Jack had the most glorious hair I had ever seen on a man, and it was a shame he had to hide it under that garish hairnet. His auburn hair still managed to look incredible under the fluorescent lights of the kitchen which was a marvel.
“Trev, you gonna do your job or just keep staring at the newbie?” Sully asked while walking past with the vegetables for our station. Eggplants, carrots, and cauliflower toppling out of the box in bountiful bunches.
“I wasn’t staring”, I say defensively. I gather the last of our vegetables- bell peppers, onions, cabbages.
“Whatever you say, kid. Knife.” I hand him the knife and we get started on our prep. Any chance I get, I glance over to the pâtissier section. Glazes and chocolates and purees decorate Jack’s once pristine apron. He wipes his hands with his towel after completing the last sugar flower for tonight’s desserts and casts a glance towards me. I almost slice my finger clean off.
“I wasn’t staring”, Sully mocks me. Most times I love his banter. It keeps things lively at the entremetier station- it can be repetitive after cutting your 50th onion or scallion or chive. Today, though, I loathed him. I looked back up to see if Jack was still catching my eye, but he had disappeared.
“Behind”, Jack whispered in my ear, and I finally caught his eyes the first time all night. It was worth the teasing from Sully and my butchered julienne on the carrots. It was worth all the burns and cuts and scrapes in the world. But as soon as it started it was over, and the fire that burned inside of me burned brighter than before.
“Cut the carrots, Trev”. Sully commanded exasperatedly. I understood his urgency since we were quickly running out of prep time, but I would set the entire kitchen aflame if it meant Jack and I could have a moment alone together. It took a minute for me to remember my years of training in culinary school, but I got there eventually and finished the prep for our station.
“Okay, the stock is on, and we’ve got 15 minutes until we have to fire the soups. Do me a favor…”, Sully’s voice trailed off for me as I could see the copper mess of curls making its way around the kitchen. I couldn’t help but wonder what he could possibly be doing and why he was in a rush. He had the privilege of being needed later to satisfy a customer’s sweet tooth as opposed to us who have the pleasure of being the first dish out of the door. I was watching Jack cast a coy glance over his shoulder before entering the fridge when a meaty finger poked into my chest.
“Are you hearing me, Trevor?” I knew Sully was serious then. His beady eyes were boring into me, and I could see the sweat beginning to form on his bald head. I wonder if he always had a birth mark by his eyebrow. “Cumin, milk, and yogurt. Go!” He raised his voice and I told myself it was because of the cacophony of pots and pans not my negligence. In all honesty, I had no idea what Sully was flying me for, but I would be an idiot if I asked him to repeat it.
It was easiest to get the spices first, so I grabbed the cumin quickly and made my way to the fridge. I was somewhat operating on autopilot as the adrenaline before the first ticket was starting to steadily pump into my body. I put the cumin in my apron pouch and used all my strength to fling the door open. As I hurled my body inside, I came face to face with Jack. I could see all of his details when we were this close: His freckles and how they were unevenly dispersed across his face and his natural hair color coming through his roots.
“So, you found my secret hiding spot then? I was wondering how long it would take you to join me”, Jack finally spoke after what felt like an eternity of silence. I was relieved. He was smiling at me, and his hands had grasped my elbows to prevent a collision.
I could feel the heat of embarrassment spreading across my cheeks. He was embracing me and telling me he wanted me in his space, I felt claustrophobic. I was finally in the place I had wanted to be for so long, but why did it feel so wrong?
I finally moved back out of his grasp and slowly began to gather my bearings again. “I’m sorry…”, I started miserably. I wasn’t quite sure what I was sorry for, but it felt like the right thing to say in that instance. I looked up at him to see if I could find something else to say, but I knew it was a lost cause. I put my hand on the door and cast a glance back toward the somber man and made my way back to my station where everything still made sense.
