Page 29 of The Chef

“Mushrooms done?” Char asked, glancing over at the sink where a bowl of cleaned white button mushrooms was waiting for him to find five minutes to slice.

“All cleaned.”

Karl grinned at Char, but his smile turned into a quizzical look a moment later when Char dumped the onions into the bowl of meat. Char used a garlic press to mince the garlic cloves, added chopped basil and parsley and some salt, and then started cracking eggs into the bowl. Once he had enough eggs, Char added his lightly spiced tomato dipping sauce and topped it off with cracker meal—a substance made from finely ground crackers that served as a binder.

"Let me see your hands,” Char asked Karl as he measured the last of the cracker meal into the bowl.

Karl held his hands up for Char to see, a quizzical look on his face. His fingers were slightly damp, but clean after spending so much time at the sink. There was no need to make him wash them again.

“Can you mix this for me?” Char asked as he headed back to the grill to flip patties.

“Sure. Do you have a spoon?” Karl asked, glancing around to see if Char had left one nearby.

Char laughed. “No spoon for this recipe. Dig in with your hands so you can get everything properly incorporated.”

“Nice!” Karl exclaimed, immediately digging into the bowl with both hands, meat and liquids squelching between his fingers.

Char left him to it, moving on to the mushrooms. He diced the white buttons, pausing halfway through to remove the medium-rare patties from the grill, load up another round, and start oil heating for the potato fries. The mushrooms went into a pan with oil to start reducing. Once they had lost most of their water and were starting to darken, Char added red wine, Worcestershire sauce, onion, garlic, and a dash of red pepper powder, then covered the pan to let them simmer on low heat until Char was ready to serve. He exchanged cooked buns for raw in the oven and then pulled out a large bag full of gigantic portabella mushrooms marinating in oil, white wine vinegar, and spices. He filled the grill with those next, the trimmed stem side up to form a bowl for the marinade to pool as they cooked. While Char didn’t have any vegetarians to feed, some people liked the taste of a portabella either in addition to or instead of a beef burger.

Finally, Char was able to return to Karl, looking over Karl’s shoulder at the mixture in the bowl, which was slightly too wet. Char added more cracker meal for Karl to mix in. If it had been too dry, he would have added more tomato sauce. By the time the portabellas were flipped and fully cooked, Karl had finished mixing and Char was able to start forming patties. They went right on the flat iron—the consistency was too soft for the grill, since the meat would break apart and fall through the bars—where they would cook until well-done to ensure there was no chance of anyone eating raw eggs. These patties were meant tobe eaten without a bun by using a fork to dip portions into tomato sauce.

And still, despite all the distractions, Char’s lips were tingling in memory, and his mind was upstairs. Dinner service couldn’t end soon enough.

Somehow, he did make it through. As the first rush of diners arrived and the scramble to keep the serving area full commenced, Char finally dragged his brain to focus on work. However, it only lasted until the final lull, when the compound began to quiet as people headed to their evening pursuits or to bed. Char started on his bread dough for the morning, his hands and wrists automatically going through the motions of mixing and kneading, the word “bed” echoing through his thoughts.

“Can I try?” Karl suddenly asked, breaking into Char’s thoughts. He looked earnest and hopeful, so Char smiled as he stepped to the side.

“We’re developing the glutens when we’re kneading,” Char explained. “Adding elasticity to our dough so it will rise better. Too little kneading and it won’t develop. Too much and the bread turns into a rock.” Char demonstrated the push, turn, push he used for this particular dough and then waved for Karl to try. “Not too hard; we don’t want to break the dough when we’re kneading either.”

Karl nodded, concentrating hard on pushing the dough far enough to stretch it without breaking. His hands were smaller and he didn’t have muscles built up in his forearms or wrists, so he was slower than Char, but he was working hard. Char left him to it, starting to mix together another dough. With Karl’s help, the last of the evening chores were done early. Char sent his helpers off to bed, thanked his nighttime guard, and went to grab a shower.

Clean and dressed in a fresh set of clothes, Char swallowed hard and started climbing the staircase up to an evening he hoped would be as good as those kisses portended.

Chapter Seventeen

CHAR STRETCHED SLOWLY, full body from toes to head, pressing his fingertips against the headboard so his shoulders cracked. His body was sore but languid. Sated and comfortable with only the occasional twinge to remind him how long it had been since he last had a partner in bed. And yet, this time was different. All the previous partners had left a hollow feeling inside, an emptiness that only served to encourage Char to go find his own bed once the fun was over. This time he was laying in the same bed hours later, Fen’s muscular arm thrown across his chest, still warm and tingly. And he was feeling happy too—bubbly, as if the first fizz of a bottle of soda water was erupting inside.

Unfortunately, Char’s inner clock moved forward no matter how much he wanted to luxuriate in all those emotions. He had bread to get in the oven and breakfast to prepare, and his body had punted him awake at the normal hour regardless of his overnight exertions. Char stifled a groan and crawled out of bed quietly so he didn’t wake Fen, who was breathing deeply despite being face down in his pillow.

Fen had a private bathroom in a small room off his bedroom. A perk of being commander, Char assumed, and it also explained why, after that first day, Char had managed toavoid running into a naked Fen showering again. Char quickly rinsed his body and shamelessly stole one of Fen’s towels to dry off. After getting dressed—which took a while since his socks had somehow ended up on both sides of the bed—Char left the bedroom, walked through Fen’s private sitting room, and out into the space with the desks for secretaries and aides. The room was dark and empty, echoing cavernously as Char crept through as if making a walk of shame. But he wasn’t the least bit ashamed of last night, nor did he particularly care whether the entire army knew. All he cared about was getting to work on time, yet the predawn silence invoked such ridiculous thoughts. The birds weren’t even chirping yet, since the sun was rising later and later every morning as autumn started to really hint at the coming winter.

Char made it downstairs and into his brightly lit kitchen without incident. Ralph’s smirk was knowing as he waved hello from where he was sitting at one of the tables.

“The night guards apparently had a moment of panic when they realized you weren’t in your room last night,” Ralph called as Char lit the ovens. “Luckily, Emmerson saw you heading upstairs before someone decided to sound an alarm and accidentally interrupt the commander’s evening.” He waggled his eyebrows meaningfully, still grinning a touch too widely.

Char gave him a look over the counter. “Do you want breakfast today or not?” he asked, his tone somewhere between stern and joking, since he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to scowl or laugh at Ralph’s commentary.

Ralph snickered, holding up his hands defensively. “Please don’t burn the bread because of me.”

Char sniffed, putting his nose in the air and definitely joking now. “My bread is always perfect, thank you very much.”

This was the slow morning of the week when the majority of the royal guard were at morning drill. Char was going to offer make-your-own egg sandwiches, this time with freshly poached eggs on Timmons muffins, a flat, airy muffin perfect for making sandwiches. Most would have runny yolks; however, he would make some with solid yolks for diners who preferred not to have the mess of yolk running everywhere. A delicious mess, for certain, but not conducive to carrying or eating neatly. A couple of cheese options and other things to add into the sandwich, and the main component of breakfast would be done. And then he would make muffins to tide over everyone finishing morning drill until the massive lunch rush.

Char slotted the first trays of bread into the oven and vanished into the pantry to collect his ingredients for muffins. When he emerged, the first of his helpers was walking into the kitchen. The rest followed soon after. And then Karl arrived. Char expected Emily would be with him, but not the second boy also sheepishly standing behind Karl, as if Karl’s body could shield him somehow. He was wearing the usual uniform of white shirt and brown pants. He had light brown hair and eyes, a smattering of freckles across his nose, and appeared to be a year or two younger than Karl.

“Who’s this?” Char asked.

At the same time, Ralph groaned out, “They’re multiplying!”

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