Page 10 of Wassailing We Will Go
Root & Stock is an upscale dining establishment, not an East Side Mario’s. No shade to East Side Mario’s, but like…different vibe, you know? says Daniel, exasperated. He runs his hand through his thick hair, ruffling it to perfection. It’s a tell that he’s trying to impress, if you know Daniel…and I do. And after a year in the trenches with him, Wendy, Chef, and Charlie, it’s anyone’s call for a game of poker. We know all each other’s quirks: Wendy fidgets with the corkscrew when she’s dealing with frustrating customers. Chef drinks extra coffee at all hours when she’s nervous. Charlie only plays solitaire on his iPhone 3G (yes, three—it’s honestly incredible that it still works) when he and Gwen are having a fight about something. And Daniel only does his signature hair ruffle when he is about to turn on the charm.
Do the mushroom first, says Chef, and she and Daniel distribute the little ceramic cups, each with a miniature roll accompanying it. We toast our first shots of soup and knock them back with a bread chaser, and oh my goodness, Chef really has outdone herself. I didn’t even think I liked mushroom soup, but with the buttery bread, it’s perfection. Beside me, Harrison swears aloud through a mouthful of bread.
Sorry, but this is so good. Well done, Chef. I want, like, fourteen more of these, he says, pointing to his now-empty bowl.
Honestly, if people don’t drop the f-bomb when they try my food, what am I even doing? she laughs.
Chef, this is why we pay you the big…well, the medium bucks, Daniel corrects himself. The industry-average bucks.
We go through the other soups, and they’re all just as good: the vegan chilli with the cornbread is the most filling, a satisfying middle, and the brie squash soup with the cranberry brioche roll is a perfect finish. Chef has knocked this one out of the park, and if we can get the marketing rolling on this, we are going to have lineups out the door.
Daniel, can you stage some picture of this ASAP? I say. We need to get this on our Instagram. People will love this.
Chef and I can do that on Wednesday before we open, he confirms.
Right, I’m hearing: another round of soup shots later this week? says Harrison, which earns a laugh from Chef.
Handsome, you can have soup every day, as far as I’m concerned. Is it official, then? Are you going to be helping Charlie for the next little while?
Or, you know, forever? asks Daniel. I raise my eyebrows at him, which he ignores. A round of soup between colleagues has made everyone awfully flirty all of a sudden.
Harrison laughs. If I get to have Chef’s soup shooters every day, then yes, absolutely, he says, then looks back at me. But I think we were about to do a tour?
Let’s go back to the office to discuss some specifics first, I add. This entire morning has been so bizarre, we haven’t even brought up things like, you know, salary, work hours, or benefits. It’s very possible we can’t even afford Harrison, no matter how much he likes Chef’s soups.
Come back anytime. Chef winks. As we leave, I hear her and Daniel whispering very loudly—I catch something about tight shirts and filling out jeans and try to move Harrison along more quickly before Denise needs to be called in on HR business.
We walk briefly back outside to re-enter the office at the back of the building, and I motion toward one of the chairs.
Well, you’re clearly a hit around here, I say, dropping into my own seat.
He slides into the wheeled chair across from me, and his eyes catch on a blue folder on Daniel’s desk.
Hey, there’s my CV. Here you go. I went through all that trouble of printing it, after all. He hands it to me, and I flip it open: early years spent at Coppins’ Cider, which I assume is his grandfather’s cidery. A little cheeky of him to list that he worked there for eight years when that has him starting his career at ten years old, if I’ve done my math correctly, but I let it slide. Two years at a coffee shop in Melbourne while he was studying, a few years around some different cideries around the UK, and then a few more in the North of France, with a brief foray into the wine industry at one point. I see that he moved to Canada this past spring, around the same time I took over the cidery, working in the Okanagan region in BC. I look up from the paper over to Harrison, and while he’s smiling, his legs are bouncing in his chair. I can’t decide if it’s nerves on his part or whether he always has this much energy.
You have amazing experience, I’ll grant you, I say. The education section just says that he spent two years studying science at the University of Melbourne, but not that he finished. I hesitate, but it’s a reasonable question for an employer to ask. It’s not a deal breaker by any means, but I am just curious—why didn’t you finish your bachelor’s?
For a moment, he looks down at his hands, which is unlike him. That’s…when Grandad passed, and my parents sold his cidery, he says. He looks like he wants to say more on the subject but clears his throat and continues. After that, I couldn’t stay at school. I decided to go find another place like it and landed in the UK. After getting this out, he looks a little more settled and looks back up at me. And thus began an illustrious cider-making career, learning from greats all over the world.
I can still see that he’s a little nervous and now also a little sad, but I am horrible in these situations. It seems like I should pat his arm or…something. I am historically bad at consoling people. Thankfully, I have a great team: whenever an employee is having a breakdown in the walk-in refrigerator, both Chef and Daniel always know just what to say, having been there before. Wendy is empathetic to a fault and can pick up on my mood before I can, and she’s equally amazing with her team.
I…do my best. Say something nice, Kate.
I, um, hope you’ll like it here, I say. For as long as you want to stay with us.
So, you’re keeping me?
That sure is one way of saying that. I cough and continue. If I can afford you, to be honest. We never discussed what that would look like. How much did you make in BC?
He tells me, and I exhale deeply. It’s a lot more than the going rate around these parts.
I…uh, the cost of living is lower here, I say. And this is only an assistant position, for now. I give him a counteroffer, the best I can do. I had the number budgeted before I ever met Harrison, and I unfortunately cannot pay much more, regardless of years of experience…or added aesthetic value.
Of course, if you were to take over from Charlie someday, it would be much more, I add. This rate is for a seasonal worker. I know it’s below what you expected, and—
I’ll take it, he says. Like I said, before I met you, I was going to spend the next six weeks watching every single episode of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives, so this is still a significant upgrade from my previous plans.
I’m happy to hear it. I smile. But that brings me to my next point. Unfortunately, with your living situation, I will need you to sign a contract that has a no-competition clause. Obviously, I don’t care if you help your friends around their cidery in your off hours, but you can’t share about anything we’re doing here. Some aspects of our business are meant to stay within these walls.
