Chapter 1 - Levi
The sear on the duck breast isn't right.
I can tell from across the kitchen, can hear it in the way the fat renders against the pan. It’s too quiet, not enough crackle. I stride over to the range where Maya's working, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.
"Temperature's too low," I say, reaching past her to adjust the burner. My arm brushes hers and I pull back like I've touched the damn flame itself. "You need to hear it sizzle. Listen."
The sound changes immediately, that satisfying crackle-pop of skin crisping properly, and Maya nods, her green eyes flicking up to meet mine for just a second before darting back to the pan.
"Got it, Chef."
*Chef.*
She always calls me that, even though it's just the two of us back here most days, even though the formal title feels too big for this small kitchen in this small town. But I make her use it anyway, make her keep that distance, because the alternative is too dangerous to consider.
"Flip it in thirty seconds," I tell her, already turning away. "And for God's sake, don't touch it before then. Let it do its job."
I don't wait for her response. I'm back at my station, hands moving through the familiar rhythm of plating the risotto that's been my focus for the past ten minutes. Butternut squash, sage brown butter, a scatter of toasted pumpkin seeds. Simple. Seasonal. The kind of dish that shouldn't make my pulse race but does anyway because every single plate that leaves this kitchen has to be perfect.
*Has* to be.
It's been two weeks since we opened. Fourteen days of packed reservation books and positive feedback and locals telling me they're proud to have a place like Juniper's in Blackwater Falls. Fourteen days of barely sleeping, of lying awake at three in the morning mentally reviewing every service, every dish, every single detail that could have been better.
Fourteen days of trying not to think about the curvy brunette working five feet away from me, her hair in that same neat braid, her hands moving with a confidence that's growing every shift.
Fourteen days of failing spectacularly at that last part.
"Chef?" Maya's voice cuts through my thoughts. "The duck is ready to rest."
"Good. Start the Brussels sprouts. Charred, not burned. There's a difference."
"I know the difference." There's the tiniest edge in her voice, just a hint of frustration, and something in my chest twists.
I look up. She's already moving, pulling the cast iron skillet from the rack. She's learned the kitchen layout faster than I expected, adapted to my rhythms, anticipated needs before I voice them.
She's good. That's the problem.
Well. One of the problems.
The other problem is the way her chef's whites pull across her hips when she reaches for the overhead rack, the way her laugh sounds on the rare occasions I'm not being a complete bastard, the way she looks at me sometimes like I'm someone worth impressing.
I'm not. I'm just a tired thirty-six-year-old who's running on caffeine and spite and the desperate need to prove he didn't make a mistake coming back here.
"Table six needs their mains in five minutes," I say, checking the order tickets clipped above my station. "Are you ready?"
"Yes, Chef."
The Brussels sprouts hit the hot pan with that perfect sizzle. She's learning. Of course she is. Maya Sutton is a quick study, absorbs information like a sponge, asks questions that show she actually understands what she's doing and why. When she interviewed for this position, I knew within five minutes she'd be an asset.
I also knew within five minutes that hiring her was probably a mistake I'd regret.
Not professionally. Professionally, she's exactly what I needed. Someone eager, talented, willing to work for the modest wages I can afford to pay while the restaurant finds its footing. Someone who genuinely loves this work, who lights up when we talk about techniques or ingredients or the thousand small details that separate good food from great food.
Personally? Personally, she's a disaster waiting to happen.
"Chef, I had an idea for the special this weekend—"
"Not now." I don't mean for it to come out as sharp as it does, but her mouth snaps shut and she focuses back on the sprouts, her shoulders tensing just slightly.