Page 2 of Dirty Chef
I should be more upset over that, but I loved my job too much. I lived and breathed the restaurant Adam and I had started together.
It was likely the only baby I’d ever have.
I typed out a response to Adam.
I’ll be downstairs in ten.
Adam was the same. We put so many hours into that place, and our dual career addiction wasn’t exactly treated by the fact that we lived together above the restaurant nowadays.
He wasn’t supposed to be working tonight either, yet we tended to find ourselves downstairs even on our days off.
We had the next goal all planned out, too. It was a small building; it used to be only one floor, but we’d taken out a cringeworthy loan to buy the property and build upward. Now it was a three-story building in white-painted brick, and not only had it given us a new home on the top floor, we had gained space to host cooking classes and eventually seat more guests at the restaurant. Best of all, we’d acquired full access to the courtyard in the back.
Before, we’d paid a shitload to rent space on the cobblestone sidewalk in the front when it was warm out. People wanted to sit where the sun shone. And now, this summer, we wouldn’t have to do that. Guests would be treated to a cozy dining area in the back that was all ours, not to mention free of traffic sounds and car fumes.
I couldn’t wait to get started on the courtyard this spring.
My body was buzzing with anticipation as I rushed to my room to get ready for work, and I almost forgot to let Garrett know we’d have to reschedule.
* * *
Coho Bar & Grill was our pride and joy. It was as rustic as it was state-of-the-art, as cozy as it was vibrating with life, and as casual as it was swanky. The old furniture and exposed brick walls and weathered floorboards made up the foundation on which we’d built. The grill was open behind the bar, facing the establishment to give the guests a glimpse of the magic Adam worked. Vines, bistro lights, and potted herbs hung from the ceiling, tealights floated in water-filled bowls on the tables, and the place was full most nights.
Whether it was guys’ night and a group of friends ordered burgers at the bar, or it was date night and a couple requested a table at the window where the seats were more like booths and had fluffy pillows everywhere, we catered to our town of Camassia Cove with a bone-deep love for what we did.
We just needed to bide our time so we could afford to decorate the expanded space we finally had. We’d recently reorganized the tables that filled the floor, but we couldn’t fit in more than fifteen tables. Hopefully, after a summer of guests filling up the courtyard too, we’d be on our way to being able to give this restaurant the second floor it deserved. The space right above us was already ours and waiting to be used.
Here, my heart was happy. I loved the rock music playing, I loved the snazzy iPad menus, I loved the evening specials written in chalk on the wall, I loved the smells, I loved… I let out a breath and watched Adam behind the bar, bobbing his head to the beat of the song as he threw something onto the grill that caused a ball of fire to light up the place for a second.
Tracy was our new guy. He seemed to like working alongside Adam, and it was mutual. Adam appreciated quick learners who cooked with their hearts.
The two had already created their own little routine to make kids cheer when we weren’t too busy. They’d toss ingredients to each other and put together meals with practiced ease, finesse, and speed.
Our two servers for the evening were busy taking orders on the floor, so I tied my apron around my hips and made my way behind the bar.
I was where people needed me. Serving, bartending, hostessing, preparing desserts—I loved every bit of it. Behind the scenes, where it was only Adam and me, we did most things together except for inventory and marketing. He hated that. I didn’t mind. I hated bookkeeping, so Adam handled that with our accountant.
“Okay, I’m here.” I smiled and got busy right away. Some empty plates had been left on the bar from three dudes who were here to drink beer and share appetizers.
As I passed Adam, he reached behind and gave my hand a squeeze while he bossed Tracy around.
I squeezed back, ignoring the flame that flickered to life and then died out again when his touch was gone.
We did have a kitchen in the back where the less glamorous prep took place, and Tracy was the one darting between the two workstations out there and in here. No one wanted to watch mac and cheese getting made or vegetables being chopped. Not to mention the dishes that piled up faster than Adam’s laundry.
