On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [30]
She and Grant stepped up to the long U-shaped bar where the staff was gathered. A strange and wild-looking assembly assessed her with varying degrees of interest. If she were a more fanciful person, she might think of Oberon’s court in A Midsummer Night’s Dream—this crew was that foreign and strange to Lilah’s admittedly unsophisticated eyes.
Oh, sure, none of them had horns—although tall, lanky Frankie’s black hair stuck up every which way, giving him a decidedly demonic appearance. And the boy next to him, all big blue eyes, fair skin, and dark red hair, had something elfin and spritely about him. Frankie, who’d already made a strong impression with his loud welcome and brash manner, was the sous chef, sort of like the second-in-command. Frankie, Grant, and Adam were the triumvirate of power behind Market.
The boy sitting so close to Frankie was called Jess, she thought, or something similar. Lilah was pretty sure she’d met him briefly at Chapel. He was wearing green and black, like Lilah, so he must be a server.
A diminutive woman with round cheeks and short cropped hair bounced over and threw an arm over Lilah’s shoulders.
“What’s up, bitches?”
Lilah could feel her mouth primming up. She’d never heard so much cussing in her life! Not without being able to send someone to the principal’s office for it, anyhow.
The woman at her side gave her a casual squeeze and bumped hips with her. Lilah remembered her from the round of meet and greets the day before. A flower name, something incongruously demure—Lily? Rose?
“Yo, Vi, baby!” A slim Mediterranean-looking fellow hailed the newcomer. “Don’t bogart the new girl. Some of us want to get to know her better.”
He accompanied this greeting with a grin and an overblown eyebrow waggle that made Lilah laugh.
“Shut it, Milo. We’re doing girl talk,” the woman shot back. Milo had called her “Vi,” which jogged Lilah’s memory. Violet Porter, the pastry chef, Lilah remembered.
“Shee-it. Mean to say you’re a girl, Vi?”
Lilah felt the sudden stiffness in the arm across her shoulder, but Violet’s breezy reply gave nothing away. “What. Just ’cause I got bigger swinging balls than any of you . . .”
The chorus of hoots and hollers gave Lilah cover to surreptitiously glance at her new friend. There was a strain around Violet’s pretty mouth that hadn’t been there before.
“It must be hard,” Lilah said sympathetically. “Being the only woman in the kitchen, I mean.”
Violet started, wide eyes going wider with surprise, as if she’d forgotten all about Lilah.
“Aw, it’s easy. Easy-peezy lemon squeezie,” Violet said, shedding the momentary hints of stress with a laugh. “Yeah, it’s a bit of a sausage fest, but the guys here are all right. The Market kitchen is awesome to work in. Other places? Not so much with the equal opportunity and way, way more with the ass-gropage.”
At which point Violet demonstrated said ass-gropage with a sharp pinch and a demonic grin. Lilah yelped and danced backward out of Violet’s grasp, tripping over her own feet and landing full in the lap of the man behind her.
Twice in one day! That had to be some kind of record.
“Sorry! Oh, I am sorry, please excuse my clumsiness,” she said, mortified. Getting her feet under her, Lilah looked up into the face of one of the cutest guys she’d ever seen. Seriously, if she hadn’t already met and been swept off her feet by Devon Sparks, this one would’ve caught her eye in a big way, with his wide mouth, sparkling hazel eyes, and messy chestnut hair.
“Hello there, lovely,” the cute guy said, giving her a friendly smile and big, callused hand to shake. “Guess I wasn’t around yesterday when Grant introduced you to the crew. I’m Wes Murphy.”
“And what do you do here at Market?” Lilah inquired politely. She’d already learned that every cook was assigned to a particular station, from grilled meats to fish to the cold appetizers like salads.
Wes rolled his eyes good-naturedly at the general laugh that went up at Lilah’s question.
“Did I ask something wrong?” she said, bewildered.
“Not a thing,” Wes assured her. “They’re just