The Layers of His Mask

12. I Trust That You're Clean

It's been three weeks since that embarrassing incident occurred at the gala. Me having an allergic reaction to a food I practically grew up on just blows my mind to no end. I mean, just last month I was eating shrimp at my father’s barbecue and now I can't eat any, ever. I'm crying on the inside. I didn't have much fun spending my night at an urgent care office getting treated for said allergy either.

Alex was there trying to comfort me, I wouldn't even let him get near me on account of me looking like a hideous beast. In this case, he was the beauty, and I was the beast.

On the plus side, my life has gotten a lot easier - work wise, and sanity wise - since Alex and I came to an understanding about his behavior and constant hovering. I also have gotten used to the way the kitchen is run and have made little to no mistakes since then, which I would say is a record for me here.

I do, however, have my occasional spurts of emptiness when I find myself missing his constant five o'clock shadow. And reminiscing on that kiss did nothing to ease the growing ache my lips have for his.

He and I converse throughout the day, though nothing beyond casual conversation. He only comes over to occasionally critique my work. When he’s near me, I sometimes witness his inner struggle with himself, I only wish I knew what was bothering him.

Did the kiss happen at all in his mind?

That’s definitely not the case for me. Ever since that night, that kiss has been all I have been able to think about. Though, I’m sure it’s something I should get out of my mind. I am not supposed to feel this way. No. He’s my boss, and it’s...it’s just not correct. No. I know I should work on nipping any feelings in the bud.

The problem is, I don’t know what these...feelings are.

Yet, I find myself replaying it again and again in my head, only, trying to decipher his version of it. Is it even possible for a person to showcase all variations of emotion to someone, yet still have a mask over them?

****

Today the food critic is expected to make an appearance and because of this we are required to be at peak performance. Alex appears to be the only individual freaking out about the whole ordeal. He’s been running around for the past hour like he’s trying to escape a black hole, as if it will swallow him whole if he doesn't keep moving. Tasting, frying, grilling, chopping - the man is literally everywhere. I want to sit him down and tell him that it’ll be okay and to calm down, take a breather. Then again, he probably won’t take my trying to comfort him very lightly, especially in his stressed out state.

Another hour passes with not a word from him, just the heavy pounding of his feet when he passes by. A waitress announces excitedly through the opening of the kitchen that Alana Larson is here and those words halt everyone dead in their tracks. Alex glares at the poor girl until she exits the kitchen.

“Alright everyone, listen up!” Everyone halts all activity and avert their attention to Alex, all except the ones that can’t. “Everything that leaves this kitchen from here on out needs to be absolutely perfect. No burnt food. No under-cooked food. No starting over. Orders need go out just as swiftly as they came in. Got it?”

We all nod in unison and resume our tasks. I assist Aubrey with a few minor things: sautéing vegetables, chopping vegetables, getting things plated and up to the counter in record time. It's crazy how I used to loathe approaching this station, now I love it. I came to realize that the legume station is just as much a part of this kitchen as the others - if not one of the most important.

I approach the oven and remove a tweaked version of a roasted chicken dish that I had been experimenting with earlier, placing it neatly on its awaiting plate along with its garnish. When I place the plate next to Alex at the front counter he immediately starts examining the plate and then stops.

“What the hell is this?” he asks, face stone cold and unwavering. His eyes never leave the plate.

Here we go again.

When I blink down to it, I see nothing wrong. “What do you mean?” I ask, wiping off the edges of the plate with a clean white cloth.

“That’s rosemary, it’s supposed to be basil. And what the hell- " he closes his eyes briefly, taking in a breath, he opens them again. “what is it stuffed with?” he flips open the small slit in the chicken with a knife just wide enough to peek inside.

“It is rosemary, I wanted to try something different. It’s a variation of a recipe my father taught me. I made a mushroom and cornbread stuffing, I sprinkled a little rosemary, salt, and pepper on top and finished it on a bed of mushroom risotto. Does it look bad?” I question.

“It’s not the recipe we went over, Rebecca.” He runs a hand over his hair, taking in a deep breath once more. “The food critic is out there, and what if this plate is for her and she doesn't approve of it because it’s not what she ordered?”

I really wish Alex would calm down and trust me for once in his life. I’m the daughter of a chef for goodness sake - a world renowned one at that! I’m not trying to toot my own horn here, but if my father taught me anything, it’s to never doubt yourself in the kitchen because that's when dishes lose their flare. Second: always make sure you know what you’re doing before the food touches the plate, taste everything. If you wouldn't eat it, why would anyone else? I used every piece of that sound advice to do all those things.

“Well, we send it out and hope for the best. Don’t get your panties all riled up, Mr. Brooks.” I touch his shoulder briefly while displaying for him a teeth baring sarcastic grin. A waitress comes by and swipes the plate from the counter before Alex can say another word.

At this point I think it is safe to say with the utmost certainty that his composure went and took the back seat, while his anger took over the wheel.

“Rebecca…if that s**t gets sent back to this kitchen, you are on dish duty for a month,” he angrily states. I can’t believe he is doubting my skills here. Also, why would he deliberately sabotage my internship over one dish that could easily be replaced if needed.

I know what I’m doing, so why can’t Alex see that?

"Okay my food is not s**t, it's art. I would never send s**t out on a plate. Who do you think I am, Alex Brooks?" I glare at him and he sends me a look that I can’t quite figure out. With a shrug of my shoulders I make my way around the kitchen to help Aubrey.

When the plate hasn't returned after twenty minutes, I spot Alex’s tense features relax. The same waitress who picked up my plate those twenty minutes ago comes into view at the door.

“Mrs. Larson wants to speak with the chef responsible for the mushroom stuffed chicken.” All eyes land on me and I freeze.

Oh God, what if I really did mess up? What if the critic hated it and she wants to let me know personally that I f****d up?

Alex sends me the same icy glare that he presented to the waitress as I exit the kitchen. I widen my eyes at him and shrug.

I’m feverishly wiping my sweaty palms on my apron the entire way to her table, my heart is racing at about one-hundred miles per hour, and I suddenly feel I have lost function of my lungs.

Oh God, I can’t breathe.

When I reach Alana's table she is scribbling down something on her note pad. She stops and looks up when I’m standing directly in front of her, not saying a word.

“Are you the chef responsible for this dish?” She asks, pointing to the empty plate on her table with her pen.

It appears my brain has lost all function as well. I can’t really make out what it is until I piece together the bones, remnants of rosemary, and traces of mushroom risotto resting on her plate.

“Y-yes, ma’am,” I stammer, fumbling with my antsy fingers. I feel a body emerge beside me and I turn my head left to see Alex standing next to me, body rigid and erect, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

I wonder what the hell he is doing here.

“Alex, nice to see you again,” she tells him, a genuine smile firmly in place. When he nods and says nothing more she continues. "I’ll just get right to it then. This stuffed rosemary chicken dish has got to be one of the most well seasoned and well prepared dishes I have ever tasted.”

“What?” Alex and I say simultaneously, glancing over to each other briefly.

“It was great, and I will be writing a rave review for Romano’s in the paper. I’ll also be on the local news tomorrow afternoon, having Romano’s featured as this week’s Place To Eat and mentioning you as the chef who prepared it."

“Well I'm not a chef just yet, I'm still an intern.”

"You don't have to attend a school to know how to cook, dear. Could I get your name?"

"It's Rebecca Daniels."

She smiles and drops her pen, standing to shake my hand firmly. "How did I not recognize you? You've grown into a very beautiful young lady!"

“Thank you. Though I prefer to stay under the radar, fame isn't really my thing," I laugh nervously.

"Point well made. Well, it was nice talking with you, dear. Say hello to your father for me."

"I will."

“Thank you, Alana.” Looping his arm with mine, Alex leads me back to the hallway we came down.

We stop next to his office and I’m still wide eyed and my thoughts are muddled once more. “Did you-I mean-did she-what?!” I scream, a grin painted on my face.

I unknowingly wrap my arms around Alex’s broad, muscular body, placing my head to his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. He tenses then slowly relaxes under my touch when he sees that I mean no harm. When I lift my head away from his chest he tucks a few stray hairs behind my ear. A wave of heat rushes across my skin once I realize what I just did and I can’t even look him in the eyes now. He doesn't like that very much because he lifts my chin so that I am now staring up into his oceanic blue eyes.

“I am fairly impressed that you had the balls to pull that off.”

I snort. “Really? Well they are pretty big, and you should also have a little bit more faith in me.” I quirk a brow at him.

“After that little stunt, I have no more doubts.”

Running his warm, rugged hands up my jaw, they stop at the back of my neck. His head dips down while his body presses my back against the wall. I can see the hues of grey in his irises darken. I can smell his pine scented cologne mixed with the faint smell of soap still lingering on his skin - the mint on his breath.

My chest rises and falls rapidly from the rough, yet gentle feel of his touch.

A surge of electricity is coursing through me, his touch sends my skin ablaze. My breathing is now ragged while he continues to look at me in a way only he can make me feel wanted. Leaning down, he lightly brushes his lips against mine once. I can feel the prickly hairs of his beard leave a trail in the wake of his lips, it causes me to giggle.

"What?" He asks, the corner of his lip pulling up.

"I'm sorry, your beard tickles." I smile, giggling again. I stare up into his eyes realizing I have never wanted something so much - someone so much - in my entire life. Even though this situation at the moment is wrong, it just feels so right.

He smirks and dips his head lower to meet my lips, hands still placed at the back of my neck. I close my eyes in anticipation, waiting for the moment when his lips finally meet mine.

“Chef?” Aubrey’s voice calls cautiously. “Um, we need your help in the kitchen. We are falling a little bit behind."

“f**k,” he mutters against my lips. Slowly he lowers his hands from around my neck.

No! I internally scream. I have wanted this to happen, and who knows when I will ever have another opportunity like this.

"Rain check?" I smile, raising a finger. He nods, brushes the pad of his thumb across my cheek before departing.

“I can’t leave the f*****g kitchen for five minutes without chaos ensuing. Did everything I say earlier go in one ear and out the damn other?” his voice fades down the hallway.

I lean further into the wall, staring across the hall, completely lost in what just happened. A light flashing in the distance catches my attention.

I shoot up from the wall. This can't be happening.

Squinting my eyes, off in the far corner across from me...a camera is perched on the wall, pointed directly at me.

“Shit...”

****

Eight o'clock could not have come fast enough, I'm about ready to go home. Alex, Nick, and Aubrey have also been here awhile, it's about time for us all to leave and let the rest of the staff finish up the night.

"Hey, Rebecca?" Nick calls as he removes his chef coat. I see the swirls of ink on the skin of his bicep flex under his movement, they are quite distracting.

"Hmm?" I force my eyes away from his arms and up to his face.

"Aubrey and I are going out for pizza, you coming?" He asks with a smile.

"Um, yeah,” I nod, “I can go for pizza."

"What about you Alex? Pizza and beer, your favorite." I can tell Alex is having a tough time making a decision, but when he catches my eyes on him he smirks and says, "Why the hell not?"

"Awesome. You guys want to meet up at Rudy's around nine?"

We all agree on nine and I hurry home to shower and change. I actually decided to look halfway decent this time with shorts, a halter top and minimal makeup.

****

“I can’t believe Alex came out with us tonight.” Aubrey and I are sitting in a red leather booth by ourselves, while the boys stand in line arguing about what toppings to get on the pizza. “We've asked him dozens of times before and he usually comes up with some reason for backing out. Frankly, I think the only reason why Nick still asks him is to get on Alex’s good side.”

“Hmmm,” I mumble, fighting back a smile. I push around the ice cubes in my water with my straw and blink up to see Alex and Nick in a heated conversation about the pros and cons of sardines. Alex glances over and makes eye contact with me, he smiles and turns back to Nick, but I continue to stare at the defined contours of his back through his almost transparent white t-shirt.

My goodness he has a nice back...

“They’re something, huh?” Aubrey asks, gesturing to the two men with a nod of her head.

“Yeah, they’re something all right,” I tell her, thinking about mine and Alex’s almost kiss. I still can’t believe he almost kissed me in the restaurant, with no excuse of alcohol like at the gala. It’s absolutely crazy. What’s crazier is how disappointed I am that it didn't happen...

Are we ever going to talk about the kiss? Or will it be just another thing to sweep under the rug until a later time? I also have to mention to him about how we may have been caught kissing on camera.

Throughout their absence, I absentmindedly trace the trail Alex left on my skin with my fingers. It's almost as if his touch is permanently imprinted on my skin, like a tattoo, but the feeling never fades.

Aubrey and I make small talk until the boys return to the booth. Alex comes back looking triumphant and slides in next to me. The booth is a bit tight for four people so our thighs touch. Alex doesn't even seem to notice, but for the rest of the night it is all I can think about. I even try moving my leg over but his always seems to find mine.

****

"What's the name of that show?" Nick asks, snapping his fingers to try and jog his memory. We all stare at him with blank expressions, not one of us having the slightest idea. "The one with the zombies and the guy living in Georgia?"

"The Walking Dead," Alex and I blurt out simultaneously, obvious knowledge of this subject clear in our voices.

"You watch The Walking Dead?" He questions. He's clearly intrigued that a girl like me watches a show like that. But since when have I ever been normal? I once came to work with a pocket full of Starburst because I thought, these are an excellent choice for nutritional value! Dead wrong, but they taste great.

"I do," I reply, taking a large swig of my Dos Equis beer. "I'm going to have Daryl's babies one day."

"Good luck with that..." Alex says, cracking a smile.

"It's true!" I tell them excitedly. "We are going to raise our five kids in the zombie apocalypse and they will be weapon wielding ninjas by the age of five. I have their whole lives planned out. Oh, and we are also going to adopt Carl because Rick can't seem to keep track of him which is why he loses him on an almost daily basis." Everyone - including me - bursts into laughter over my random thoughts of my fictional life and children. I even manage to get a chuckle out of Alex.

"Your imagination goes way over my head sometimes." Alex states, shaking his head. He still has that smile on his face after he reveals this to me.

He has a really beautiful smile. I never thought I'd think that about a man.

What am I talking about anyway?

"Alright, I think you've had enough beer." Alex snatches the bottle away from me just as I'm about to bring it to my lips once more.

"What?" I crease my brows at him.

“You’re talking out loud again,” he says, and finishes off the rest of my beer for me.

“I'm going to pretend that first statement didn't happen. What if I had some sort of infectious disease and you just drank my back wash?”

“I trust that you’re clean.”

"You two are too cute," Aubrey states, smiling and leaning her head against Nick's shoulder. I had no idea they were going out.

"They are pretty damn cute together." Nick grins at us and Alex looks to me like he is asking for some green light from me so that he can shut them up. But I don't say anything, I just smile at him and them. He smiles back at me, the smile not quite meeting his eyes, but a smile nonetheless. I don't know why, it wasn't even funny, but I ended up giggling like an i***t which ended in a full blown laugh, and that caused whatever it was in Alex's mind to vanish as if something was clarified and his features softened.

"You guys, I think I'm going to head out." Alex stands up from the booth and offers me his hand.

"I'm very capable of getting myself out of this extremely tight booth, thank you very much." I trip over my own feet getting out the booth and land right into his arms.

"Not when you can't even walk straight." He smirks down at me.

Alex walks me out to my car after we say our goodbyes to Aubrey and Nick. I figure this is a great opportunity to do a little digging.

"How come you never talk about your family at work when everyone shares their stories? You just stay quiet or walk away." I don't know what provoked me to ask this question, but I know that some part of my subconscious must have been wanting to have it answered.

"I'm not usually one to mix my personal and professional life, it's just something that I've always done and am used to doing. I'm also pretty sure no one wants know about my life, it’s very uninteresting." He states his response with such ease. No wonder, the mask he puts up is another reason for him not to get too close to anyone and for no one to want to get close to him.

"I want to know about your life Alex Brooks," I mention, turning around to him and leaning on my car door. "Quite the contrary Alex, I think it would rather interesting to hear about."

He smirks and shakes his head before walking away. "Hey! You can't just walk away from me!" I shout to his back.

He swivels on his heels, pacing backwards with his hands stuffed in his pockets and shouts, "Taste of your own medicine! You do it to me all the time!"

"I do not!"

"Do too!"

"Why are we yelling?!"

"Your fault!" He shouts back. I roll my eyes and before I step into my car he yells again, “Don’t drive! Call your friend or brother or someone!”

“What?!”

“I don’t want you dying. You have a job to get to tomorrow morning!” He smirks and gets into his car.

I look at him driving off with my jaw on the ground. He could've at least offered to drive me, or waited till I’d called someone! What a gentleman.

The cocky arrogant - !

Still, I can’t help the smile that tugs at my lips. Somehow, someway, I kinda like his cockiness.

I call Hannah to come pick me up. She and Violet come in her car, minutes later. Violet drives me home in my car with Hannah tagging along behind us in hers.

All the way home the only things running through my mind are the feel of Alex's lips on mine and the boyish grin that occasionally makes an appearance.