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“Eddie! You gotta pay attention!” one of the line cooks howled.
Rachelle waved her hand playfully and smiled at him. “Come on, guys. We all make mistakes. Give Eddie a break.” She then pointed at him, feigning anger, and said, “But if you make another mistake, Edward, you’re out of here!”
Eddie raised his hands in mock surrender and walked back out of the kitchen. As he left, the line cooks teased Rachelle.
“He can do no wrong in Chef Rachelle’s eyes!” Benny said, waving his spatula.
“Chef Rachelle’s in love!” Paul sang.
Rachelle swatted Paul on the shoulder. “You all had better watch it. Someone has to clean the walk-in freezer tonight, and it isn’t going to be me.”
This shut them up immediately.
When the final table was cleared at ten forty-two that night, the entire staff cheered. Rachelle removed her chef hat and threw it in the air, pretending it was graduation day. Paul and Benny hugged one another, and the bartender out front began to pour everyone shots. This was their custom after particularly heavy nights. They liked to grab a drink and celebrate their exhaustion.
Rachelle hurried into the dining area to grab her shot. Paul, Benny, and the other line cooks were hot on her heels. The servers were already lined up, their shots raised.
Just before the call to take them all together, the restaurant owner, Frank, stepped inside, bringing with him a sharp draft from the street outside. He wore an expensive coat and dark glasses, and he didn’t smile. He hadn’t been there all night; he couldn’t comprehend the glory they all felt. They’d all come out on the other side of a disaster, earning his money, while he sat silently.
“Evening, Frank,” one of the servers said.
“Evening, everyone.” Frank walked around to the other side of the bar and stood beside the bartender. “Go ahead. Take your shots.”
Everyone glanced at one another nervously. There was an air of panic. Rachelle knocked her shot back and held her shot glass with two hands, watching Frank expectantly. He looked at them with an air of expectation. Did this have anything to do with how strangely Matthew acted earlier?
“I have an announcement to make,” Frank declared. “It’s very, very good news.”
Rachelle’s stomach seized. Good luck! On St. Patrick’s Day? Why did she still feel like the bottom was about to drop out on them?
“Starting today, we’ll be closed,” Frank said, “for about two weeks. That means that after a long, cold winter, you all can thaw out a little and regroup.”
Rachelle frowned. Time off was not what many of them needed. They worked paycheck to paycheck to pay the bills in Nantucket. Although Rachelle shared her apartment with her sister, Darcy, and had a higher salary than everyone in the kitchen except Matthew and Frank, she struggled, too. That was the nature of having no real financial backing, of crawling your way up the kitchen ladder.
And she would never, in a million years, ask her mother or grandparents for monetary assistance. Her grandparents were loaded, but Grandpa Roland had instilled the value of hard work. She wanted to earn her status. It felt like the American way.
“On April 1st, we will reopen with a variety of changes,” Frank continued. “After many years of working here, Chef Matthew is leaving us, which gives us space for a brand-new head chef. How about that?”
Rachelle’s heart seized. If she wasn’t mistaken, Frank’s eyes flickered toward her, assessing her and pinning her down. Rachelle was second-in-command in the kitchen—beneath Chef Matthew. Did that mean she was up to bat for the head chef?
Although it was hard to believe, it wasn’t unheard of. Women had struggled notoriously for generations in the culinary world, but things were changing. Women were given chances at younger and younger ages. Though she was only twenty-four years old, Rachelle knew she could go head-to-head with some of the better chefs across the Eastern Seaboard. She was ready for this challenge.
Her goals in the culinary world kept her awake at night. All she wanted to do was prove herself.
“That’s all I can say for now,” Frank said, rapping his knuckles on the counter. “Remember to clean up tonight. And have a great time off work! Rest up! You’ll need it for the changes we have in store.”
He winked. Was he winking at Rachelle? She couldn’t tell.
Frank disappeared into Chef Matthew’s office, leaving everyone heavy with questions. More shots were poured. Rachelle got herself a glass of white wine, feeling shaky after such a difficult shift and the prospect of even more responsibilities. Eddie walked over to her with a beer and clinked his bottle against her glass.
“What do you think of all that?” Eddie asked.
Rachelle raised her eyebrows. “I’ll miss Chef Matthew.”
“No, you won’t,” Eddie teased. “Everyone heard him being cruel to you the past year.”
Rachelle’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “It’s all a part of the gig. Kitchens are tough. You have to have thick skin.”
“And I respect that,” Eddie said, sipping his beer. “What would you do if Frank said it was you?”
