Page 13 of Stroke of Luck

“That never happened,” Rachelle said, pointing at the screen. “I haven’t made any errors in the past few weeks. Not one.”

But Rachelle, Darcy, Estelle, and Sam watched with rapt attention as the show illustrated a few of Rachelle’s “accidents,” alongside Diana’s clear rage at being dealt “this particular sous chef.”

In another scene, Diana March is interviewed behind Chef Matthew’s old desk. She explained, “I like to run a tight ship in a restaurant like this. Those who can’t get behind me have to be let go.” She glowered at the screen unkindly. “Rachelle has marvelous talents. She is truly creative in the kitchen. But sometimes, I can’t help but think she’s distracted.”

Rachelle’s jaw dropped with surprise. “Distracted?”

Sam rubbed her upper back. “Why don’t we turn this off? It’s obviously all made up.”

But just then, the camera panned across the dining room of The Clam Factory, following Eddie the server around. It was no surprise that the camera loved Eddie. He strutted around like he owned the place, his chestnut hair bouncing, his smile flashing. He paused at tables to refill wine and chat with customers, lit candles with a flick of his lighter, and suggested dessert to happy guests, many of whom were pleased as punch to be filmed—and wind up on television.

And then, horribly, Rachelle watched as the camera continued to follow Eddie to the kitchen, where he leaned against the walk-in fridge and smiled flirtatiously at Rachelle. Rachelle smiled foolishly back and curled her hair around her finger like a teenage girl.

The screen returned to Chef Diana, who said, “I have a hunch about Eddie. He’s the kind of guy who can mess things up around here. If you get what I mean.”

Then the camera was in front of Eddie. He looked like a young Brad Pitt or an early ER George Clooney. He had all the charisma meant for television.

“Are you dating anyone?” the narrator asked Eddie.

Eddie draped his head back with laughter. “I don’t kiss and tell. Certainly not on television.”

It was the perfect response. Rachelle could feel thousands of women across the United States suddenly falling in love with him.

When the show cut to commercial, Rachelle turned off the volume and got up to refill her wine. Her grandmother, mother, and Darcy watched her quietly.

“What?” Rachelle demanded.

Darcy cocked her eyebrow. “You’ve talked about Eddie before, I think?”

Rachelle rolled her eyes and waved the cork from the wine bottle toward the screen. “They’re inventing everything for the show. I don’t have feelings for that guy. He’s super flirty with me and with everyone else, too.”

Even as she said it, her heart banged against her chest. Had the television crew captured something between them? Something real?

“He’s super cute,” Estelle said, her eyes alight.

“Isn’t it?” Sam said.

“Grandma. Mom. Stop thinking about my future children,” Rachelle joked. “I’m not going to date Eddie the server.”

Before the night's end, four thousand people followed Rachelle on social media. Rachelle watched the numbers flow in from the couch, the bathroom as she brushed her teeth, and then from bed. Out of curiosity, she checked Eddie’s social media account to see that he had already doubled her number of followers. Had they all come from the show?

Out of solidarity, Rachelle followed Eddie on social media. After all, they were both on the brink of something. Fame, maybe. Or embarrassment. Or shame. Besides, they were friends, sort of. They’d hardly hung out outside of work on purpose. But that would ultimately change, especially after the TV show changed their lives.

The next morning, Rachelle awoke to numerous articles titled something like: “Break-Out Sous Chef Star Follows Handsome Server on Social Media. Is Their Romance Alive?”

Rachelle’s heart pounded. She jumped into the shower, scrubbing herself clean, wondering what Eddie was thinking. Probably, he thought she was a fool. She’d never been so embarrassed to have followed someone on social media.

When she went into the kitchen, she found Darcy grinning at her over her coffee mug.

“Stop!” Rachelle cried, rolling her eyes.

“What?”

“You want to make fun of me because I followed Eddie on social media,” Rachelle said, pouring herself some coffee and collapsing on a kitchen stool. “Just like the rest of the world.”

“No way. I want to make fun of the fact that five different blogs wrote about you following someone on social media,” Darcy said. “That’s wild.”

Rachelle wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know what to make of it.”

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