Hannah

" H annah, can you take this to table five for Sara?" Kate, our head server, hands me a plate of what can only be described as baby vomit topped with more baby vomit.

"Gross. What is that?" My shoulders lift as a gagging sensation runs through me.

"Chef Pierre calls it courge poivrée de deux fa?ons. Whatever that is?"

"First of all, we all know his real name is Pete, not Pierre or even Peter. And whoever eats this is going to need a lot of courage even if its name is literally acorn squash two ways."

"True, true, and I didn't know you spoke French."

"There's a lot you don't know about me." I brush my hair off my shoulder with a flick of my wrist. "Now, I'd better get this to whoever was brave enough to order it before it gets cold unless it's supposed to be served cold."

Kate laughs as I wrinkle my nose at the plate on my serving tray. I can't believe the crap Pete gets away with serving at the cafe. If I were in the kitchen, instead of serving, I would create spectacular dishes for our customers.

I honestly think the only reason people keep coming back is that they believe "Pierre" is a French chef trained at the finest culinary school in France. In fact, he's just plain old Pete from Wisconsin who went to a junior college culinary school. It pays to be friends with the busboys—they have all the dirt on everybody.

The café is busy tonight, and I'm glad—I can really use the tip money. My savings are dwindling fast since I don't want to take out student loans to pay for my culinary degree.

I expertly weave my way through the crowd of customers and servers, not spilling a drop of the baby vomit on my tray as I work my way to Sara's section at the far end of the room.

"Here's your courge poivre de deux fa?ons," I say with a little flourish of my hand as I set the unappetizing meal down in front of none other than my new Professor. "What are you doing here?" I narrow my eyes, waiting for his explanation.

"Me? What are you doing here?" He scowls at me, then at the plate of orange mush sitting in front of him, and then back at me. "I most certainly didn't order whatever the hell that is."

"It looks like something my baby daughter shit out in her diaper."

Recognition hits me as I give the man at the table with Carter my full attention, "Garrett, what are you doing here with him ?"

I might have emphasized the, him, more than I intended, but I wasn't expecting Garrett to be here, let alone Carter.

"Grace asked me to pick up something for dinner, and I thought she might enjoy something from the cafe." He glances at the plate on the table, " or maybe not."

The disgust on Garrett's face matches Carter's, and I want to laugh but bite my lip instead. This is my place of employment—I need to act professionally.

"Can I take your order, Garrett?"

Garrett rattles off one of the safer meals for his order, making sure it's not orange and mushy.

"I'll have what he's having only for one, not two." Carter's smooth voice rolls over me, "And please take this monstrosity back to whatever level of Hell it came from."

This time, I do laugh because Carter isn't really grumpy. He's kind of cute and cuddly—like a big old bear with a thorn in his paw. Maybe if someone is brave enough to pull the thorn out of his paw, he might be happier.

Too bad I'm not emotionally in a place where I'm the one to do it. The thought of someone else taking on this big old bear stops my laughter.

"I'll be right back with your food." I remove Satan's special from the table and make my way back to the kitchen, giving Chef David Garrett and Carter's orders.

And like the coward that I am, I have Kate take their orders out to them and avoid Sara's section until Carter finally finishes his meal and leaves the cafe.