Jasper’s: Takoda Outreach Center #1

by Cee, Sammi

  Before I corrected my blunder, Avi jumped in, “You know, Jasper, the weather is miserable, and it’s supposed to keep getting worse, maybe you could stay with me”—he held up a hand to stop the objection he knew I’d voice—“just through this cold spell or even tonight.”

  “While I appreciate the offer, Avi.” His face fell with disappointment, so I rushed on, “And I do. So much. But I volunteer here just like anyone else. My living situation isn’t any of your concern. I appreciate you guys wanting to help me out, and I know you worry, but you have nothing to concern yourselves with. I promise you, when I leave here at night, I’m perfectly fine. Besides, you have a new hot boyfriend to spend time with. Intruding on your private time is the last thing I’d do, unless…don’t tell me the honeymoon stage is over already.”

  His eyes got all cartoony as a blush rose up his cheeks. “You know everything is perfect with Zachary. And fine, you don’t want to stay with me, but what about—”

  At the hard shake of my head, he dropped it. One night, not long after I’d begun hanging out here all day to help, a summer storm had rolled in right at closing. They’d been pushing me to stay with one of them instead of heading out onto the streets. I knew they were worried about me, and I felt guilty saying no when I saw the tears spring into Avi’s eyes, but I had Miss Emma and the boys to worry about. Since there was no way I was telling them about the boys, I’d got nervous when I’d caught them out scouring the streets in the rain trying to find me. I’d told them I wouldn’t be back if they couldn’t respect my right to privacy and leave me be once I left the soup kitchen. Then I’d avoided the place for days, until Miss Emma had made me go back. She liked how the guys had taken to me, and she knew I liked really learning to cook.

  Facing Chef Krankin suddenly felt preferable to sparring with Avi about my physical well being. “I better get to the kitchen and help the new chef. It may take awhile to get his first order done, and we still have a meal to cook for.” I breezed past Avi and quickly walked into the kitchen. With escaping Avi becoming mission number one, I forgot to prepare myself for the sight of our new chef. When I went home each night, I convinced myself by morning that he was merely handsome. Such a bunch of bullshit.

  Rushing into the kitchen without taking a moment to guard myself, I sucked in a harsh breath. The chef was leaning onto one of the prep tables with his back toward me, ass stuck out into the air. After one week, it looked like he’d finally settled down enough to wear khakis, instead of the nicer dress pants he’d been wearing. Unfortunately, they hugged his ass in a different way than the fit of his other pants, conjuring up new and interesting images in my mind of what he must look like naked. Dammit. All of last week, I’d convinced myself if he’d just relax his wardrobe a little, maybe he wouldn’t be so sexy, but no… apparently his body was a masterpiece no matter what he draped it in.

  “You okay, Jasper?” Fisher asked. The sound of his voice caused embarrassment to well up in me. I hadn’t even noticed that he was standing at the prep table.

  “Fine,” I said, forcing my lips to curve upward as I met Fisher’s gaze. Even though I knew better than to get attached to people—had learned that lesson the hard way more than once—the thought of Fisher working in another part of the new outreach instead of in here with me was another source of disappointment. The often quiet, tall man tended to intimidate people, but I found his silence comforting.

  Ignoring my awareness of the chef’s very presence, I strolled casually to the coffee pot and poured myself a cup before approaching the prep table where papers were strewn across the surface. “Good morning, Jasper,” the dark-haired adonis said.

  I spared him a quick, nonchalant smile, then tipped my head toward the table. “What’s all this?”

  Fisher chuckled ruefully. “Uh, I hate to say it, but I’m leaving Caleb a mess to deal with, so I told him you’d answer any questions. Jonathon needs me to go look at a box truck with him.”

  “Okay. No problem. I’m sure I can answer anything he needs to know.”

  Fisher yanked on his ear, the only nervous tick I’d ever noticed. “Okay, thanks. I’ve gotta go, but I’ll be back to check on you guys later.”

  He turned and hurried out of the room. “Um, so…” I glanced at the chef.

  He stared back at me, then blinked and pulled the papers strewn in front of him into one pile. “Right.” He picked them up and tapped them into order, before setting them back down in front of him. “Right. So I’m just going to write up a menu, and then I’ll have you look it over, and then maybe you can help me with who we purchase what from.”

  “Yes, Chef. No problem. In the meantime, I know what else needs to be done around here, so I’ll just get to it.”

  I set my mug down, but before I could walk away, he reached out and grabbed my hand. “Please, call me Caleb. There’s no reason to call me chef.”

  My brain had short-circuited at the touch of his hand on mine, and since he still held it, I was having a hard time gathering my thoughts. “What?” I asked, my gaze darting between his dark brown, almost black eyes and where our hands were connected.

  His gaze followed mine, his eyes widening, and he pulled his hand back, quickly grabbing the pen off the table and tapping the end on the neat stack. “Call me Caleb, please. I don’t know why you keep calling me Chef,” he said, sounding way more indifferent than I felt.

  “Because your jacket says Chef Krankin, so I assumed that’s how you wanted to be addressed,” I said abruptly, grabbing my cup and scooting back toward the coffee pot. Even though my mug was still half full, I couldn’t just stand near him while he talked to me. Staring at him unnoticed already made me feel weird and awkward, but the sensations that his touch caused were something I hadn’t experienced since the first boy I’d ever kissed held my hand.

  The soup kitchen, this spot, was supposed to be my safe place where the world made sense. My reaction to a man at least ten years my senior who, from what the guys had said, had already had an illustrious career and came from money, invited trouble—and let’s face it, heartache—that my life didn’t need, nor have time for.

  Chef Krankin lifted said jacket off the stool next to him and shuffled it around until his name was visible. “Huh. I forgot it had my name on it.” He laughed, but not happily. “My mother gave it to me as a present when I graduated from culinary school. I only grabbed it to bring in here because it’s the only one I had that didn’t have the name of the last place I worked on it, and it’s white so I can bleach it when it gets dirty. Now that I know how many aprons Fisher keeps stocked and how often the laundry service runs, I won’t even wear it. I brought it in just in case I need it.”

  I stopped my trek across the kitchen to the sink and stared at him. “Huh?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You know, in case my mom comes in. She can be a little… Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m sure she won’t ever come in anyway, but if she does, I wanted to make sure I have it to throw on.”

  “Okay.” Like that made any sense. Why in the world should his mother care what he wore to work in? Since that was none of my business, and I didn’t want to ask him questions, which would invariably lead to him asking me questions back, I said, “I’m going to mop the floor out front, so let me know when you’re ready for me to look over your menu.”

  A broad, freaking stunning, smile lit his face. “After looking through what’s been on the menu the last couple of weeks, I know for sure I’ll be at least making shrimp scampi. Fisher hasn’t made it at all and it’s one of my specialties.”

  I laughed at his joke, but stopped when he frowned. “You’re kidding, right?”

  Confusion marred his ruggedly handsome face. “No, I promise, it’s delicious.”

  “Uh, Chef Krankin…” I stopped, one because he narrowed his eyes, but also because I wanted to be as nice as possible. Fisher really did need someone to run the kitchen, and although it would be easier for me for it to be a different cook, any cook, other than this one
, I didn’t want him to leave because I hurt his feelings. “That’s probably not the best choice for… uh, here.”

  “Why not?” he asked, clearly perplexed.

  “Well, first of all, you’ve been here over a week so you’ve seen how many people come in each night to eat…”

  “Oh.” His face cleared. “Don’t worry about that. I’m serving it over pasta so I can make enough to stretch and serve everyone without going off budget.”

  “Let me try again.” I prayed he didn’t hear the exasperation in my voice. “There are people, and I mean a lot of people, who come in here and this is the only meal they’ll eat all day.”

  His long-suffering sigh insinuated I didn’t get it. Riiiight, buddy. I’m the problem. As I expected, his response showed his cluelessness. “Look, Jasper. Jonathon and Fisher ran through the numbers with me. I realize that some people who come in here perhaps don’t have a place to stay or whatever, but they assured me that most were families hitting hard times and just needed a good, hot meal for dinner.”

  Wow. They’d had that conversation in the dining room while Avi and I had been chatting with a couple of the older folks who came in to help. Jonathon’s reassurance about our number of homeless had been slightly exaggerated because he’d feared he'd lose the newbie from him being too sad and heartbroken to know exactly how bad some people had it. Huh, guess that wasn’t an issue with Chef Krankin. “Caleb,” I said, lowering my voice and going for friendly, even if he was an ass. “You realize you’re making the same dish for everyone, right? There aren’t exactly menu options.”

  He nodded. “And this is one of my best dishes. I really want to make my first menu selections memorable.”

  Jesus. Unfortunately, his dumb didn’t take away from his pretty. “Okay, let me try this again. Shrimp is seafood and…” I rolled my hand, hoping that it would click without me having to tell him. Somehow, I didn’t think the young homeless kid calling him out would be great for our future working relationship.

  Chapter Three

  Caleb

  Jasper didn’t like me. I’d been shadowing Fisher for over a week now and had hoped that once Jasper and I were working alone that the constant look of disdain he wore when he looked in my direction would disappear. Five minutes into it being the two of us alone, and if anything, he appeared to have progressed to appalled. Knowing that they’d been hesitant to hire me, and the desire to win Jasper over—not that I could remember why I’d wanted to do that now—I’d decided last night when mulling over what to make in the coming week, that one of my specialties was in order. It didn’t hurt that Jasper had mentioned it used to be one of his favorite meals. Based on Jasper’s reaction, I’d gotten it wrong.

  Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m not sure what you’re… Oh, fuck.” Realization dawned on me. “Seafood.”

  The adorable little shit pressed his pointer finger to his nose. “Ding. Ding. Ding. Give the man a cookie.”

  Winning him over sank down on my to-do list. Jonathon, the business mind of the soup kitchen, had told me when I filled out my hiring paperwork that everyone who helped in the kitchen was a volunteer. If Jasper didn’t like me, then perhaps they could find someone else to work in here and give Jasper something more useful to do than make me feel like crap. Leaving Rizziono’s had potentially cost me my whole reputation. For someone like me, working here sacrificed not only my normally substantial salary, but my flourishing career. I obviously couldn’t expect him to understand that, but he didn’t have to act like my being here was an imposition, either.

  Through gritted teeth, I asked, “So what do you suggest I do?”

  Jasper shrugged. “I don’t know. Fisher keeps all of the past week's menus; plus, even though it’s a mess, I know he has a master list of things to make that are filling and nutritious. Hearty, healthy foods aren’t always easy to come by without money, you know.” Then he turned back to the sink to finish filling a mop bucket with water.

  “Okay, you’re probably right,” I said through gritted teeth, shuffling the already unorganized papers around. For lack of anything better to do while I waited for Jasper to leave the room so I could lick my wounds in peace, I began to organize the stack Fisher had handed me shamefacedly this morning. Jasper was right, again. There were several weeks worth of menus, as well as a grand master list of meals for the different seasons.

  The grinding of the wheels on the mop bucket echoed throughout the otherwise silent kitchen as I watched Jasper’s feet moving, anxious for him to be gone. I heard the sound of the door opening into the dining room, but then Jasper spoke. “Caleb?” he asked in the tone usually reserved for someone, anyone, other than me.

  I hummed noncommittally back.

  “I get that you want to change things up a little.” He paused. “But even if you recycle last week’s menu, it’ll be different. Those are all Fisher’s recipes, and he’ll be the first to tell you that cooking is his passion, but he didn’t go to culinary school or anything. I’m sure your food will taste different enough that it’ll get people excited, so…” And he left, leaving the only sound the screeching roll of the wheels.

  * * *

  Somehow we’d managed to muddle through the rest of the day without interacting too much. Fisher hadn’t taken as long as he’d expected since the drive to look at the box truck was a long one, and Jonathon had received a call half an hour after they left that it had sold already. Fisher had returned to the kitchen and spent the rest of the morning working out the menu planning and pointing me in the right direction for ordering. He’d gone next door to help paint the thrift store they’d be opening after that and left me and Jasper to prepare dinner together. There hadn’t been a lot of conversation, but as the afternoon had worn on, it hadn’t exactly been uncomfortable either.

  Jasper had been right about the food, though. The ingredients for a nice meat sauce were on hand, so I had made a huge pot, along with bow tie pasta and bread. So far, the response had been positive.

  “Young man, what did you put in this sauce?” Ben, a volunteer, asked. He was an older, wiry man, who I’d been informed on my first full day was the pseudo-grandfather for the lot of them: Avi, Fisher, Jonathon, and Jasper. After only ten minutes in the man’s company, I’d known why. Unlike so many of the old, stodgy men who ran in my parents’ circle, he exuded calm and tranquility. His optimistic approach to life made us all feel like the possibilities were endless if we kept our eyes open.

  “My secret ingredient.” I grinned over my shoulder at him where he stood by the door.

  He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Not gonna tell me, huh?”

  “No way, you may try and take my job if I give away my secrets.”

  Ben cackled. “No way. I officially retired at Christmastime. I come here because I enjoy it.”

  “Have you been volunteering a long time?” I asked curiously.

  “Since before they even opened the front doors three years ago.” He moved farther into the room, leaning his hip against the other side of the sink while I scrubbed out one of the big pots I’d used for the pasta.

  “Wow. That’s some commitment.”

  Ben shrugged one shoulder, smiling fondly. “It’s good to give back to the community that supported your dreams. Folks helping folks is what helps the world go round. Some of the customers I’ve had through the years have been in here to help, others because they were in need. No matter why they were here though, it was good to see them, talk, and spend some time catching up. Hell, I had a heart attack last year and it was Zachary, you’ve met him right? Avi’s boyfriend.” I nodded. “And I know you met Della when the guys introduced us. Anyway, it was the two of them, plus the generosity of Avi and some of the other volunteers that kept me going. This place has become about more than ensuring people get a good, hearty meal, but it’s community; people taking care of each other, looking out for one another’s best interest.”

  I thought about that for a moment. When I’d seen the ad for this place need
ing a cook, I hadn’t given much thought to it beyond…well, cooking. I wanted a change, and going from an elite, five-star restaurant to a soup kitchen stood out as pretty significant. It really wasn’t until Jasper subtly pointed out that making shrimp, a food that several may have been allergic to, was narrow-minded and didn’t reflect the good for the whole, that I’d stopped to consider what this new opportunity really meant. Shame washed through me now. I’d been so concerned about showing off to Jasper, the patrons, even the other volunteers like Ben, that I hadn’t really stopped to think about what we were doing here. That people were coming in because of real hunger, needing us to fulfill one of our most basic needs as humans.

  Before I responded, Avi came rushing through the door, head turning this way and that frantically.

  “What’s wrong, Avi?” Ben asked with concern.

  “Have either of you seen Jasper?”

  Ben shook his head. “Not since we first opened up the meal service.”

  “Oh, I guess he didn’t know you needed him for anything because after the last time we’d switched out the serving trays he told me he needed to get home,” I said.

  Both men gaped at me, anguish resting on Avi’s face. “Can I do something for you?” I asked, quickly, hoping to fix whatever Jasper had done wrong so he wouldn’t be in trouble with the normally affable boss man.

  Avi shook his head and began pacing, wringing his hands in front of him. “No, I guess there isn’t anything any of us can do if he snuck out already. Dammit. It’s only fifteen degrees outside. I bet he knew once it started sleeting that there was no way in hell any of us were going to just let him leave. It’s been such a mild winter, too. I was hoping…” He trailed off. It was then I noticed the tears that had filled his eyes.