Page 27 of The Chef

She nodded, clutching the spoon in both hands as she stirred slowly and carefully. Char would keep an eye on her, but she seemed to get it. She put that spoon down on a spoon rest, picked up a different spoon and used it to stir the pot Char was going to use for the creamed wheat. He left her to it, beckoning Karl and Leslie over to his prep station. Char held out the mallet for Karl to take, then pointed at the waiting bag of walnuts.

“I need those crushed. Not powdered; small chunks, please. And if you hit too hard and break my counter, you’ll be doing dishes the rest of your time here,” Char added, only half joking.

Karl nodded, his eyes serious, and when he started banging at the nuts, he tapped slowly the first few times until he got the heft of the hammer. Char explained to Leslie what he wanted for the rest of the bowls before hurrying over to swap out the tray of cinnamon rolls.

By then, the six-minute eggs were done. Char hefted the pot over to the sink and put the full pot directly underneath the faucet to fill it to the brim with cold water. He waited until the pot overflowed, then dumped the water out—careful not to lose any of the eggs. He filled and dumped the pot a second time, before setting the now cooled pot down at the bottom of the sink and letting it fill a third time. He left it there and went to find a large serving bowl.

“Let them cool enough you don’t burn yourself, and then get these plattered. They’re soft-boiled, so if you break one we’llhave a mess,” Char explained to Marcus, who was standing nearby, waiting for instructions.

Marcus nodded and got to work, and Char went to make the icing for his buns. The first batch was going to be served plain, but the rest were getting a lovely coating of sweet goodness. Char combined the melted butter with powdered sugar, milk, and vanilla, stirring until he had a smooth, pourable mixture. That would go directly on the rolls when he pulled them out of the oven.

“Hey, Mister Char, sir?” Karl’s sister called.

Char hurried over and saw the milk was boiling. “Good eye,” he told her. Char measured the grits into one pot, the creamed wheat into another, and left her to stirring. The next round of cinnamon rolls was done. Char pulled them and slotted in the normal rolls Karl had made next. He iced the cinnamon rolls and then went to help set up the serving area.

Explaining how he wanted things arranged only took a few minutes, which was good because the hard-boiled eggs were done. He hauled the pot over to the sink, sticking it directly under the running faucet exactly as he had done for the soft-boiled eggs, only dumping it out when the water overflowed the edges. He filled and dumped the water three times before leaving the pot in the sink. Marcus was waiting again, so Char started explaining what he wanted done.

“These eggs are hard-boiled, so I need you to peel them,” Char explained, picking up one of the warm eggs. Karl wandered over to watch too, apparently done helping Leslie. “You don’t have to worry about a mess with these, but they’re still very delicate, so I need you to be gentle.” He demonstrated by tapping the egg against the side of the sink just hard enough to crack the shell. Using the outside edge of his thumb, careful not to scrape the white flesh with his nail, Char peeled the shelloff. “See this membrane?” he explained, holding up a thin white film that had come up with the shell. “If it gets stuck to the egg the shell won’t come off cleanly. See?” He demonstrated, gently peeling the membrane back with the edge of his thumb, revealing the unmarred egg underneath. “Any questions? Try not to rip out too much of the white flesh.”

Marcus and Karl both nodded, reaching for their own eggs to give peeling a try. Char left his denuded egg in another serving bowl and left them to it, their delicate tapping of the cooked shells against the metal of the sink a pleasant accompaniment to theblurpand bubble of the breakfast cereals starting to come together just in time for the main doors to open for the first diners.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of keeping the serving area full. The lull before the soldiers finishing morning drill was ending and Char was elbow deep in peeling even more hard-boiled eggs when Zain walked into the room. Her sheer presence drew the eye, even when she was simply walking to grab a plate, although she paused to take an appreciative sniff of the air. Heady with yeast and the sharp tang of cinnamon, Char sometimes thought the best thing about making cinnamon rolls was the way they perfumed the air, rather than how good they tasted. Zain apparently agreed, since she breathed heavily in and out a second time.

“Whoa,” Karl’s sister breathed out, awe suffusing her tone.

Zain looked up and caught sight of the girl still standing over a pot—a refill of oatmeal, since they were running low—spoon clutched in her hands.

“Girl, front and center,” Zain snapped out, pointing at the ground in front of her.

Karl’s sister gulped, and Karl sucked in a breath. It took her a second to set the spoon aside and climb down from the chair, but she went where directed.

“Name?” Zain asked.

“Em’ly,” she replied. Her head was down and her shoulders rounded, and she was shaking like a chihuahua.

“Back straight! Look me in the eye when you’re speaking to me, Emily,” Zain snapped. Emily gasped but obeyed, standing straight and looking at Zain, her golden-colored eyes wide.

Zain nodded firmly. “You’ll do. I’m Captain Patricia Zain. I’m in need of an aide. After I finish eating, report to me, and I’ll put you to more appropriate work.” She paused to wait for a response, but Emily only continued to stare. “You say, “Yes, Captain!”

“Yes, Cap Tin!”

Zain let out a snort and went to fill a plate, then headed off into the depths of the seats to sit with Captain Wong, who had come in about ten minutes earlier. Emily returned to the other side of the island and looked at Karl as if he had an answer to explain what just happened.

“I think she’s only scary on the outside?” Karl asked more than said, turning to look at Char.

Char smiled. “Yes. She’s a bit rough, but she’ll treat Emily nicely. Just do what she says, and you’ll be fine.”

Emily took off her improvised apron and handed it to Char. She was still shaking and wide-eyed, but when Zain added her dishes to the collection bin and headed in the direction of the training courtyard outside, Emily trotted after her.

Karl returned the chair to the sitting area, Char took over oatmeal stirring duties, and the morning continued.

Chapter Sixteen

CHAR WAS FINISHINGa brunoise dice on yellow onions when Fen walked into the kitchen. He hadn’t been at breakfast or lunch, and there was still a good hour until dinner. He looked tired with pronounced circles under his eyes, but he smiled when he caught sight of Char.

“Hey, Char. Can I steal you away for ten minutes to talk?”

Fen looked serious, although he was still smiling, so Char knew he didn’t want to have a conversation about that kiss. Or, at least, not only about that kiss. Something more was on his mind.

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