5. Mama Viv’s Burger Bash

CHAPTER 5

Mama Viv's Burger Bash

Tristan

My knife sliced and diced and minced on the cutting board. I was lost in the moment and the movement, like a leaf in a river. It carried me to a happy place as inspiration filled my body and everything else dimmed around me. I was cooking. That was all I needed to be happy. The Culinary Horizons Evening School represented three hours a day in my otherwise empty and directionless life. This was where I felt like I had something to move toward, something to strive for.

And when it was over, I did my cleaning and chatted with other students. A couple of them were respected chefs from the city, perfecting their craft in foreign cuisines. Most were, like me, amateurs with nothing more than a love for culinary skills.

I was about to propose grabbing drinks after the class when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Slipping it out, I wondered what Mama Viv needed. She rarely called unless it was an emergency, normally choosing to type out long, emoji-riddled messages no matter how challenging it was with the long nails clued to her fingers.

"Hello?" I answered cheerfully.

"Tristan, oh thank God, you are my last resort, darling," Mama Viv blurted, clearly upset and out of breath. "It's Millie, darling."

My heart clenched with terror. "What about Millie? What happened to her?" Images of things I never wanted to see again flashed before my eyes. I didn't even know it, but I was moving toward the exit, my stride letting everyone know that I was heading out, even if I had to trample someone to get there. Cold water closed on me and tried to crush me, but a hand around my wrist made my heart leap with joy that maybe this wasn't how I ended. That sneaky, treacherous joy. I had spent a lifetime running away from the fact that I had been happy to be pulled out of the wreckage. "Is she alright?" I demanded.

"She'll be fine, darling," Mama Viv said hurriedly, removing the worst of my anxiety. "She was showing this…ah, never mind. She cut her finger. It wasn't much. She didn't even make a sound. I hurried to bring her a napkin to stop the bleeding, but she just turned pale, and the next thing I knew, she was on the floor as good as dead."

I grumbled at Mama Viv's choice of words.

"Millie's getting an IV, darling, but I don't have my chef for Burger Bash," Mama Viv said, voice quivering.

"Of course you have a chef," I said. "I can be there in twenty."

Mama Viv had been floating the idea of employing me permanently in her kitchen, but I had never felt ready to take the leap. Instead, I helped Millie out when there were bigger crowds, practiced when I could, and tried to learn from the best. Millie had a command of the kitchen, but apparently, she had a weakness for something that was all too common when you worked with knives all day long.

I considered getting a cab, but the fleeting thought disappeared as soon as I remembered that my pockets were mostly empty and it was my turn to replenish the kitchen cupboards this week. Another bold of anxiety rushed to fill me, but I used it to fuel my run, halving my time from the culinary school to Neon Nights.

Mama Viv nearly collapsed with joy at the sight of me. She clapped her hands before hugging me.

"I'm sweaty as hell, Mama Viv," I protested.

"You are beautiful," she said. "You beautiful thing. I'll be paying you extra for emergency work."

"Don't worry about it," I said, pulling away from her. "Let me just wash my face, and I'll get on it."

"Don't tell me what to worry about, darling," Mama Viv said, but the words didn't have an edge to them. She had made up her mind. However much I hated special treatment when others could do all the things I could do—and they probably did them twice as well—at least I didn't have to worry about spending the last of my money on coffee filters.

I slipped into the staff bathroom to wash my hands and face, then walked down the white-tiled hallway to where the small locker room hosted employees' things. I took off my black T-shirt and tossed it inside a spare locker that already had some of my things there, kicked off my shoes, stepped out of my pants, and rummaged through the clean clothes I could work in.

The locker room was positioned at the end of a hall that contained all of the bar's inventory that we could possibly need, from spare tableware to packages of herbs and spices to bottles of sauces. There were fridges stacked with fresh produce and meat, freezers brimming with frozen goods, and a row of beer kegs hooked to tubes leading to the taps at the bar. There was no privacy in a place like this. People scurrying over to unhook an empty keg or to fetch items the kitchen ran low on was a constant thing. Truly, there was never a moment to breathe or think when you managed a kitchen. And Neon Nights wasn't a typical restaurant equipped to handle constant volumes of food orders. Its kitchen was modest and compact, so people needed to move in very precise ways, always sticking to their right side to avoid colliding with one another. They also needed to watch their step and be perpetually aware of their place in the space we were all given.

It was something a newcomer wouldn't know.

So when a hurrying newbie bumped into me and sent my nearly naked body slamming into the locker, I only managed to yelp once.

"I am so sorry. Christ, did I hurt you? I am…" And his words cut off as abruptly as my heartbeat had stopped.

That voice. That sweet, soft, husky voice. I had almost missed it now that it was speaking in a hurry.

My head had slammed the closed door of Roman's locker, and stars swirled around me for a moment before I straightened and turned around.

"Tristan," he said, all the joy flickering out of his eyes and leaving them cool and expressionless. His lips pressed into a line. His gaze dropped shortly from my face, and I remembered that I stood there in nothing but underwear and socks.

I licked my dry lips. "What are you…?"

"We need those plates, Newboy," a girl shouted. "Chop-chop."

Cedric stiffened, and his panicked glance shifted from me to the shelves containing five different kinds of plates. "Which ones?" he whimpered quietly.

It was Mama Viv's Burger Bash. She would want the textured black round plates and no others. "Those plates," I said matter-of-factly and pointed to the middle row containing thirty plates.

Cedric looked at me with something like gratitude in his worried gaze. As he stepped closer to the shelf, his gaze dropped over my torso, but he looked away. "I'm really sorry, Tristan," he said clearly and lifted all thirty plates off the shelf. His biceps tensed with the effort.

I was light-headed, although I couldn't tell you why. Maybe the shock of seeing him here in the back, wearing Mama Viv's apron and uniform, or maybe I'd bumped my head harder than I'd realized. Or because his short sleeves revealed how perfectly sculpted his arms were. Whatever the case, my breath was shallow.

Cedric retreated down the hallway, cutting right through the middle.

"Right side," I yelled after him.

He pressed his right shoulder against the row of fridges instantly and stuck to the right side until he disappeared from my view, which was just lucky because Bradley swept in from the bar and would have crashed into Cedric had the sexy fucker not moved.

Bradley greeted me in a hurry. "It's so good you're here," he said while swapping kegs of a particularly bitter pale ale. "Mama Viv underestimated the interest after the lukewarm response to last week's brunch."

It was the Burger Bash night. I could have told her people would show up. "We'll survive," I said, winking at Bradley while yanking a clean pair of pants up my legs. It took me a minute to get ready, strap on my apron, and secure a cap on my head to keep my hair from falling over my eyes or, God forbid, into people's food.

I strode with a purpose when I headed down the hallway and into the kitchen. Bradley scurried before me, slipping to the left and behind the bar, while I took a right turn and entered the hectic mess that a busy kitchen always was. Glancing around, I knew all I needed to know.

"Hello, everyone," I said loudly. "It looks like they're getting slaughtered out there. Be sharp, be focused. Ana, fill up the fryer. Keep it full until I tell you to stop. French fries, chicken wings, fish fingers, and mozzarella sticks. Got it? Raj, start slicing fresh tomatoes, and watch where that knife goes. Cedric, dishes are piling up, start washing." If I felt a sliver of vindication, I didn't let it show.

"What do you have for me, Chef?" Roman asked, popping up out of nowhere.

It took me a second to process his presence. "What are you doing back here?"

"You should know by now that I'm always where the fight's the thickest," he said with a dark laugh.

A spatula was already in my head as I walked through the small, square kitchen. "Right," I said, scanning. To my left, in the middle of the room, was a cluttered table where Raj was slicing tomatoes as I had requested. He knew how to use a knife. I didn't worry about him. To my right, along the wall, was the assembly and serving station, a grill, and a row of busy fryers. Against the further wall straight ahead, more cluttered surfaces stretched all the way to the ovens. And against the left wall were crates with spare inventory, bread baskets, and clean dishes. A hole in the wall provided me with a view of Cedric's back as he scrubbed the dishes.

"Sauce bottles," I told Roman. "Fill 'em up and start assembling burgers. I'm taking the grill." I tossed the spatula high. It swirled in the air until I caught it. The moment my fingers wrapped around it, an impenetrable bubble formed around me. I was in the zone and in the moment, keeping this thing running, overseeing everyone's work, and measuring the meat patties on one grill, cheese on the vegetarian section, and the constant flow of orders being printed in the corner of Roman's assembly station.

Cedric brought plates to Roman's work table. Raj swapped empty containers with the full ones, and Ana kept the fryers full. Bit by bit, we caught up, and although seeing eleven patties—all with different requests—and eight slabs of grilled cheese gave me a sliver of panic, I knew how to use it to my advantage. Panic was fuel for efficiency, in my opinion.

The shouts of "coming through" and "hot plate" bombarded me, scents of grilled food opened my appetite, and the camaraderie of kitchen staff filled my heart.

Mama Viv showed up once, at some point, to see if there was anything she could do. Her eyes watered over the freshly diced onions on Raj's work table, and she retreated with loud exclamations that Bradley could use some help behind the bar instead.

"Did the class go well?" Roman asked once we caught up to the most recent orders.

I tossed a slice of cheddar over a patty and covered it with a metal bell to melt quicker, keeping the meat juicy and medium rare while getting that lovely cheese softness. "Perfect. But nowhere near as fun as this."

"You really are a daredevil, Tris," Rome said, sticking a skewer into the burger and sliding the plate away to make room for the next one. He rang the bell as soon as the plate was ready for serving.

I scanned the queue of orders hanging above the grill. "Ana, go low on wings, and double the mozzarella sticks. Looks like we got a vegetarian table."

"On it, Chef," Ana said.

I couldn't lie. It felt good to hear that. This was my tribe, and I could only hope to work hard and get to be in this spot by earning it, not just because the real chef had passed out.

A moment of respite came with a flood of thoughts I wasn't in the mood to unpack. But when Cedric finished with all the dishes, he was no longer confined to the dishwashing room. Rushing back and forth across the kitchen with stacks of plates for Rome to use, refilling the sauce bottles, and sweeping the floors, he was an unavoidable presence.

His presence was even more acute when Mama Viv recruited Roman back to the front. "Tris has it under control, darling, and I could use your experience on the floor."

"Yes, ma'am," Rome said, saluting, and winked mischievously at me, eager to be busy.

I had put Raj to mix the new bath of burger sauce, which required both skill and intuition, and Ana was the mistress of frying, so I reluctantly lifted my gaze to Cedric's blue eyes. "Stand there," I said, pointing next to myself. "I have to teach you how to assemble burgers."

Cedric seemed more nervous than I would have imagined. Was he nervous because he needed to stand next to me? If so, he could rest assured I wasn't interested in anything beyond having my burgers assembled. Why does that sound like an innuendo ? I wondered distantly. I sure as hell wasn't going to do something stupid like flirt with him.

He licked his lips, and my resolve rocked. "Okay," he said in a low voice. "Teach me."

"Er…well, let me get one ready for that," I grumbled, flipping over the patty that was about to be served. Just because he was hot as hell and could kiss the soul out of your body, I wouldn't give Cedric preferential treatment. I recited the instructions as I would have to anyone in this kitchen. "Cut the bun, making sure the bottom half is thicker than the upper half, butter it, put it through the toaster, pour the sauce over the bottom and half as much over the top…" The instructions went on and on, and it was all fairly easy, straightforward stuff. But then we got to the moment when I delivered the patty on the bottom half of the bun, and Cedric panicked.

Holding my breath, I stepped closer to him. He was sweaty and greasy from a day of work, but I could still make out the spicy scent of his cologne. Who are you, Cedric? I wondered. His back was stiffer than anyone's in this room, his chin held higher, and his gaze more contemptuous, especially when he was insecure. I grabbed his gloved hand and turned it over, palm up, put a wrapping paper into his hand and punched it open, then navigated his other hand to put the upper half of the bun containing all the vegetables onto the meat patty, forced his hand to hold the burger firmly together, and thrust it into the wrapping paper. When it was done, I practically carried his hands with the burger to a clean plate, set the meal down, and punched a skewer through the top. "Now, serve that full cup of fries and add two small saucers of ketchup and mayo. Voilà."

Cedric nodded in gratitude, but it was stiff and controlled.

"And when that is done, maybe you can tell me what the hell you're doing here," I muttered. Raj was mixing a massive container of burger sauce in the furthest corner of the kitchen, and Ana had left the fryer full of items to fetch more from the freezer.

"Gotta earn a living somehow," Cedric replied. He moved the plate over to where the servers would pick it from, rang the bell, and looked at me. "Next?"

I glanced at the grill. Was he asking for the next burger or the next question? Well, the burgers needed a couple of minutes longer. "I thought your family ran a successful business. Why would you be a dishwasher in a run-down bar?" And why would you disappear without a trace for five days after kissing me? My mouth didn't ask the question, but my contemptuous sneer very likely did.

"They do," he stated plainly .

Ana walked in with two bags of frozen onion rings and stuffed them into the small freezer next to the fryer. I lowered my voice. "So why are you here, Cedric?"

"Maybe I'm proving a point," Cedric said, glancing at the grill.

One of the patties had dripped with grease and now caught fire. I let it burn for an instant before the flames died on their own. "A point?"

"Yeah," Cedric said. "Maybe that's why I'm here, assembling your burgers, instead of…" He sighed and turned away from me. "Never mind."

Instead of chasing an airline contract, I assumed. Or whatever his airline contract really is . "Alright," I said quietly. "Get ready for a hot one." I grabbed the piece of paper with the full order and moved it from above the grill to above the station. Soon after, the patty followed. I instructed him on how to butter the bread for a vegetarian burger, as the cheese was somewhat drier than the meat patties, and walked him through everything.

I didn't have to like it. We only had to work together and make sure Mama Viv didn't lose her customers. Whatever Cedric's reasons were for getting a job at the one place I called home, he wouldn't reveal them to me. Something had happened that ripped a gap between us that was impossible to cross.

Something's wrong , an old instinct told me. I always listened to this voice. I always followed where it led and meddled when I had no place to meddle. But something is wrong here , it insisted. I couldn't tell why. I couldn't tell what it was that felt off aside from the absurdity of someone very clearly rich settling to peel onions whenever I commanded it.

Orders slowed down, and Raj came around to ask if I could spare him so he could prepare the caramelized onion for the next day, which was the kind of initiative I hoped I exhibited when I was the helper in this very kitchen. "Go ahead," I said resolutely. "I'll manage everything here."

Ana offered to start cleaning from the freezers in the hallway so we didn't have to stay until midnight preparing the kitchen for the morning. Breakfasts were usually another rush hour in Neon Nights, and I wanted Millie to find her kitchen precisely how she would have left it.

A couple of new orders came through, but nothing fancy. I could do them without Cedric's help. Even so, he lingered at the assembly station and drummed his fingers against the polished stainless steel surface.

I avoided looking at him, but he very clearly faced me as he tapped the inox table.

My lips tightened, and I focused on the two pieces of cheese on the vegetarian grill.

"Tristan," Cedric said in a low voice that made my skin prickle and hairs on my neck stand as if he could create an electric field around me. "About the other night…"

I turned my cold gaze to his face. "Don't you have a pile of dishes to wash?"

His mouth remained open for a heartbeat. He closed it quickly and stepped back as if I'd pushed him. With a firm nod and the bravado of a samurai facing gunpowder canons, he turned away from me and marched into the dishwashing room.

My heart clenched, but I growled at myself and flipped the square blocks of cheese on the grill. Whatever he wanted to say about the other night, he was welcome to keep to himself. I wasn't interested.

Except that night, when all the work was done and when I showered for bed, sleep abandoned me. Worries about the twists of fate that changed our lives on the whims of gods seeped into me. I fretted and sweated and failed to keep my eyes closed, for whenever I closed them, I sank into the depths of icy water, only to retrace all that had led us to that moment, to that bridge, to the truck driver falling asleep at that exact minute…

If something was wrong with Cedric, and if something happened because I'd been too hurt over a rejection, then I would never forgive myself. I would never be able to live with myself after.