Chapter 12“Why does this place insist on falling apart this week of all weeks?” I grumbled to myself, looking down at the brown mess of water in the dish pit’s large sink. “What time did the guy say he’d be here?” I called out to Jesse, one of my prep cooks, who was busy slicing tuna steaks in the kitchen.
“Soon, maybe a few minutes,” Jesse swiftly replied. There was a trace of nervousness in his young voice. I’d been in a foul mood all afternoon and it wasn’t his fault.
I stepped into the clean, quiet kitchen and gave him a warm look. He was a good cook. Great hygiene. Quick on his feet. Always on time. “All right, thanks,” I said, walking by him and squeezing his shoulder.
“These okay, Chef?” He showed me his work.
I looked over him, at the nicely trimmed pieces. He’d cleaned that fi
