Romance Impossible(17)

Chef let out an irritated sigh, and I realized that was why he'd been so tense all morning. He must have been expecting this new hire for ages. I braced myself.

"It's fine," said a voice that sounded remarkably like Chef Dylan's, and somehow coming out of his mouth. "Just don't let it happen again."

I gaped at him. Was this real life? Could it possibly be? Granted, there were certainly parts of Chef's personality I didn't know that well yet, but...

It's fine? On what planet, in what parallel universe, would any version of Chef Maxwell Dylan ever say that to one of his employees who was inexplicably several hours late?

Well, okay, maybe there was a backstory I didn't know about. Maybe there was a train delay, or the kid's car had broken down, or there was a death in the family. If I tried really hard, I could almost picture Chef being a little sympathetic about something like that.

I breathed a little easier. The world was starting to make sense again. This had to be an extenuating circumstance. But something about the kid's overall demeanor, a sort of practiced sheepishness, that told me he was used to apologizing.

Whatever. I shook my head, turning back to the dish I was preparing. I had to stop worrying about how Chef was treating other people, and focus on my own work.

As if on cue, Chef Dylan turned to me, presenting the kid. "Jillian, this is Aiden. Aiden, Jillian, my sauté chef. She's the only other employee on staff at the moment. We're working on filling out the rest of the ranks. Jillian, Aiden's going to be my head server."

Head server? Really?

I tried not to let my incredulity show. "That's fantastic," I said, extending my hand to shake Aiden's. "It's very nice to meet you."

"Jillian, I'd appreciate it very much if you'd go over the menu with him. And Aiden, make sure to taste everything. I'm afraid some of it's gone a little cold." Here, he made a slight face. "But you should still get the gist of it."

Simultaneously training a new server, and testing my knowledge of his food. Quite clever, Chef. But I was ready. I rattled off each dish as I pointed to it, explaining it using enough of my own words that Chef Dylan knew I wasn't just parroting everything back. Aiden nodded, his eyes growing bigger and bigger as I went on. When we got to the squid ink pasta Alfredo, I could see the aversion on his face, and it almost made me chuckle. Black pasta? He'd never seen such a thing in his life. But when he got up the courage to try a piece, his whole demeanor changed.

"This is awesome," he said, picking up the plate. "Is it okay if I finish this? I didn't get a chance to have breakfast today."

My jaw nearly dropped, but I looked over at Chef, and he was nodding. "Sure, all right. Just don't make a habit of grazing in the kitchen."

Holy crap. Did this kid have any idea who he was talking to?

More importantly, how did he get this job?

Maybe it was unfair, but I was getting the distinct impression that Aiden had never been a head server anywhere. He might not have even been a server, period. Hell, he might not have ever had a job. I mean - he was nice enough, and it seemed like he was trying to be polite, but he was so uncomfortable and nervous and baffled by everything that was happening. I felt bad for him. At the same time, I worried about the prospect of working with someone like him, in an environment like this. It certainly wouldn't be the first time I had dealt with an inexperienced coworker, but with someone like Chef Dylan in charge, I knew the kitchen and dining room would need to run like a well-oiled machine. Otherwise, heads were gonna roll. And clearly, for whatever reason, Aiden wasn't someone whose head Chef seemed likely to knock off.#p#分页标题#e#

It was certainly an uncharitable thought to have about a brand new coworker. I better not end up carrying your dead weight or taking flack for your screw-ups, buddy. At least, to my credit, I didn't show it.

After he was done with his impromptu meal, Chef had Aiden recite back what he'd learned about the dishes. At first it was rote, until Chef encouraged him to add in his own opinions of the dishes. Unfortunately, most of those simply boiled down to "it's really good." But Chef Dylan seemed satisfied, so we moved on.

The rest of the day was a flurry of activity, and I barely had time to think about my own issues, let alone Aiden. But when he finally left, and a strange quiet calm descended over the kitchen, I realized how much his mere presence had been stressing me out.

"So," said Chef, picking up the dishes from our last menu experiment and piling them into the sink. "What do you think of him?"

He was working hard to keep his face neutral, but I could tell how annoyed he was. What did he want me to say? Did he want validation for his hiring decision, or did he want me to acknowledge the obvious problems? I cleared my throat.