Page 26 of The Chef

She shrugged and swallowed. “Nowhere else to go.”

So she had followed Karl here at some point, since he was probably her caretaker on the streets. Safer to be a hidden mouse here, than trying to survive so young without someone older to help. Char handed her the rest of the orange, reaching above her to a cloth-covered basket on the highest shelf where the leftover bread was stored. Some of it would be used to make egg toast for breakfast, some destined to become croutons, and Char was hoping to make a dressing with the remainder later in the week when he had plans to cook sliced turkey breast in gravy.

He pulled out a roll and went to the cold box where he found the open jar of apricot preserves. Char split the roll with a knife and slathered on the preserves. The orange was gone, and she was halfway through eating the apple, when Char handed her the sandwich.

“Right,” Fen said. He dropped a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I think you, Karl, and I need to have a chat.” He guided her in the direction of the doorway, but the heated look he shot over his shoulder at Char said he also wanted to have a chat about everything that had transpired before the girl’s appearance.

Char quickly washed the knife and his teacup, shut off the lights, and followed them out of the dining hall. The hour was late, and he had to be awake again soon, and Char’s heart was still thumping a touch too fast at the memory of kissing Fen.

Char needed to crawl into bed, shut his brain off, and think about everything that had happened over the last few days in the morning. Including that incredible, wonderful, mind-blowing kiss.

In the morning, Char thought sternly as he let himself into his room. That was soon enough to explore all the implications and to dream about where they might lead.

Chapter Fifteen

CHAR HEADED DOWNthe hall toward his kitchen the next morning feeling somewhat refreshed. He had slept well, but the crazed, swirling thoughts had returned the second he opened his eyes. And he had definitely dreamed about that kiss.

He stomped firmly on that thought to prevent it from escalating before pushing open the doors. He walked into the kitchen and realized the lights were already on. He froze, looking around, one hand still holding open one of the doors in case he needed to make a run for it. Char noticed a man’s silhouette out of the corner of his eye and a shot of adrenaline ran through him, but when he turned to look, Ralph’s familiar face swam into view.

Char let out a heavy breath, his heart pounding in his chest. “What are you doing here?” he said, trying to sound nonchalant and not as if Ralph had just scared the crap out of him.

Ralph laughed. “I’m on guard shift in the mornings three days a week,” he explained. “Means I have to get up early to beat you here, but I also get out of kitchen duty entirely so I really can’t complain.” He grinned. “And now I get to learn all about everything you complete before your helpers wander in.”

Char laughed, the last of the tension draining out. “It’s not much, really.” He went to the ovens to get them lit so they could start to warm up. “I assume you didn’t see anyone lurking in the dark when you got here this morning?” He pulled three extra-large stockpots down from the shelf and placed them on the stove before heading to the fridge to retrieve the milk. Yesterday afternoon, the dairy that supplied Char’s kitchen had accidentally delivered double the milk of Char’s usual order, and then when Char agreed to keep it rather than force them to lug it all the way back to the dairy where it would go bad before it could be sold, they had only charged him half price with no delivery fee. That meant he had more than enough milk to go a touch crazy with breakfast.

He filled all three pots two-thirds full with milk, added some salt, and left them there. It was far too early to start cooking, but that was one fewer step he now needed to complete.

“Not a soul,” Ralph replied, shrugging. “They could have heard me coming and snuck out before I got the lights on though.”

“Hmm,” Char answered, mostly focused on measuring out oats to put in one of the pots. He was making oatmeal, creamed wheat, and breakfast grits to go with his cinnamon rolls. He would have Karl and one of his helpers set up a make-your-own bar with toppings and flavorings of all kinds to mix into the breakfast cereal. And, once he had a moment, he would also start making both fifteen minute hard boiled eggs and six-minute soft boiled as well.

Once the oats were measured, he set them aside. Char went over to the rack where the servants had placed all the raw bread to come to room temperature and pulled out the largest loaves first. The oven was hot enough, so those went in to start baking.

“Heard you caught a different sort of problem last night, though,” Ralph continued.

Char snorted out a laugh, by now inured to the speed of the rumor mill around the compound. “Yeah, Karl’s little sister paid us a visit. Caught her stealing an apple from the pantry.”

While Ralph was busy chuckling, Char filled two medium stockpots about halfway with cold water and set them on the counter, then pulled out his eggs. He put fifty eggs in each pot, doused them liberally with salt, and put both pots on the stove with their burners on high to get the water boiling.

Next, he vanished into the pantry to pull out all the sides and set up an assembly line with the serving bowls for Karl and the rest of the early helpers to prepare. The morning bell went off, meaning they would arrive in the next fifteen to twenty minutes.

A check on the bread said it needed a few more minutes, so while he waited, Char got a massive chunk of butter out of the cold box and put it in a saucepot on the stove, heating on low to start melting. And then he paused, casting around, but there wasn’t anything else to prep for breakfast.

He ought to start working on any prep for the next meal, then. Although lunch was going to be leftovers. Thinly sliced steak round—since that meat was a few days old and needed to be eaten—as well as the sliced chicken Char hadn’t been able to use for the pot pie. If he had any leftover eggs after breakfast, he would also toss together some egg salad. The sandwich bread was in the oven at the moment and throwing together a condiment of his spiced tomato sauce mixed with mayo would only take a few minutes. Yesterday’s side salad and some sliced vegetables and he had a perfect lunch. In the winter for a lunch like this, he would make a hearty soup too, but it was still far too warm for that.

Dinner was going to be hamburgers, so at some point this morning Char needed to make bun dough, but he didn’t have enough time for that now.

Luckily Char’s helpers started arriving before his indecision made him start working on something he didn’t need to do right now. While they washed their hands and pulled on aprons, Char swapped the bread in the oven with the cinnamon rolls. The butter was melted, so he took it off the stove and set it aside to cool. He also turned the burners on for the milk, setting them on medium high. He poured the oats into one of the pots and found spoons to stir each.

“Hey, Char?” Karl asked, his tone tentative. Char turned to look at him and saw his sister was standing at his side. “Um, commander said she can stay if she contributes? Is there anything she can help with?”

She was still wearing the oversized white shirt as a dress, although the rope had been replaced with a proper leather belt. Both siblings looked so hopeful as they gazed at Char, and Char couldn’t come up with any reason to say no.

“She can keep the milk from burning,” Char said. “Karl, go get her a chair to stand on while I improvise an apron.”

First, Char turned down the heat on the eggs, since they were just starting to boil, and glanced at the clock so he wouldn’t overcook the soft-boiled ones. He then commandeered a drying cloth, poked holes in two of the corners, and used some twine to make a loop. The cloth hung awkwardly across her chest and stomach, but at least she would be protected from hot splashes.

“There’s one spoon per pot,” Char explained as Karl helped her climb onto the chair pressed up close to the stove. “Don’t mix them up.” He handed her the spoon for the oatmeal and she started stirring enthusiastically. Too enthusiastically, as some—thankfully still cool—milk immediately splashed. “Slowly! Slowly,” Char admonished. “Use technique rather than speed. Scrape the spoon along the bottom of the pot to keep anything from sticking, and along the sides to keep anything from clumping. The milk is going to get hot, but when it starts to bubble and froth, call me over. You got it?”