Romance Impossible(10)

Forgetting where I was for a moment, I lifted the plate of scallops to my face and inhaled their scent. Mild and sweet - they were as fresh as fresh gets.

"I got them from a fisherman just this morning," Chef Dylan said, snapping me back to reality. "Lovely, aren't they?"

Nodding, I set them back down. "What are they for?"

"Whatever you like," he said. "I want you to create a special. A main dish. Something worthy of this neighborhood, this restaurant. I want you to make me something I'd be proud to serve here."#p#分页标题#e#

I surveyed the table again, feeling slightly light-headed. Now that I'd fully admitted to myself that I needed this job, the nervousness was setting in. And I hadn't even let myself think about the fact that I'd cooked for him once already, and been weighed, measured and found wanting.

This was different. I had the best possible ingredients at my disposal. Nothing was holding me back.

My eyes darted across the table. There was a nice spring salad mix, yes, good. Some angel hair pasta. Lemons. I picked one up, weighed it in my hand, lifted it to my nose. The sharp, fresh scent made my mouth water.

A plan was forming in my head. I filled a large pot in the sink and set it on to boil. Moving quickly now, I took a lemon and scrubbed it clean. After patting it dry with a paper towel, I chose a microplane grater and quickly worked it over, until I had a few tablespoons of bright yellow zest. I set it by the stove, along with some fresh herbs and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and some butter, making a little mise en place. I forced myself not to turn around and look at Chef Dylan.

After I had rinsed the scallops and patted them dry, I melted some butter in a sauté pan until it started to bubble. Once it was ready, I placed the scallops carefully, mindful not to crowd them. My biggest problem as a culinary student was my impatience. Especially in the hectic environment of a commercial kitchen, it was always tempting to rush things or cut corners, but it never turned out well.

When I turned around to get the pasta, I saw Chef Dylan standing in the corner with his arms crossed, watching. His eyes followed me from the prep table back to the stove, as I dumped the pasta and stirred it gently. It was time to turn the scallops. Their savory-sweet aroma was just starting to fill the air.

I could feel Chef Dylan's eyes on me, still, as I minced some garlic and dropped it into a cruet. Some fresh juice from the lemon, a little of the zest, olive oil, salt and pepper completed my fresh dressing for the salad greens. I transferred the scallops to a plate and moved the pan off the hot burner for a moment, taking a deep breath.

I allowed myself another glance at Chef Dylan. His face betrayed nothing, but he was chewing lightly on the side of his thumb. He was watching me like I was a championship tennis match. Quiet, unnervingly so, and riveted. Suddenly, I was acutely aware that I must look a mess. I'd always envied those female cooks who could keep themselves looking fresh and glamorous in the heat and stress of the kitchen. Me, I started melting as soon as I switched on a stove. Typically I'd wear minimal makeup to work, but today I was in interview mode, and I probably had mascara dripping down my face.

But that didn't matter right now. I pulled out a strand of pasta and tested it - almost done. It was time to put the pan back on the heat and make the sauce. A generous splash of wine, the rest of the garlic and lemon zest, a handful of herbs and another knob of butter, then all I had to do was let it reduce while I drained the pasta. Once I got back from the sink, I tasted the sauce and added a little salt.

I felt a premature sense of accomplishment as I tossed the scallops in the pan with the sauce, then added the pasta and let it all soak up for a moment while I plated the salad. It was way too soon to be proud of myself. Chef Dylan was getting a fork. My fate was not yet sealed.

I drizzled the salad greens with dressing and plated the pasta with some scallops. Chef Dylan was hovering. I spooned some of the pan sauce over the pasta, then wiped the edge of the plate with a linen napkin. The smell of his cologne filled my nostrils again, mixed with the warm scent of his skin.

"Hm," was all he said, as I stepped back and let him close in on the plate. After staring at it for a moment, he speared one of the golden-brown scallops on his fork and raised it to his mouth.#p#分页标题#e#

My heart pounded in my ears.

He chewed for a moment, swallowed, then went back to twirl some pasta onto his fork. That had to be a good sign, right? After he'd finished that mouthful, he went back for another scallop or two, then dug into the salad. I stood there watching him eat, for what felt like an eternity.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, wiping his mouth on the edge of his sleeve and setting the fork down. "I forgot where I was for a moment there. Haven't eaten since breakfast."