I manage to prepare everything for the lunch rush and do an inventory on the walkout. Going through the last of my checklist, Mistee, one of the other chefs, walks in and says, “Oh my God, Ever, I totally thought you were taking today off.”

“I was, and Ross wanted me to, but you know me, this is where I’m happiest.”

She smiles, knowing this really is how I am, even if the peace I get at home hadn’t been shattered into a billion annoying pieces. “Well, happy birthday.” She kisses me on the cheek. Mistee is very touchy feely, but I don’t mind, because inside and out, she is a great person. “What do you say, before lunch…one shot for your birthday?” she asks.

“Uhhhh, no way. Ross would fire us!”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

“Know what?” Ross asks, walking into the kitchen.

“Nothing.” I quickly bounce back and cover our asses as he hangs his stuff up.

“I thought you were taking today off?” he asks me.

“I was, but…here I am.” He doesn’t ask further. Ross doesn’t like to get into the dramatics of our lives; as long as we can run the kitchen to his exacting standards, he stays happy. Going over what is planned for today and everything I did this morning, he asks me, “Are you ready to step up today?”

“I am,” I tell him, knowing exactly what he means.

“Good, you’re gonna do great.”

“Thanks,” I smile at him excited to run the kitchen for the first time…by myself. I’ve been working here since I was nineteen. Now as an executive chef, Ross says I’m ready to start handling more responsibility, so what better time to start than on my birthday? I knew this was coming…just not today.

I stay in my zone as the beginning of our lunch rush starts, and an enthusiasm fills the kitchen that motivates me. It gives me a high; this is what I live for. The orders start to come in and I call each one out to the staff, letting them know exactly what I need.

The vibrant ring of, “Yes, Chef,” resounds through the air, and I’m so happy that I came to work today – this is what I needed, this is my relief. I knew my day to be in charge of a kitchen was coming and couldn’t be happier to finally be experiencing it. Cooking is my release from the torment of grief that is my life without my best friend, my mom, in it.

Taking my time, putting my heart and soul into every order, is rewarding. Each plate that I send out to our guests is my best. The hours fly by like minutes. “Chef?” the restaurant manager, Trent, calls out, popping his head in. “Your presence is being requested.”

I swallow hard as the vibe in the kitchen suddenly diminishes, and I look around at the team, knowing that no matter what the news, good or bad, we will keep striving forward. “Mistee, to the front.”

“Yes, Chef,” she’s quick to respond, and I hope Ross is okay with my decision. He’s told me that when I am in charge to make whatever decisions I see best to keep things running smoothly. Despite Mistee acting like a maniac half the time, she’s great at her job, so I’m confident she’ll hold down the fort perfectly.

I wipe my hands dry and look at Trent as he leads me to the table. There are two guys sitting at it, and walking up, Trent stops, nods, then goes back to the front of the house, leaving me on my own.

“Gentlemen…” I can barely choke out the word as I lock eyes on the arrogant guy from this morning looking up at me with a smug expression on his face. “How is everything?” I force myself to proceed, acting as though I don’t know him and things are completely normal.

Taking his fork, he pokes the inside of his chicken and says, “Is this Havarti cheese?”

“Yes, sir.” I have a hard time calling his imperious ass “sir.” “It is.”

“I asked for Swiss specifically inside of my chicken.”

“My apologies. I’ll remake your meal right away.”

“Also, the presentation of this is quite poorly smashed together, wouldn’t you agree?”

I look at his stuffed chicken and although he has taken a few bites, it looks plump and good to me. “I’m very sorry, we’ll remake your food, right away.”

“Thanks, with Swiss cheese and make sure the next one is not all smashed.” He gives me a grin as I lift his plate, getting a little too close to his brazenness for my liking.

Walking back to the kitchen, Trent appears, following me like white on rice, and Ross is waiting too as I step foot inside. “What was that all about?” Ross asks.

“His chicken was stuffed with the wrong cheese.”

“What did the order say?” Ross asks.

I flip through the mound of tickets, finding his. “It says Havarti.”

“Dammit! I’ll talk to Merlina,” Trent grumbles.

Walking back to the line, all eyes are on me as I throw the meal, plate and all, in the trash. “This one wasn’t our fault, everyone. The order came through wrong. I need stat, a Swiss-stuffed chicken breast. I repeat Swiss.”

“Yes, Chef.” Mistee takes her spot back in the line and I look over the new orders trying to get back in my rhythm, wondering if he did this on purpose. To get back at me for going off on him this morning. If he saw my name on my coat before I rode off to work, then he had to have seen where I work too. It’s got to be the only logical explanation.

Before I know it, his new meal slides in front of me, and I look down at it wanting to smash it flat as a pancake, but instead, I do something I’ve never done. Poking it on the side with a knife, the chicken easily separates. Grabbing a Carolina Reaper Pepper, I slice a few slivers of it off and lie them in between the two chicken breast halves, watching as they disappear into his Swiss cheese. Then, I add his salad and dressing to the plate.

“Mistee, you’re up,” I call out and leave the kitchen, holding his plate high above my head as I’m about to give him a taste of his own medicine.

I mean, how dare he, on my birthday, come in here and not only need to complain about the cheese, but say the presentation was poorly put together? Setting his new meal down, his eyes are all over me, like he’s undressing me.

Smug motherfucker.

“Here you go, your Swiss-stuffed chicken breast.”

“Thank you, Ever.” My name rolls off his tongue like silk and I can tell he likes saying it.

“Can I get either of you anything else?” I ask him and the gentleman he is with. By this time, the other guy is done eating, and as much as I wish I could stay and watch the pain he’s about to experience as his mouth ignites with fire from the world’s hottest pepper, I can’t.

He smirks thinking about my question, and I shake my head walking off. Going back into the kitchen, I wonder what he’ll do when he feels the burn in his cocky mouth. There is a good chance that he’ll find the slices before he eats any and takes them off, but if not…

An evil grin I kind of like shields my face. That’s when Trent pops in and says, “Swiss boy wants to talk to the Chef again,” rolling his eyes. I chuckle on the inside, hoping I can catch him panicking to breathe.

I pretend to be completely normal as Trent and I walk out into the dining area. But the second he gazes over at me, I get nervous, scared that he is going to make a scene and blow everything up.

Holding myself together, I act dumb, figuring I’ll pretend I don’t know what’s going on at all. Keeping my eyes on his, not backing down, I stay in my zone and ask him with a smart ass grin, “Was your meal up to your standards?”

He responds, “Oh, it was wonderful, Chef. I especially loved the spice you added.” My eyebrows scrunch together, not really sure if I heard him right. No one in their right mind would like that kind of spice. “Now, why don’t you go and get me a glass of milk, Ever?” Laughing far too loudly, I can see now he’s in pain, he just hides it well. I lean down to him and murmur in his ear closer than I’d like, “Fuck you.”

And unfortunately, as I turn around Ross is right there. I can see the shock on his face. He must have heard me. Maybe I was a little too loud. I get pissed at myself knowing this asshole got the best of me…again.

He grabs me by the elbow and starts pulling me out of the dining room. “What happened?” he snarls.

“What are you talking about?” I play dumb.

“I heard what you said to him. Why would you treat one of our guests that way?” I can see the disappointment on Ross’s face. Looking at the ground, I shake my head, knowing I have no good reason.

“Why?” He demands a response as we walk into the kitchen.

“Because he is a pompous asshole,” I whisper.

“That doesn’t make it okay for you to talk to him that way. What if he was a food critic?”

I shrug my shoulders, understanding his point, but obviously I know who he is.

“Ever, what is going on with you? I get that today is a hard day for you without your mom, but I told you to stay home, and you’re the one who wanted to work.”

“And I do want to work. I’m sorry, Ross.”

“No, you need to go home, chill out, and recalibrate your priorities. My chefs keep their composure when on the clock, no matter what. No exceptions, you know that.”

I nod and turn to walk away, feeling ashamed for the idiotic move. I’m not even sure why I did it. Was it because the guy insulted my food or woke me up early today? Obviously, he’s a whack-job that I need to stay as far away from as possible.

“Give me your coat.”

“Ross, don’t.” Tears pool in my eyes. This coat means more to me than the job. As silly as it sounds, I’d rather have to wash dishes for a week, as long as I don’t get my coat taken away from me.

“Fine! Go!” He points to the door, and I grab my bag with my head down. I can sense everyone’s eyes on me as I reach for the door handle, and before I open it, I stop and address the staff, “I’m sorry if I was a distraction today. Keep focused, team.”

Walking out, the door slams hard and I jump, but proceed on and unlock my bike, then ride home in a daze. So pissed at myself for what happened. Why did I let that guy get under my skin? That’s not like me.

I push away the thoughts, knowing I can’t change anything now and enjoy the silence because I’m sure as soon as I get home, the ruckus from next door will drive me mad. Hopefully, I don’t have to see him again…ever.