Page 61 of Mine

Twenty-Three

Logan

“Excuse me, Chef. Table twenty wanted their swordfish without cayenne.”

I glance up from my cutting board, finding one of our servers Trevor standing on the opposite side. His expression is hesitant, knowing I hate having to remake entire dishes. It’s a waste of food and my time.

I groan, grabbing the plate he’s placed on top. I narrow my eyes at Trevor. “Did you say eighty-six the cayenne when you entered the order in?”

“Yes, Chef.” Trevor nods.

“That was my fault,” Natalie says, sidling up beside me. It’s as if she’s appeared out of nowhere.

She grabs the plate from my hand. “I’m sorry, Trevor. Tell them I’m making them a new one right now.”

Trevor nods then exits the kitchen.

I resume my cutting without taking another look at Natalie. For the past several days, it’s been difficult to work any shift with Natalie. She’d avoided me, much the same as I had avoided her.

There were some days, usually the ones where we spent an entire eight-hour shift together where I regretted not firing her for what she had done. It was awkward to say the least. The wounds from my argument with Lena were still fresh. I didn’t need to give her another reason to doubt me and the longer Natalie stuck around, the more likely I knew it could happen again. I had to be careful around her. Speak just enough to make work bearable, all the while not allowing things to get too personal.

“Logan?”

Natalie’s voice rings in my ear, filtering over the sounds of my knife meeting the wooden cutting board. I keep slicing, hoping her wanting to talk is work related.

She dips her head, growing closer to my face. “Logan?”

I still don’t answer her.

“Chef?”

“What?” I yell, dropping my knife.

The entire kitchen stops, their heads popping up to see why I’ve just yelled in the middle of the dinner rush.

I sigh, closing my eyes.Fuck.

I look around the kitchen, willing them to resume their work without speaking a word. Reading my face, they all pop their heads back down. Natalie’s eyes are spread wide, her mouth opened slightly.

“What is it, Natalie?” I pick my knife back up, grabbing another handful of basil.

“Um, I wanted to apologize for what happened with the cayenne at Trevor’s table. I misread the ticket.”

“It’s fine.” My muscles feel tightened, stretching across my back. I glance up at the clock seeing I only have two more hours before I can leave and go home to Lena. If I wasn’t home, I was constantly worried about her. Lena and I have stepped up our security game as far as communication goes. Tomorrow the security company was coming by to install cameras, an extra measure I knew we needed. Aside from the heightened surveillance, Lena and I agreed to text each other every two hours, just to be on the safe side. I wasn’t sure how effective this plan would be long term, but it was a solution we had for now.

When Lena had told me about the emails she had been receiving from Julian, my first instinct was to run. The same feeling of protectiveness took over. But I knew that had been the reason Lena hadn’t told me from the start. Deep in my soul, I knew we couldn’t keep running. Seattle had become our home. I couldn’t rip that away from Lena, or myself.

Lena’s confession about the emails also had me thinking about the pictures. Julian had attempted to paint me into an unfaithful husband, abusing my marriage. My question was why. If he hadn’t made an appearance yet, what was his master plan?

Sensing Natalie’s presence, I look up from my board. She’s now beside me, slicing a new piece of swordfish. I watch her as she carefully slices the flesh away from the skin. She’s talented, I’ll give her that. Not a piece of fish shredded, her knife gliding across like butter.

Her words from the night she had kissed me still picked at the back of my brain. I couldn’t explain it. As I watch Natalie season her filet, placing it onto a sheet pan, I try to study her. Willing her to give me a sign there’s more to her than just a young chef from California, starting out her career in Seattle.

The next two hours fly by. It was a fairly busy night and I was glad to see the last of the reservations finally starting to come in. Max had popped into the kitchen, relieving me from the line. Ever since he offered me the partner position, he’s been more willing to split the time between actual cooking and office work. Once I’m cleaned up, I leave the restaurant and head toward my car. Several feet in front of me, I spot Natalie.

Deciding that my need for answers outweighed my desire to talk to her, I jog, catching up to her.

“Natalie,” I say, falling into step with her.

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