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I shook my head.
The fight with Laurel had stirred up the same emotions I had felt after breaking up with Sarah, but to a lesser extent. I hadn’t been investing as much time in our relationship yet, and as far as I was aware, Laurel Pennington was entirely unaware of what I had gone through to get to this point in my life. I wanted to keep it that way.
At least, for now.
Laurel Pennington is just an employee, no matter how much she reminds me of Sarah. I had to take the time to remind myself of that; otherwise, I could see myself trying to start a relationship with her when I wasn’t ready to take that plunge again.
I finished penning down the chords I had already come up with and continued to strum my guitar for a while. The finished song was about five sheets worth of lyrics, but we’d often had fans ask for longer songs. I didn’t oblige often. This time, they’d get what they wanted. There were still gaps where I’d jotted down a melody but didn’t have words. Most of the chorus was missing still. Lyrics weren’t really my strength.
If I still hadn’t thought of anything, I’d scan what I had and briefly record myself humming the melody for the verses and chorus and send it to the group. Then they could fill in the gaps.
Over the last hour, I’d felt a growing need to talk to Laurel. Starting her employment with a fight about the food would not be productive, and it wasn’t sitting well with me. At the very least, perhaps she would agree to sit down and make the food for me and Rick before going all gung-ho and serving it for the rest of the guests.
I found her in the kitchen, rummaging around in the cabinets and organizing them in a way that would be more productive for her methods of cooking.
“Hello,” she said when she noticed me. Her face immediately creased with tension. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in while I was rearranging… that’s all right, isn’t it?”
I couldn’t help but hear the small hint of sarcasm in her voice. I only nodded.
“You’re the chef. If you need to rearrange your kitchen every week to make it work, then that’s what you do,” I said. I cleared my throat. “About earlier… I wanted to see if you would be willing to make the food for me and Rick first. There’s a process we usually go through before we add something to the menu, and it’s going to be difficult to get anyone to pick the new thing if it hasn’t been tested yet.”
“What is there to test?” Laurel raised an eyebrow. “Is it the taste? Or my skills?”
“It’s the taste. There’s a certain expectation here, and I’d hate for more than a certain percentage of the food to be unappealing to the majority of the customers. Though, more have been asking for a chicken dish to be added to the menu.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Unappealing? Okay wow, thanks.” She shook her head. Clearly my words hadn’t properly communicated what I was going for. I frowned as I waited for her to respond. She took a deep breath, clearly trying to not get angry. “I’m glad to see that at least there is a process to go through for adding things to the menu,” she said. “Though, I must say that there are probably people who come who are ready for something that isn’t so simple or bland. Some of these sandwich options on the menu sound like MREs.”
My stomach tightened, and my fists clenched. Either she had figured it out on her own, or I had to talk to Rick about sharing that because I didn’t like to let new people know what I had gone through. My only consolation was that she wasn’t asking to hear war stories.
“And what’s wrong with MREs?”
I managed to get the question out between gritted teeth. If she hadn’t already figured out that I had been in the military, then this question and my tone probably clued her in.
“There’s nothing wrong with them in their intended context. As emergency rations in places where fresh food is scarce. But they’re so… awful compared to the freshly made item,” she stated simply. “I had to eat a few in college, and I far prefer to make it all fresh than out of a bag. There’s only so much that a spice packet can do when the texture of the noodles has been reduced to mush or a roast beef has dried out.”
“Perhaps it’s more about the comfort and ease of eating than the fact that they’re not everyone’s favorite meal,” I managed to say. “Not everything has to be the freshest thing around for it to be food. And not everyone enjoys trying to make themselves fancy meals.”
“I didn’t say they had to be fancy,” she corrected me. “Just tasty.”
“It’s hard enough serving my country when I’m faced with danger, but to pick on the food I had to eat is going too far!”
Her jaw dropped. “I’m not picking on the food, I’m just saying that your guests can have fresh —"
I couldn’t hold it back any further.
“You’re nothing but a restaurant chef, Laurel Pennington. This should have been an easy job for a few months. But if you can’t get your act together and understand that this is a different kind of restaurant, I would much rather cook for the lodge myself!”
“Get my act together? You’re literally throwing a fit because I suggested serving food that tasted better than a dehydrated packet.”
“I don’t need this right now,” I nearly yelled.
A moment of silence passed between us.
Laurel stood rigid, her lips pinched together, eyes drilling into me. When she spoke, her voice was quiet and furious. “Well, forgive me for assuming that you had hired me because you were in a pinch,” she snapped before walking through the other kitchen door into the dark woods.
Chapter eleven
Laurel
