Page 26 of A Perfect Match
Now comes the next item on my to-do list: interviewing potential new staff.
This is the part that makes me anxious.Likereallyanxious.I need a good crew, and I need to train them up right.Finding good help is no small feat, so I’m spending a lot of time with each applicant who steps through my door that afternoon.Some are clear no’s, like the one guy who admitted halfway through the interview that he’d thought this was for a position as a taste tester.Some are maybes—part timers who seem enthusiastic—and then I’ve got a few stand-out applicants who would be an immediate yes except I need to take my time and weigh my options.
After a few grueling hours of interviewing strangers in front of cameras, I’m whooped.It’s almost dinner time, and my stomach is growling.I convince Pat to wrap early—I need a proper evening of rest, dammit—and retire to the kitchen.
My sanctuary.
There isn’t much in here in the way of food yet, but I do have a few staples that I picked up at the local wholesale place just to start toying with ideas.It felt like a braised short rib taco sort of night when I was at the store earlier, so I check on the meat simmering on the stovetop.It’s been going for almost three hours, and I’m dying to test my first official meal in the new place.I crank the hood, pleased with how it sucks out the rising steam from the pot.This kitchen is fucking awesome—and frighteningly expensive.I’ve done the mental math on how many steaks I need to sell to pay it off, and my calculations tell me it’ll take at least three years.
The smells coming from the pot already tell me this is going to be a banger.I replace the lid and wander to my stock room to grab some cleaning rags.While I’m back there, I hear a voice.
Specifically, Piper's voice.Singing what sounds like some kind of made-up tune.I pause, straining to hear better.
"My name is Piper and I’m doing piping," she croons in a surprisingly melodic voice." Making tiny roses that are oh-so-striking..."
Oh my God.Does she sing this every time she works?This is too cute and I must hear more.I move quietly through the storage room to the portal between our shops, the still-jagged but human-sized opening leading to her back room.Through the opening, I can see Piper with her back to me, piping something onto a tray of marshmallows, completely in her own world as she continues her song.
"Squeeze the bag and twist around, make each petal tight.Ten trillion more trays to go before I sleep tonight..."
I can't help myself.I step through the hole and clear my throat."Grammy-worthy."
Piper screams—like, actually screams—at the same time she squeezes the piping bag.It squirts and hits the wall, leaving a trail of pink buttercream sliding down the clean surface.Her eyes are wide, hand clutching her chest like she's having a heart attack.
"What the actual fuck?"
I burst out laughing, which only makes her angrier.Her face turns the exact shade of the buttercream now oozing down her wall.
"You!"She grabs the nearest thing—a kitchen towel—and throws it at my face.I catch it easily.She’s breathing hard, like she's run a mile.“God, I hate when people do that."
"Do what?Walk through doorways?"
"Startle me."She runs her hands through her hair, messing up the bun."My brothers used to hide around corners just to hear me scream.Assholes thought it was hilarious."
I lean against the remnants of the wall."Well, itwaskinda funny.”
Her eyes narrow."I'm glad my trauma amuses you."
"Trauma?"
"Four older brothers, Kru.Four.Do you know what it's like to constantly be on edge because at any moment, someone might leap out at you?"
"No, but I'm beginning to understand why you're so tense all the time."
She crosses her arms."I am not tense."
I give her a pointed look, and she sighs, shoulders dropping slightly.
"Fine.Maybe a little.But it's not just the startle factor.It's…" She gestures vaguely around her shop."Everything.Building a business from scratch isn't exactly relaxing."
"Tell me about it."I drink her in from head to toe, appreciating the smear of buttercream on her cheek, the wispy fly-aways escaping her cute messy bun."Though I noticed you managed to keep your shirt on for the entire work day.That counts for something.”
“Unlike you,” she counters.
“I took mine off willingly.Yours was ripped off by a bush.”
Her cheeks flush, and she looks away."That was…unfortunate."
"I wouldn't say that."
