Page 85 of Small Town Firsts
Kira’s fingers went white around her clipboard. “I have interviews coming in.”
“Are they in the kitchen?”
“I’m interviewing chefs,” she said tightly.
“We’ll be out of your hair quickly,Hina. I bet you didn’t eat anything more than yogurt, did you?”
I shot a look at Kain. Already a nickname for her?
Kira’s eyebrow spiked. “With raspberries.”
Kain held out his hand to her, this time like a damn Disney prince. “That’s not nearly enough for someone as gorgeous as you.”
“Watch it,” I muttered.
Kira looked at his hand, then inclined her head but didn’t take it. Again. “Fine. Show me what you’ve got, Mr. N’ai.”
His smile stretched wide. “I’ll win you over.”
“We’ll see.” She tucked her clipboard and iPad under the bar then led the way to the kitchen.
I pulled up the back of the line, wondering what kind of punishment I’d be in for after this mess.
The kitchen was large and as industrial as the front end of the taproom. But where everything in the main dining room wasdark stained wood and wrought iron, the kitchen was stainless steel and bright. Cork floors instead of wood kept the warm tones, but were much easier on the joints. Not to mention easier to clean.
Butcher block counters made up the perimeter with various prep stations in gleaming steel. A massive restaurant grade oven took up most of one wall with a brick oven taking up the rest. The ceiling was a web of skylights and ventilation tracks.
Kain muttered in Hawaiian as he walked around. His big hands slid across the butcher block with reverence. “Who built this?”
Beckett sat on one of the few stools at one of the prep stations. This kitchen was set up for movement, not sitting. “My brother worked with a local guy.”
“Incredible,” he murmured as he moved to the massive double doored fridge and opened both.
Kira stood off to the side, her arms folded and face a mask of cool disinterest. I caught her glancing at her watch with a tightening of her jaw.
Kain better make her the best breakfast in the history of breakfasts or I’d pay for this forever.
An armful of meats, cheeses, and crate of eggs made up his first trip.
He raided the pantry for vegetables, and after searching through a few cupboards, he found a closet of spices. Satisfied, he muttered in a mix of English and Hawaiian as he piled all the food on the stainless steel table and started gathering his tools. He reached for pans, swore, and rearranged the kitchen as he cooked.
Kira opened her mouth to stop him, but then snapped her teeth shut with a huff.
Kain spun a huge bowl as he broke eggs with a scary efficiency. He moved to the butcher block near the stove andchopped onions, peppers in bright red and green, then diced up potatoes before tossing them all on a baking sheet with a slew of spices. Then he hacked apart a pineapple with a damn cleaver, for God’s sake.
All the while, he listed off things the kitchen still needed.
Instead of telling him to fuck off, Kira took out her phone and started making notes.
I knew my friend could cook, but not like this.
The potatoes went into the oven, the pineapple on the grill, and then he turned his back to me as he went to town with eggs and more peppers on the cooktop. He tasted, swore, rearranged more tools. All the while, a towel danced at his hip as he hustled around the space to some internal song.
Ten minutes later we all had huge bowls of fluffy scrambled eggs and crispy potatoes with a hint of fire tempered by sweet, grilled pineapple.
Kain shoved a healthy forkful in his mouth before any of us. “That’s the stuff. Well, it would be better if you had a good hot sauce. I’ll tell you where to order.”
“You’ll tell me where?” Kira stood there with her bowl, gobsmacked.
