Can't Stand the Heat - Louisa Edwards [67]
“No time for gossip now. Prep, man, prep! We open in three hours.”
“If you can keep your mind on business long enough to make it through service,” Frankie said.
“Right,” Adam agreed. “Let’s all hope for that.”
“We’ll keep our fingers crossed, yeah?”
“Totally,” Milo said, skimming past with a huge stainless steel bowl of chopped cucumber. “What are we crossing our fingers for?”
“For my sanity,” Adam told him. “And no mistakes today, right, amico?”
“Fuckin’ A,” was the fervent response. “I think my balls are still hiding somewhere behind my pelvic bone, man. You’re scary when you get pissed.”
Adam gave him a smile full of teeth. “Don’t fuck up and I won’t have to castrate you.”
“Yeah, boss!” Milo saluted sharply with one hand, nearly dropped the bowl, and hurried off to his station looking nervous but on point.
Adam made his rounds of the kitchen, sniffing appreciatively at Violet’s fresh-baked poppyseed brioche rolls and exchanging noninterrogatory pleasantries with Quentin as the big man steadily minced garlic.
When he got to the stock prep station, however, he hit a snag.
No Miranda, no Rob Meeks. No perfectly diced mirepoix, carrots, celery, and onions cut to the same size and caramelized to an even, aromatic tenderness.
He knew where Miranda was—he’d sent her home to take a shower after their semisuccessful stab at quiche this afternoon. Crust always seemed like the simplest thing in the world, until you tried to teach someone else how to make it. She’d been caked in flour by the end of the lesson.
But Miranda wasn’t the only one who was missing. Adam stood by the stock station and fretted. Robin Meeks wasn’t working out as an extern. Little mistakes, piddling small-time stuff, but it added up, and Adam didn’t love it.
Like today. It wasn’t exactly late yet—there was still plenty of time to get the stock going. But it needed to happen soon, and he didn’t have any idea if Rob was just running behind or if he’d totally flaked or what. Not for the first time, he cursed his own soft streak when it came to hosting culinary school externs. They were never as solid as his handpicked crew.
The rest of the guys were all here. Even Billy Perez, stoic at the dishwashing station, spraying down a set of stainless steel mixing bowls. Adam cocked his head and watched the slight frown of concentration on Billy’s face. The way the kid took to his menial task like it was his fucking reason for living.
Adam whistled a shrill wake-up call that made everyone in the kitchen glance up from what they were doing. He beckoned Billy over and the crew got back to business. The kid wiped his hands on his apron and walked over, navigating the bustling rows of workspace and darting cooks with ease.
Yeah, this was gonna work.
When Billy reached his side and raised his dark eyebrows inquiringly, Adam planted his forefinger on the empty cutting block between them.
“You see this?” he said. “Know what station this is?”
Billy narrowed his eyes like he wasn’t sure what Adam was getting at. Slowly, he said, “It’s stock. Veg prep. Right?”
“Yup. And guess who’s on it today.”
“Looks like no one yet, but usually Rob. And the new girl?” Billy said, shifting his weight. He still wasn’t getting it and clearly sort of wished Adam would just let him go back to his dishes already.
Adam clasped his hands behind his back and rocked up onto the balls of his feet. “But Rob ain’t here. You are. I want this station going. You up for it?”
Billy’s eyes widened and Adam caught the flash of burning ambition flaring up quick and hot.
“I’m up for it,” Billy said, his voice fierce and a little lilting with the accent that only seemed to come out of him in moments of stress. And, evidently, moments of joy as well, because Adam could see that the kid was jacked up to the point of jittery nerves at the prospect of dicing a few vegetables.
“I know you’ve heard me give the spiel about how