Page 23 of Steadfast
I’d neglected to remove the white butcher’s paper from the counter. It sat there while I finished up with the cumin and coriander. And when I walked away to return the spices to the closet, I didn’t pay much attention to a slightly acrid smell in the air.
Ten seconds later I heard Denny gasp. When I turned to look, I saw him leap back from the stove. Orange flames licked the butcher’s paper. Old Mrs. Walters gave a shriek from the dishwashing station.
Before I could even work out what to do, Jude slid from behind the prep table, moving across the room with the easy grace of a cat. He grabbed the narrow, unburnt end of the paper, and with a flick of his wrist, he dropped the burning mess onto the tile floor. Then he lunged for a sodden dishrag on the counter and tossed it onto the flames.
I heard the sizzle of steam and saw more gray smoke. But I was still glued in place.
Jude grabbed another damp cloth off the dishwashing station and dropped that, too. Then he stepped on it several times.
Before I’d even processed that the fire was out, he’d slipped back behind the prep station, picked up his knife and resumed cutting onions.
Over my head, the smoke detector began to shriek, its piercing sound giving voice to the panic I’d felt since Jude appeared.
Father Peters ran into the room. “What’s happening?” When he saw the remnants of the former blaze on the floor, he didn’t say anything. He simply walked to the side door and propped it open, allowing the smoke to escape.
If only my troubles could be vented so easily.
Chapter Seven
Jude
Cravings Meter: a solid 6
Coming back here tonight wasa bad idea.
Sophie was rattled, and I didn’t like knowing that I was the cause. Maybe that sounded vain, but I knew my girl. She was the kind of person who could get up on stage in front of hundreds and rock a complicated vocal solo without a single quavering note. She was a rock.
But both times I’d worked in this kitchen, she’d come unglued. And a kitchen fire? I didn’t want to be the cause of loss of life or property. Me, who’d already done damage enough.
But they were shorthanded tonight, so I wasn’t about to just walk off the job. And, if I were being honest, I wanted to get another look at the guy who seemed to be stuck to her side. He was the same guy I’d seen plant one on her in the parking lot two weeks ago. Tonight he’d traded his turtleneck for a button-down.
God, it was none of my business. But if Sophie wasn’t living the life she’d always planned, I wanted to know why. And if there were people in it that didn’t treat her right, I wanted to know that, too.
So I prepped vegetables and I watched the two of them, even though it was clear that my presence made everyone nervous. Mr. Buttondown kept sizing me up from the corner of his eye. So when he came over to fetch all the onions I’d chopped, I couldn’t help myself. The moment he approached, I raised the knife and brought it down with unexpected vehemence.
The top of an onion was severed from the body with the force of a guillotine removing someone’s head.
Mr. Buttondown startled, and I had to hold in my chuckle. He nearly turned tail to run for it. But he recovered, shoving his hands in his pockets, dropping his chin and asking for the onions.
I stared him down for a second. After all, what was the use of being a convicted killer if you couldn’t scare people once in a while? There weren’t any other perks, that was for damned sure.
Using the big chef’s knife blade, I scraped a heap of onions in his direction. “Here.”
Without a word, he scooped the pile off the cutting board and into a bowl. Then he hurried away.
I moved on to the garlic and then the avocados. Tomorrow was Thanksgiving, so I’d imagined the church supper would be dead tonight. But that wasn’t the case at all. When they opened up the doors, I had a partial view of the serving line where Sophie stood dishing up bowls of chili. It smelled amazing, too. My stomach grumbled as I worked.
The next time Mr. Buttondown came by, I made sure I was sharpening the knife. Christ, I was about as subtle as a Saturday morning cartoon, but he practically quivered anyway. Maybe I’m an asshole, but I still couldn’t figure out what had happened that night in the parking lot. And if this dude thought nobody was paying attention to his actions, I wanted him to know that somebody was.
But the joke was on me. Apparently I wasn’t as attentive as I thought, because while washing my knives, I looked up to find Sophie standing right beside me, her green eyes burning a hole into me.
Startled, I dropped the knife with a clatter into the sink.
“Jude,” she said. My chest ached just hearing that word on her lips. “Thank you for putting out that fire earlier.”
I swear it took me an awkwardly long time to answer. The fact that she was speaking to me at all was an unexpected gift. “You’re welcome,” I said eventually. “No big deal.” I grabbed the knife, shut off the water and reached for a towel.
She sighed, and I heard the weight of a hundred unanswered questions in it. “Where did you learn to cook?”
