Page 13 of Hearty

Since I’ve been gone, the restaurant has had a pretty big overhaul. From waitstaff to sous chef to line cooks, it appears that Evan took over and implemented a lot of his own practices. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing; as much as I love Thomas Ashton, his organization could be a bit of a mess at times. From the looks of things, Evan has whipped this place into shape to become a more polished, upscale restaurant. It still has its family vibe; it’s still dishing out takeout pizzas by the hundreds on a Friday night, but the atmosphere is definitely different than when I left.

“Sorry, Chef. Won’t happen again.” The guy on the line seems to stiffen his upper lip and get back to work.

“Better not. Now we’re behind on apps. What’s the window on those mushroom caps?” Evan is barking orders from the shiny silver table at the front of the kitchen, a new layout in here being part of the changes I see.

Someone answers him, and I observe how the kitchen works more like a machine than ever before. There is double the staff than when I worked here in high school, and the quality of dishes can’t be overstated. Thomas is a fine chef; his food is delicious, but Evan is an artist.

“August, you have to try Evan’s new lasagna dish. It’s this deconstructed take on it; he had to explain what that meant to me, but my goodness, it’s so good!” Leona walks in, singing her son’s praises.

Evan’s head whips up, our gazes colliding for a moment before he pulls his away and scowls at the apron I’m wearing. “What are you doing?”

“You all looked busy, so I’m just lending a hand,” I explain, feeling like one of his minions more than a family friend.

For some reason, he looks annoyed to have me here.

“Did anyone brief you on the new waitstaff procedures or etiquette?” He nearly scoffs, and my ego bristles.

Gone is the guy who was smirking and flirting with me in here just days ago.

“No, but I’m not a moron. I think I can handle being polite and courteous to the diners.” My voice has a little bite to it, and he rears his head back the tiniest bit.

As if he wasn’t expecting someone to stand up to him in his domain.

“Gosh, you are formidable. I knew you’d do great things someday, you’ll be the best manager or front of house anyone has ever seen,” Leona compliments me, seeming to derive joy from me taking her son down a peg.

She was the one who inspired me to get into hospitality. Watching her interact with the people of Hope Crest, be so kind, and brighten someone’s day simply by giving them a wonderful experience, that’s what I want to do. The hospitality industry, the rules and organization of it makes sense to me.

“You’re too good to me. My last internship was for a restaurant group. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of Anthony Markorint, but he was my boss. A tough guy, but he showed me all the ropes for front of house and managing high-class dining rooms.”

“Wait. So are you saying you worked front of house at Le Bleu?” Evan has just put down his knife and is staring at me, shock present on his face.

I shift uncomfortably. “I mean, I didn’t run it, I was an intern, but yes. It was one of the hardest jobs I ever had, they were so stringent and strict, but the standard of service they provided was absolutely incredible.”

“You could teach us a thing or two these days. I’m so proud of you,” Leona says, rubbing my shoulder.

“I cooked on the line there for about a month when I was in culinary school. It was just a temporary gig, an internship, if you will, but I remember the same thing. Hardest job I ever had, but damn, it was rewarding.” Evan gives me a small smile.

Even having his appreciation and attention on me for a millisecond has my blood heating.

“You two have more in common than we all knew. I bet Evan has even dined at some of your other internships.” Leona beams like we’re her two pet projects.

“Maybe. Anyway, are table twelve’s entrees ready? I can take them out.” That’s enough praise for now, especially in front of Evan.

Having to converse about our similarities makes me nervous because then we’d have to exchange more than a few words, and I can’t be trusted to remain confident and cool.

“I’m just putting the finishing touches on.” He looks away now, his mind absorbing back into the chaos of the kitchen.

“Please, let me show you the local inn that just came on the market. I’ve been eyeing it just as a dream property, but truth is, I have no time to develop that. I’m an old woman, but it’s such a beautiful piece of history and I just know someone with your background would love to see it.” Leona gushes over this inn as I wait for the food, and I’m instantly intrigued.

“When was it built?” I almost lean into her, images of a place I’ve never seen floating in my head.

“Nineteen oh two, it’s a gorgeous place. Someone restored it in the seventies but left a lot of the original finishes. It needs a full overhaul again, but the bones are so perfect. Sometime this week, if you’re free, let’s take a little tour. I just know you love that kind of thing.”

“Pick up, table twelve,” Evan hollers out, letting me know that the entrees are ready to take to my table.

I step up to the stainless-steel top that he stands on the other side of; bright lights overhead warm the surface where the food is plated and inspected. Reaching for the dishes, I begin to stack them up my arms like Nonna Ashton taught me to all those years ago.

Except as I go to reach for the last one, Evan’s hand darts out to wipe a bit of errant sauce off the rim. Our fingertips brush, sparks shooting up my arm, and I bobble just a little. The shock of his touch has me faltering, even for just a moment, and I hate that he has that ability.

---