Page 126 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

“Not tonight it isn’t.” Her voice was firm but not unkind. “Go before we have to sanitize this whole kitchen again.”

Simone appeared at my elbow with gauze and antiseptic, guiding me to a corner of the kitchen where she could work on my hand. From there, I had a front-row seat to watch Clementine transform into someone I’d never seen before.

She was a chef in her element, completely in control of the kitchen. When one of the line cooks started to panic about the timing on the vegetables, she was there with a reassuring smile and a solution.

“Behind!” she called, carrying a pan of perfectly glazed carrots to the pass.

I watched the stiff and strained kitchen transform before my very eyes. With me out of the way, it was like everyone could breathe again. That was just a little bit of a blow to the ego.

She was running the kitchen like a well-oiled machine. Pans of food were being sent up. I could hear the din of conversation flowing from the front of the house.

From my corner, I watched Clementine grab a spoon and taste the mashed potatoes that had just come up from one of the stations. Her face scrunched slightly, a expression I recognized from our time together. Something wasn’t right.

“More salt,” she called to the cook, handing back the spoon. “And a touch more butter. These people deserve food that tastes good, not cafeteria slop.”

The cook nodded and hustled back to adjust the seasoning. I found myself oddly proud of her standards, even as it stung to watch her command my kitchen better than I had tonight.

She moved to the next station, tasting the green bean casserole with the same critical attention she would give to a dish at a Michelin-starred restaurant. “This needs more pepper,” she said. “And the onions are undercooked. Give them another few minutes.”

“But, Chef,” one of the volunteers protested. “It’s just a soup kitchen. Do we really need to go all out?”

Clementine’s head snapped up, and for a moment I saw a flash of something fierce in her green eyes. “Just a soup kitchen?” Her voice was dangerously quiet. “These are people. Human beings who deserve dignity and respect, not your scraps.” Her voice carried across the kitchen, commanding attention. “Some of these folks haven’t had a good meal in weeks. Maybe months. This might be the only hot food they get today. So yes, we’re going to make sure it’s perfect.”

The volunteer looked properly chastened. “Yes, Chef. Sorry, Chef.”

I felt something twist in my chest watching her defend those people with such passion. This was who she really was, not the naive girl I tried to convince myself she was, but a woman with fierce convictions and the backbone to stand up for them.

“Behind, behind!” she called, carrying a massive pot of gravy to the pass. Where the hell had she learned to run a kitchen like this?

“Five minutes to service!” she announced. “I need eyes on everything. Test it. Have a buddy test it. Do not bring me anything you wouldn’t serve in your own restaurant!”

“She might be better at this than you,” Simone said quietly, not looking up from bandaging my hand.

Clementine laughed at something Conroy said. I watched her encourage a nervous cook with a gentle touch on his shoulder. She was bossy but she smiled when she did it. And that ridiculous yellow top literally made her look like a ball of sunshine moving around the kitchen.

“Yeah,” I said, surprising myself by smiling for the first time in days. “I think so.”

She was a diamond under pressure, brilliant and unbreakable. I had been too wrapped up in my own bullshit to see it before. This was what she was meant to do and who she was meant to be. Not my apprentice. Not even my equal.

My better.

“Rhett,” Simone said, testing the tightness of the bandage. “You know you’re an idiot, right?”

“Yeah,” I said, still watching Clementine command the room with effortless grace. “I’m starting to figure that out.”

“I think this is good. You should probably have an actual doctor look at it, but I don’t think it’s deep enough for stitches.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’ve had worse.”

“Put on a glove and get back in there,” she said with a pat on my back. “And quit being an asshole to everyone.”