Ruined By My Stepbrother novel · Chapter 16 of 32

Chapter 16: Kitchen of One

Barrett looked down at the apron on his knife roll.

For a second I thought he'd argue.

He didn't.

He lifted the apron off, folded it once more, and hung it on the hook by the walk-in where it belonged.

Then he picked up his knives and walked out the back door.

He shut it quietly, the same as the first time.

My kitchen stood there looking at me.

"Okay," I said. "Sauté is open. Who wants it?"

My fry cook put her coffee down.

"Me," she said.

"Then the fry station is yours," I told the dishwasher.

The kid went white.

"Chef, I've never..."

"You've watched it for four weeks. Baskets down at three-fifty. Shake them twice. Don't salt over the oil."

"Yes, Chef."

"Frankie, you're on dish between seatings."

Frankie looked at her nails and then at the sink.

"I'm going to need hazard pay," she said, and tied on an apron.

That Sunday we did fifty-eight covers.

Nothing came back.

By Saturday, the eighteenth of July, we were doing eighty-one.

My fry cook ran sauté.

The college kid burned exactly one basket of clams.

He cried about it in the walk-in for a minute, came out, and never burned another.

My grill cook ran grill and half of garnish with his cap on backward, singing along to the radio.

I seared every Apology myself.

I called every ticket.

At ten-forty the last table paid, and I stood at the pass in an empty, clean, quiet kitchen, and it had worked.

It had worked without him.

That was the worst part.

Frankie found me sitting on the upside-down bucket by the dish pit.

She sat down on the milk crate next to me.

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