Falling Sweetly (Starling Falls #2) (26 page)

I looked up at the clock in the kitchen and saw that it was 7.30 am. I was often the only person in the kitchen for hours before anyone else actually showed up. I stared at him confused.

“Morning. What do you need me to do, Chef?” he asked, tying an apron around his waist.

“It’s 7.30.” I said with a raised eyebrow.

“This is the time you always get here. If you’re here I figured I should be too,” he said with a shrug. There was a moment of silence as I looked back down at my notes.

His eagerness made me smile. Over the past month, Derek had really proved himself, and I’d been impressed by his dedication to the job.

I was ashamed to admit I didn’t actually know much about the kid at all, apart from the fact he must have some skills in the kitchen as Tisha had recommended him for the position, and she was not an easy person to impress.

I’d gotten so caught up with running Marco’s that I’d not been the mentor to him that I should have been.

“I’m still not entirely happy with the how the chicken pot pie is tasting. You up for some experimenting with the recipe?”

“Sure, how do you want me to change it?” He pulled the diced chicken from the fridge.

“Up to you, kid. I’m giving you free reign with the recipe.”

His eyes widened, and I assumed it was from being asked to actually cook as opposed to just prepping ingredients for other chefs to use. “Seriously?”

“Yup. Show me what you got.”

Derek rubbed his hands together, and I leaned against the counter to watch him work. He was tall, with dark skin, closely cropped black hair and built with lean muscles. His dark brown eyes held a determined glint as he began pulling various spices from the rack and began seasoning the raw meat enthusiastically.

“You have great instincts, Derek,” I told him, appreciating the respect he showed the ingredients in front of him.

He shrugged humbly, but I could see the pride on his face.

I watched him sear the chicken in a frying pan, turning over each piece carefully. “Who taught you how to cook?”

“The Food Network,” he replied plainly, making me laugh.

“Seriously?”

He poured a careful measure of white wine into the pan. “Yeah, one of my foster mothers was a big fan of the channel.”

I stared at him for a while before deciding to probe further. “How long were you in the system?”

“For as long as I can remember,” he said looking slightly ashamed. “Mum left when I was young. I went to live with my sister about five years ago, when she aged out, and managed to get custody of me.”

“Hm. I know what it’s like to have a parent who isn’t much of a parent,” I told him trying to make him feel more comfortable. When his curious gaze met mine, I continued. “My brothers raised, me and my other brothers and sister before we moved here with my uncle and aunt.”

“How old were you?” he asked seemingly unsure if he was crossing a line or not.

“Six. Where you from, Derek?”

“Smithsville.”

“What brought you to Starling Falls?” I asked as I became more curious about his background.

Derek cleared his throat and went back to stirring the mixture on the stove. “We wanted to get away, have a fresh start, you know? An old friend from foster care told her about a job opening here.”

“And I suppose that friend was Tisha?”  I had known that Tisha had been in foster care. She had always been cagey about the details, so I’d never asked her about her past. We used to joke that Marco liked collecting strays and giving them a chance.

Derek’s dark eyes fixed on me, and he nodded. “Yeah, her and my sister were tight. We all lived together in Smithsville. She was sort of like another sister to me.” He suddenly looked nervous, but I shook my head.

“Don’t worry about it. You knowing Tisha may have helped you get the job, but you’ve proven yourself.” But, I still couldn’t help but wonder why Tisha had never told me about her connection to Derek.

“Thanks, Chef.” The relief was evident as he added mustard, cream and tarragon to the pot and turned the fire down to let it simmer.

He went to the pantry and came back with flour, butter, parmesan and other baking ingredients, and looked at me unsurely. I nodded at him to continue with what he was doing and was surprised when he started making what looked like a batter for biscuits.

“I don’t usually have people watching me when I cook,” he chuckled nervously. “Having my boss watch me is kind of nerve-racking.”

I studied him for a second. “How old are you, Derek?”

“19, Sir.”

“It’s Jake, Derek. Don’t call me Sir. Makes me feel old, and we’re not formal here. You must have heard half the names Tisha calls me.” I waited for a nod from him before continuing. “You came to work at Marco’s straight after graduating? Or did you train somewhere?”

“No, Si- erm, Jake. I never graduated, and culinary school was too expensive.”

Shit. This kid’s past and mine is so similar, it’s freaky. All he needs is a pain in the ass twin and skittish girlfriend, and we’d be completely sympatico.

“Let me ask you something, Derek. Why do this?”

He frowned and stopped what he was doing. “What do you mean?”

“I mean; why do you want to be a Chef? The hours are ridiculous, the pay is pathetic, and holidays are basically non-existent. So my question is, why do you want to do this?”

Derek broke off eye contact and stared at the dough he was creating. “It makes me happy I guess. When I feel like I haven’t accomplished anything, I can lose myself in creating something that tastes good and can make other people feel good too.

“It’s nice to feel like I’m not such a screw up all the time, and I can actually do something right. I did some stupid things when I was younger, but I’m trying to my life around. This helps me do that. ”

His words resonated deeply, I knew what it was like to feel the way he felt. I admired him for owning up to his mistakes and trying to take control of his life.

I grinned as he carefully filled a pie plate with the filling and topped it with the biscuit dough, instead of pastry, and placed it in the oven.

“I owe you an apology, Derek.” Confused eyes met mine. “You’ve been working under me for a year, and I didn’t even know how old you were or where you came from. Marco hired you, so you could learn from me. I haven’t been teaching you like I should have been.”

He shrugged dismissively. “You’ve been busy, Chef.”

“Busy worrying about stupid things. That changes now. You ever have any questions or ideas, you come to me with them. Okay?”

He beamed and nodded. “Thanks, Chef.”

As we waited for the pie to cook, Derek opened up a little more about his past and the number of foster families he’d been shuffled around in. The more I learned about the kid, the more I liked him. He’d had a rough start to life too, but made the best of a bad situation.

“So, where you living now, Derek?”

“With my sister, just until I find my own place to rent,” he chuckled. “I love my sister, but bringing home dates to a small apartment…” he trailed off.

I snorted. “Say no more. I grew up with eight people living under one roof. I get it. What does your sister do?”

“She works at the florist at the moment, but she trained as a designer, decorating rooms and stuff. But that sort of work is hard to find round here.”

I felt like kicking myself as I made the connection to what Tisha had begun to tell me yesterday before the fridge fucked up the electrical circuits. “Do you think your sister would be interested in decorating the restaurant?”

“For real?” he asked as the timer went off, and he pulled the pie out of the oven.

“Yeah, man. I haven’t got a clue where to fucking start with it all. I’d be interested in hearing some of her ideas at least.” My mouth watered at the smells coming off the pie.

Martina and Tisha walked into the kitchen as he was placing the pie on the counter. “Mm. Something smells good,” Martina commented, detouring to the counter and picking up a fork.

I nodded at Derek. “Plate it up, and let’s try it.”

Derek cut a large piece and placed it on a plate looking nervous. “I know it’s not the prettiest of dishes, but-”

“It looks good, kid.” Tisha reassured him with the closest thing to a genuine smile I’d ever seen from her.

Martina struck first, moaning happily and then pulled the whole plate to herself.

“Oh wow! This is good. And it’s all mine now. I’m not sharing. I get a pass because I’m pregnant. Get these two their own plates.”

She picked up the plate and walked towards the small office at the back of the bar. “God, I’m going to miss this job.”

Derek chuckled as me, and Tisha ate directly from the pie plate. The biscuit crust added another dimension to the chicken pie by soaking up the gravy, and made for a heartier and more comforting meal. The spices in the filling balanced perfectly with the herbs he’d put in the golden biscuit crust. The pie was perfection.

I chewed silently and exchanged a silent message with Tisha, who nodded slightly. “Well, Derek. I have some bad news. You’re no longer a kitchen assistant at The Saloon.”

His face fell. “Was it the seasoning? Cos I can-”

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “I bumping you up to commis chef. This pie on going on the menu, and you’re going to be the one cooking it.”

His jaw dropped as be looked between me and Tisha and let out a happy laugh. I put out my hand for him to shake, and he shook it enthusiastically.

“Thanks, Chef. I promise I won’t let you down. I’m going to call Beth and let her know! And I’ll ask her about the decorating thing too.” He left the kitchen with a happy spring in his step.

“That was a nice thing you did,” Tisha said, putting on her apron.

“He deserved it,” I said simply. “He’s got talent.” I paused as she pulled out a sauté pan. “So you and Derek, huh?”

“Ew. No. That’s disgusting. Are you high?” Her face screwed in disgust.

I rolled my eyes. “That’s not what I meant. You never mentioned that you knew him personally when you recommended him for the job.”

She tried to shrug it off. “You never asked, so I never said anything. He’s a good kid who deserved a chance,” she said defensively.

“Hey, I agree. I just don’t get why you never told me?” I took my own apron off the hook and shook it out.

“Because this is work, not therapy.” Tisha rolled her eyes. “We’re here to cook, not gossip and braid each other’s hair.”

“So I’m guessing you don’t want to paint my nails?” I joked and was treated to another eye roll. After years of working together, I was used to Tisha’s brusqueness. she reminded me a lot of Addie; she hid behind a shield of abrasive, snarky behaviour but was actually one of the most caring and loyal people I’d met.

“So your friend, Derek’s sister…she any good?”

“Bethany. Yeah, she’s always been good at all that arty shit. You can trust her to do a good job.” Tisha sounded confident in her friend’s abilities.

“I’ll talk to her and ask to see some designs. If you trust her that says a lot. I respect your opinion, even if you just barely tolerate mine.” I tied my apron around my waist.

She paused. “I don’t just tolerate you, I respect your opinions too.” Her tone was uncomfortable, and she looked like she would rather be eating mouse droppings than be having this conversation with me.

“When you made me your sous chef instead of Dillon, that’s a call not many chefs would have made. He had more experience and was professionally trained.”

“You were the better chef,” I said simply.

“Still… it was cool of you. I’ve learnt a lot from you, and working with you is sort of… fun. You’ve become a good friend, okay?” she said quickly.

I grinned. “You just called me your friend. You’re stuck with me now. We’re BFFs for life.”

“Oh my God, shut up! So which part of the menu do you want to work on first?” Tisha said abruptly changing the subject.

Well, I guess sharing time is over, but I’m officially Tisha’s friend. Surely that counts as a win?

CHAPTER 24

Annika

I tapped my foot, frustration running through me as I continued the stare off with the inanimate object, and not for the first time that day. I wished that I could have been more like my sister.

Throughout our lives, the one thing that I had always envied about Liya was her confidence and how comfortable she was in her own skin. And though I’d tried, I had never managed to attain that level of confidence.

The constantly critical voices that echoed in my head were always quick to remind me that I was never pretty enough, never thin enough, never smart enough, simply never…enough.

To look in the mirror and hate what you saw looking back at you was truly horrible way to live, and it was an insecurity that had plagued me throughout my life. I had made small strides over time in trying to overcome how uncomfortable I felt in my own skin.

I shifted away from dull colours, I would wear clothes which were closer to my size, and I tried to just accept myself and push myself out of my comfort zone.

However, the outfit which Liya, Addie and Mitch had picked out for me, during our shopping trip over a month ago, may just have pushed me completely out of my comfort zone and right over the ledge.

I had been in an absurd staring match with the dress draped over a hanger for over twenty minutes.

The deep maroon colour of the dress was beautiful as was the lace overlay. But I knew the low cut v neck in the front would expose a lot of cleavage.

The lace sleeves would cling to the hated upper part of my arms, and the skirt would hug my wide hips much too snugly and would end much higher above the knee than I would like.

It’s just a dress, Annika. Put the damn thing on already.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the figure hugging dress, pulled it up and realised I couldn’t reach the zip at the back.

“Damn it,” I cursed softly. Shadow slinked into the room, and I turned to look at him. “This would be a really good time for you to have grown opposable thumbs.”