like this in the kitchen.” Her eyes follow Poppy as she moves around the kitchen. “Impressive, right?”
“It’s awesome.”
Raya drags her gaze back to me. “Do you really know what you’re doing?”
I hold up a hand. “I got this, Hart.” I know she thinks I’m a joke, but I’m a lot more capable than she gives me credit for.
The other cook waves at Raya. “Your sister told me about what happened. You good?”
Raya smiles, but it looks forced. “I’m good, thanks for asking.”
He looks at me. “I’m Miguel.”
“Finn,” I say.
“We’re lucky you’re here,” he says. “Maybe Chef will listen to me and hire a new cook!” He leans toward me. “She’s dragging her feet.”
“I heard that!” Poppy calls from somewhere in the kitchen.
“I wanted you to hear it!” Miguel calls back, then mutters, “She’s so stubborn.”
I look at Raya. “Runs in the family.”
Miguel chuckles, and I get to work. After only one botched attempt, I learn the heat of the stovetop griddle and get the hangof their system. Miguel calls out the orders, and I stay focused on doing the one thing I know I won’t mess up.
I’ve made pancakes so many times for so many people it’s like second nature—and it feels awesome to help out.
“Is there anything I can do?” Raya asks after a few minutes.
Poppy’s eyes dart to me, and I give my head a little shake. Because even though Raya could probably figure out how to run a commercial kitchen in eight and a half minutes with zero training, what she really needs to do right now is sit still.
“Uh, no,” Poppy says. “We’ll get you some breakfast. Guys, when you have a minute—” She points at her sister, and Miguel picks up on the shorthand.
“Coming up!”
I take some of the batter and pour two heart-shaped pancakes on the griddle. Four and a half minutes later, I flip them onto a plate and slide it over to Raya.
“Hearts for Hart! Order up!” I call out, like I’m a line cook.
Shealmostsmiles.
Miguel adds a side of eggs, and Poppy makes her a coffee. “We’ll catch up when this all slows down,” Poppy says. “I had two servers call in sick, and Miguel’s wife, who sometimes fills in back here, is out of town.” She winces. “It’s not usually like this.”
“It’s great that it’s so busy,” Raya says. “Good for business.”
A server walks in with a new order, stealing Poppy’s attention.
Raya picks up a fork and pushes the food around on the plate. I’ll be shocked if she eats any of it.
After about forty minutes straight—constant orders and directed chaos—we start to sense a little break in the madness.
Raya stands and refills her coffee cup, then—shockingly—grabs a water out of the standing cooler and brings it over to me.
She holds it out to me with a soft, uncharacteristic smile.
I look at her, a little confused. “Thanks?”
She nods, and walks back to the counter. I catch Poppy, watching us.
