Page 10 of The Unwilling Bride
I wipe my board, then pick up the tweezers, ready to place the first sprig, when:
"Stop."
I freeze. "Chef?"
"You wiped your board once."
I look at my cutting board. Spotless. "It's clean, Chef."
"Wipe it again."
I do. Still spotless. Obviously.
"Again."
I wipe it a third time, pressing the cloth across perfectly clean wood with as much dignity as I can manage.
He watches all three passes with the same look he probably reserves for undercooked proteins: one of suspicion.
"Three times. Always. Every board. Every station. Every time you change tasks."
His tone implies that I should know this already. Like the entire culinary world runs on multiples of three. And I'm the only person who hasn't received the memo.
I stare at my already spotless board.
Talk about being super-detailed. His Marine training clearly shows. That’s the only thing I can think of that explains his relentless obsession and attention to detail. But then again, it could be something deeper.
You would think wiping it once should be enough. I don’t see the point of doing it three times. But then again, he’s the head chef.
Maybe he knows something I don’t.
He slides a tray toward me. Roasted heritage carrots, already glazed. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
"The glaze... It’s over-reduced. It needs a splash of carrot juice and a hit of cold butter to bring the shine back."
Without any change in expression, he bites out. "Fix it. Make three separate batches.”
I widen my gaze.
Why three separate batches?
He must read my mind, for his lips thin.
“I want to see consistency. If you can't replicate it being perfect three times in a row, it was a fluke. And I don't hire flukes."
4
Harper
He wants me to repeat things, not twice, but three times?
At this rate, I’m never going to complete my tasks in time to meet the lunch crowd’s demands.
Also, I’m dressed for an interview, not for a day in the kitchen. Thankfully, I have sensible shoes on. But my feet are already killing me, and I’ve barely started. My slacks constrict my movement more than the loose pants I normally wear.
I’ve been thrown into this situation unprepared. Not that I’m complaining. The rhythm of the kitchen is familiar.
Only, I’ve never faced orders flowing in so quickly.
