Page 19 of Dirty Chef
After sharing my vision with Alessia, she said, “I think that will be great. And we can still use the wicker baskets for serving. We’ll serve the salad in a bowl that goes in the basket. Then the eggplant and bread on the side.”
Perfect. Here we go.
* * *
Some nights, the dinner guests set the mood. It was one of the perks of running a smaller establishment. On a Saturday evening, it could be calm and romantic with couples speaking in hushed voices—or it could be festive with a large party getting together for a family reunion. And on a random Tuesday, it could be a big group of coworkers who were trying to cheer one another up after they’d just learned headquarters was moving to Tacoma and they were all getting laid off. Like tonight.
Once they’d gotten through apps and a couple cocktails and were waiting for dinner, Alessia brought out a few bottles of wine for them to share on the house. A sweet gesture that accidentally happened to be so well received that the guests set their credit cards on fire, ordering more drinks and snacks. They asked for music too. Loud music.
They essentially had the place to themselves, not counting a few guys at the bar, so I had no issues cranking it up.
It made work seem like less work for us behind the bar too. Alessia was hopped up on ibuprofen and two glasses of champagne, completely out of fucks to give, and she had the sexiest smile playing on her lips as she made a batch of frozen margaritas for three ladies. And if Alessia was in a good mood, so was I.
She put on an act when she was off, like on her period and cramps were bothering her. That was when she dressed up. Fake it till you make it, she called it. The dress pants were standard for her as the hostess, but the fitted button-down and vest sure as shit weren’t, nor was the red lipstick and high heels. She looked like a goddamn sin.
She bumped her hip against mine as she passed me with a tray of drinks. “Can I get you anything too, tesoro? And you, Tracy?”
Fucking loved when she called me that. It meant treasure, and it was about as common as calling someone “hon” in the US, but I took whatever I could get.
“I won’t say no to a beer.” I squeezed her hand briefly before I accepted two servings of sweet potato fries from Tracy. They went with the two orders of Coho Original, my signature burger.
The trick was to dip the buns in a spicy rub, slather butter on them, then throw them on the grill for about fifteen seconds while I deep-fried onion strings that went on top of the meat and cheese.
Alessia came back with two beers for Tracy and me.
The energy from the guests buzzed through us all, and I got started on the next three orders as a guitar riff from Def Leppard pierced the air. With a playlist packed with ZZ Top, Quiet Riot, and other rock gods of the eighties, we were bound to have a fantastic night.
As always, we lost ourselves in the job, and Tracy and I worked together like a well-oiled machine. He was proving himself with every shift; he loved what he did, and it showed. We bobbed our heads to the music and handed over meals to the servers that were ready to go out.
“Oh!” This song. I looked around to see where Alessia was, and I spotted her delivering drinks to a table. When she was on her way back, I locked eyes with her, and she cocked her head and smiled in question. “Consider this song your reminder,” I told her, then took a swig of my beer. It was “Talk Dirty to Me” by Poison. “I haven’t received any texts.”
She laughed a devious little laugh and passed me on her way to the register. “Maybe you should check your phone.”
Shit, for real? No, she was being a goof. I wiped my hands on the towel over my shoulder and then dug out my phone. She’d probably texted something silly.
I was kinda right, but I grinned nonetheless.
So…hi. Do you come here a lot?
“That’s gotta be a good text,” Tracy noted with a smirk. “You got a girl sexting you while you’re at work?”
I snorted. “Go make yourself useful and get me the zucchini fries for these patty melts, punk.”
“I thought we were bonding and shit!” he exclaimed. “Griffin’s a nicer boss.”
No, he definitely wasn’t.
“You only say that because you eye-fuck his ass,” I retorted. Then I frowned at him. “You never eye-fuck me. What’s wrong with you?”
He guffawed and walked out to the kitchen.
“I’m offended!” I hollered after him.
“Oh noes, how did he hurt you, Adam?” Alessia took over Tracy’s workstation for a minute to help me put together the next orders.
