“You barely even know what that means. I only went on one date, with Everly.”
“Do you like her?” Abby stared at me with her giant blue eyes, and I was reminded of Everly’s firm refusal. “Daddy?”
“Sure. But that doesn’t matter. I don’t need anyone else but you.” I poked her nose and she laughed.
“Daddy, you need a girlfriend,” she said, and I slowly brought my hands to her sides. She recognized it too late, and Abby screamed bloody murder as I tickled her.
“But then I wouldn’t have time to tickle you!” I yelled, and Abby hit me in the side. She squirmed on the bed, trying to crawl toward the edge, and I pulled her back. “Plus,” I said, getting serious. “I can’t imagine loving anyone else as much as I love you.”
Abby wasn’t one for emotional outbursts, so as I spent a moment bonding with her, she took the opportunity to sneak her arms in my armpits and started tickling me.
“You monster!” I yelled, and she took off from the bed. I chased her down the stairs, where I picked her up and spun her around the room.
“You monster!” she repeated in screams. “You monster!”
I carried her into her room and helped her change for the day.
“What did you eat?” she asked. I had tried explaining to her what a date was before I left, and said that it was a night where two adults shared a dinner. She had seemed so confused, but I promised she’d understand when she was older.
“Steak,” I said.
“That’s so boring!” She picked out my tie, a striped blue one, and fetched my shoes for me. Three-year-olds could be really useful at times.
“It was delicious,” I said, a blatant lie. Abby was already used to the tender portions of steak at my restaurants, and she would have spat last night’s steak out with disgust.
We walked hand in hand over to Nick’s, who answered the door in a paint-splattered apron.
“An early surprise.” He yawned.
“You know how much Abby loves going over here. She’d probably make a tunnel connecting our houses if she could,” I said, and looked over his newest paintings. They were incredible; bright and vivid with dark shadows that really caught your imagination.
“There’s a lot of buzz coming from the galleries downtown,” Nick said. “I sold a few already, and my name’s been popping up in people’s mouths. Soon, I’ll be known in all of Seattle.”
“That’s great,” I said honestly. “They deserve it. You deserve it. I knew you’d get your big break eventually.”
“Is that why you’ve been sponsoring me?” Nick teased. Abby was invested in a mostly blank canvas in the corner, where the corners were covered in stripes of yellow and pin drops of red. She had been working on her own painting for a while, pretending to be Nick’s little apprentice.
“So, now that you got the hardest one out of the way, when’s the next?” Nick asked and plopped down on his couch.
“What?” I frowned, did he mean children?
“Dating. You went on your first date since having a kid, and you’re still standing. That means you’re free to go on others, right?” he said. Nick had been begging me to go out with him for months now, but meeting women at the club and checking into a motel while my 3-year-old was at her grandmother’s didn’t sound like a promising life.
“No dates,” I said. “At least, not with anyone else. You should have met her, Nick. Everly, the woman’s name, she’s smart. Beautiful and smart, with her own aspirations and goals, and damn, I really think she has a chance.”
Nick smirked. “A chance? At what?”
“Well, she’s a chef,” I said. “At Saint Padres, Phil’s place. That asshole you hate. But she had these ideas for her own menu that were amazing, and she’s working now to become head chef. She has no problem speaking her mind, and doesn’t give a shit how much money I make. She ordered the cheapest entree on the menu.”
Nick clapped. “She ordered the cheapest item? She’s obviously the one, Maddox.”
“Go screw yourself,” I whispered below my breath and glanced to make sure Abby didn’t hear.
“It sounds like you really like her,” Nick said. “Poor girl.”
“I don’t know what I feel,” I admitted. “Just that I have to see her again. Will you watch Abby for a while? Not too long, I just have something I need to do.”
“Sure, she needs to work on her painting anyway. I’ll make her some breakfast, and we’ll go out for lunch later.” Nick gestured at Abby’s little workshop in the corner. “You’re going to have an artist on your hands one day.”
“As long as she doesn’t grow up to be like you.” I thanked him and got ready to leave. “Oh, and if you let my 3-year-old watch a slasher film again, I’m going to chase you with a chainsaw around a cemetery.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nick laughed. “Go chase your woman.”
“I’m not chasing anyone. And she’s not my woman,” I mumbled as I entered my car. “Not yet.”
I pulled into an awful parking situation on Third, and after one glance up and down the street, decided to valet three blocks over from Saint Padres instead. It was a busy Monday, in between breakfast and lunch time, and business workers hurried down the street to make it to the office in time. I took my time, hands stuffed in pants, and walked back and forth in front of Saint Padres. The afternoon preps were arriving, and I tried to stay innocuous as I looked for any sign of red hair. My nerves got the better of me, and I walked down a block toward a cat cafe to collect my nerves.
What was I doing? This was never going to work. She was absolutely going to refuse me, possibly even call me a stalker, and hit me with her purse. I paid for a small mocha and brownie and sat in the cat cafe for longer than I’d like to admit. I took Abby there often, and her favorite cat, an adoptable black and white tuxedo who loved purring on her lap, greeted me warmly. He was looking for the 3-year-old who loved scratching behind his ears, surely, and I offered him a pet or two as an apology. His white fur clung onto my dark suit within seconds, and I cursed myself.
There was no way I could confront Everly now, not with cat fur all over me.
I finished my mocha and treat in peace as two other cats lounged beside me. The worker reminded me kindly, once again, that the tuxedo cat was up for adoption, and I pretended to care. Abby would be delighted, but she’s also a 3-year-old with little understanding of what it meant to take care of another living being.
I was making excuses. I realized this as I paid for another mocha and convinced myself that Everly would judge me for three stray cat hairs on my sleeve. I was stalling for time; I was a coward.
Saint Padres was in between the cat cafe and the valet where my car waited, so I slowly walked past it. Just before I turned the corner, however, a flash of bright red caught my eye, and I turned.
Everly was rushing down the street on the opposite road, her hair in a messy knot on the top of her head, and eyes focused on her watch.
This was it. My chance. It was now or never. Seeing her in the flesh, not in the hazy memories of my mind, was like a jolt of electricity to my veins. Had she always been so beautiful?
“Everly,” I said and moved in front of her, but she wasn’t paying attention and she ran right into me.
“I’m so sorry!” she yelled, and stared at me with wide, green eyes. I saw the flicker of recognition, and the shock of surprise, hit her.
“Mr. Moore,” she said and fixed her uniform.
“Maddox, really,” I said. She seemed hesitant.
“Maddox, what are you doing here?” she asked, glancing at her watch. “God, I’m late again.”
“Again?” I bit my lip and stopped a smile. “I wanted to see you.”
Her eyes flickered from her watch to me, and she raised an eyebrow. I realized how inappropriate I sounded.
“I mean, I have a proposition,” I said, and cursed. That also sounded inappropriate.
“I hate to rush you, but I’ve been late twice already this week, and I’m alr
eady not on the best of terms with my boss at the moment.”
“Of course, I’m sorry. I only meant that you seemed so skilled and knowledgeable, and in a turn of irony, my chef quit this week.” I forced a smile onto my face.
“Your chef?” she asked. “Like, at your house?”
“Yes,” I said it a little too quickly. “At my house. My personal chef. She made every meal, and was going to teach me how to cook, but she found a better position at, well, death.” I cringed. This was making no sense at all.
“She passed?” Everly covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, I think. But what does your personal chef dying have to do with me?”
“I want to offer you a formal position as my personal chef, and to teach me how to cook. It’s time I learned how to do it myself.” The lie was blasphemous, and if anyone else heard me, Phil, for example, who no doubt was sitting in his office just feet away from me, they would never let me live this down. But it was the only way I could get Everly in my life, while also helping hers. “It’ll look wonderful on future resumes. A lot of people in this city know my name, and they know how I only eat the highest quality food available.”
Everly hesitated, staring at everything except for me. I had expected her to laugh, or to slap me, or just about anything else other than actually contemplating it. But she recognized the potential, it seemed. “What’s your current salary?” I asked.
She whispered a number under her breath, and I almost frowned. Phil was paying her that little?
“I’ll tell you what, the head chef here? He makes well over six figures a year,” I said and pulled out a thin spiral notebook from my pocket and a pen. I scribbled a quick series of numbers, followed by my phone number, and handed it to her. “That’s how much I’ll pay you. You’ll never get paid that much at Saint Padres, even as head chef.”
She stared at the numbers blankly. She would need time to process it, it seemed.
“I’m being serious, Everly,” I said. “I see the potential in you. You just have to see it yourself.”
“This much and I’ll be your chef, and teach you how to cook?” she clarified, and I nodded. “I’ll have to think about it,” she said, and surprised the both of us. “I’ll think about it, and I’ll call you. Thank you, Maddox.”
She rushed into the restaurant and I returned to my car with trembling hands. It worked, so far; my plan worked.
I barely remembered the numbers on the notepad, but I knew they were enough that if she still declined, then she truly did not want to see me again.
Chapter Ten
Everly
I walked away from Maddox with trembling legs. The note was in my purse, and it was difficult to keep from reading it over and over again. A job offer? His personal chef? The salary? It was like a dream. Everything about it screamed fake. He would laugh at me if I took it, telling me it was a joke and that I was a naive little girl. He was older than me. Maybe it was a lesson.
But his face had been so serious as he offered the position. The same stubble across his chin, the same deep, gray eyes that seemed to look nowhere else but at me, the same smirk that crossed his face as he smiled at something I said. Maybe he wasn’t joking. Maybe it was real.
I clocked into work and tied my apron around my waist. It was busy for a Friday, which meant I would have almost no time for myself. I didn’t have time to be distracted. I had to blanche fries, prepare tomatoes, sauté mushrooms, and dice onions. The other chefs moved around me in a familiar pattern, until we were synchronized in a cooking dance.
“You’re distracted,” Catalina said, and I paid her little attention as I pureed carrots.
“Maybe,” I said as a plan formulated in my head. We began to slow into the few silent moments between lunch and dinner, and soon I was able to breathe.
The note was surely buried deep within my purse by now, but that didn’t stop it from taking over my mind. His phone number, just a few scribbles on a note, was all I could think about. That and the fact that I was going nowhere in this restaurant, with no recognition or way up.
“Are the truffles ready?” Sergio, another station chef, asked. I glanced at my prep counter and found a pile of mushrooms that had been waiting for pickup for nearly three hours.
“They were washed hours ago,” I said and handed them to him.
“Hours ago?” He huffed.” They’ll lose their flavor that way. We have more, right?”
I shook my head. “I was told to have these washed and ready hours ago, which I did. It’s not my fault you didn’t pick them up in time.”
Sergio snarled and snatched them from my hand. “I’ll talk to Phil about this,” he said and returned to his counter.
Of course, I thought. I wouldn’t expect anything less.
It wasn’t the first time a station chef forgot an ingredient. But they were never blamed for their faults, no, it was always the prep’s wrongdoings.
“Don’t listen to him,” Catalina said as she passed me. “He always threatens to run to Phil.”
I smiled and thanked her, but I had had enough.
The moment I was finished prepping, I barged into Phil’s office without knocking.
“Everly!” he exclaimed, stammering as he apologized to whomever he spoke with on the phone. “Did I call you in here?”
“No,” I said. “I’ll wait for you to finish.”
I stood in the corner as he frowned and told the speaker he’d call them back, and hung up.
“What is it now?” he asked, as if I often interrupted him during important phone calls.
“I received an offer earlier,” I said. “A job offer.” I clarified as he stared at me with a blank look.
“Oh? What for?” he said carefully.
“A personal chef. To someone very wealthy.” I kept Maddox’s name out of my mouth. “He offered me way more than you ever could, but, Phil, I’d be more than happy to stay if it was certain that I’d at least have a shot at head chef in the next two years.”
There was a moment where Phil considered my plea. He glanced at his files, his phone, and finally at me.
“Everly,” he began. “Do you really think anyone else would put up with you the way that I do?”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You’re always late,” he said. “Always running in here when you should be working. Always trying to get ahead of everyone else, not caring who falls in your path. The way you speak to me,” he shook his head. “No one else would put up with this. Especially not a ‘wealthy man’ who is apparently offering you more than I am.”
“I’ve worked my ass off for years,” I pleaded. “I stay in that kitchen until two, sometimes three, in the morning. Why am I always late? Because no one else stays that late, and I’m the only one who even cleans the kitchen. I get maybe four hours of sleep, on a good night, before I’m awake and on my way, here.”
“Regardless of your motivations, when I have you scheduled at 10, I expect you to be here at 10 on the dot,” Phil said.
“So you won’t even let me try to move up the ladder here?” I asked one more time.
“You are exactly where you need to be,” he said, repeating the same words as every other time I’d asked about a promotion.
“Okay,” I nodded, fidgeting with the edges of my sleeves. “I don’t think I can be here anymore then. Thank you for the opportunity, Phil, but I quit.” I turned, my heart beating so hard that I feared it might explode. I heard Phil stand abruptly from his seat.
“Good luck finding anyone else to put up with this!” he yelled, but I was already walking out of his office, and out of Saint Padres.
“You’re what?!” Lacey yelled. I winced, pulling the phone away from my ear. I sat in my car, still parked in the cramped parking lot on Fifth, and munched on a bag of muffins purchased from the cat cafe. I had sat there for the better part of an hour, reliving every moment of the day.
“I had to do something,” I said. “I was never going to get anywhere there. And this new jo
b as Maddox’s chef? It could lead somewhere, Lace. He has connections that I could only dream about.” I dusted off cat hair from my favorite tuxedo.
“You don’t know anything about him!” Lacey yelled. I could practically hear her slapping her head. “You don’t know if he’s going to keep his word, or if his checks will bounce or clear.”
I thought about his fancy suits, the watch that cost more than both of my college degrees, and how much he paid for a single date with me.
“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” I said.
“He could be a murderer.” Lacey loved stating the obvious. “Or a weird pervert. God, I don’t know what would be worse.”
“Or he could just be a bored billionaire who actually wants to learn how to cook,” I offered, but Lacey wasn’t taking it.
“Just think this through, Everly. Please, this is way too risky for someone like you. You’re giving up your career for some guy you don’t even know.”
“What does that mean?” I asked. “Someone like me?”
“You just don’t take unnecessary risks,” she said. “Everything you’ve done has been for your career.”
“That’s the thing. This is for my career. I’m going to be a chef for one of the richest guys in Seattle. It’ll look amazing on my resume,” I repeated Maddox’s words.
“Just promise me you’ll think about this,” Lacey pleaded. “You can probably get your job back if you apologize today.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but realized it was useless with Lacey. Becoming a mom made you more careful, paranoid. I knew she was only this troublesome because she cared, and I couldn’t blame her.
“Of course, yeah,” I said. “I’ll call you later.”
“Don’t do anything crazy,” she said, and we exchanged our goodbyes.
Don’t do anything crazy.
I stared at my phone, and the piece of paper waiting on the console of my car. His phone number was in clear view, and so was the salary. Lacey was right, at least. This was possibly the biggest risk I’d ever take. And it was one I needed. I was doing the right thing. It was hard to explain, but somehow, at that moment, I knew it was the right thing.
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