Delivery Troubles(Part 2)

Navigating through the following week, I dedicated myself to the kitchen, ensuring smooth operations and maintaining the high standards of quality we had set. Despite the earlier setback with Newton's disastrous delivery, the rest of the week passed without much incident.

Taking matters into my own hands, I decided to confront Newton about the botched delivery. The day after the incident, I dialed his number and demanded an explanation. Newton's apologies poured forth in a torrent, his excuses sounding feeble in my ears. He blamed it on a new driver and pleaded for forgiveness.

Refusing to let him off the hook so easily, I asserted my authority and demanded a 25% discount on our next order. I made it clear that any further mishaps would have dire consequences for our business relationship. Newton was lucky that no one had fallen ill from the mishandled food, and I made sure he understood the gravity of the situation.

"Taco Tuesday at Lombardi's" turned out to be a roaring success. Travis noticed a significant uprise in weekday traffic, with a steady stream of customers flocking to the restaurant armed with coupons from our promotional campaign. The aroma of sizzling tacos filled the air, drawing in patrons eager to indulge in our tantalizing offerings. It was a bustling evening, with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses echoing throughout the restaurant as satisfied diners savored every bite of their delicious tacos.

Jasper's unexpected visit to the kitchen left me momentarily speechless as it was too early for him to be here, my mind still reeling from his presence. As I stood there, lost in the moment, Jasper casually strolled upstairs into my room and began to make himself at home, effortlessly tucking his belongings away as if he belonged there.

"It suits you," he stated, his words breaking through the fog of my thoughts.

"Who, what?... Huh?" I stammered, still completely befuddled by Jasper's kisses, unable to string two coherent words together.

"Smiles. You wear it well. I haven't seen you this happy since... well, ever," he said, smiling warmly. "I'm really proud of you, Alex."

Slowly emerging from my emotion-induced haze, I returned the smile with one of my own and replied, "Thanks, Jasper. I really lucked out, didn't I?"

"That you did. So, boss, ready to get started?" Jasper smacked his hands together and began rubbing them back and forth.

"Don't call me boss, and yes, we've got a lot of work to get done. Lollipop called and he's out with that nasty stomach bug going around, so it's just us until Mario gets here."

"Sounds good. Travis said he would be coming in around 2 to get things ready for service."

As Jasper pulled out his own 10" chef's knife and began honing the blade, getting it ready to run through the baskets of onions and peppers we needed to chop, I couldn't help but admire his skill and efficiency. One of the first lessons I learned from my mom was if your knife isn't sharp, you're asking to lose a finger.

As the minutes passed, the kitchen filled with the comforting aroma of fresh vegetables being chopped. The rhythmic sounds of our knives created a soothing symphony, each slice and dice a testament to our culinary expertise.

Jasper's rapid counting spurred me on, igniting a fire within me to match his pace and surpass his tally. The carrots flew beneath my blade as I raced to catch up, my fingers moving with practiced precision. With each completed julienne cut, I felt a surge of satisfaction, pushing me to push myself even harder.

The playful exchange of words only added to the exhilaration of the moment, transforming the mundane task of chopping vegetables into a thrilling competition. Laughter bubbled up between us, mingling with the sounds of our knives clashing against the cutting boards.

As I reached for another carrot, determination etched into my features, I couldn't help but grin at Jasper's antics.

"12! How many Alex, c'mon, how many?"

"10 Jasper, you suck."

"Who's your daddy? Say it baby! Who is your daddy?"

"Jasper, now don't make me have to put you over my knee," I laughed, grabbing two carrots to try and even out the count. I quickly lopped off the stems and tips, halved the root vegetables and brought my knife down right on my index finger. I guess I hadn't curled them under far enough before I began to run the knife through.

Jasper's quick response caught me off guard, his hands deftly wrapping the towel around my finger to staunch the bleeding. I felt a wave of dizziness wash over me, and my knees threatened to buckle.

"Thanks," I managed to mumble, feeling slightly lightheaded.

"Sit down," Jasper instructed firmly, guiding me to a nearby chair. He crouched in front of me, his concern evident in his eyes. "You're going to be okay. Just take deep breaths."

The blood was soaking through the towel, the metallic scent making me queasy. "Jasper, please," I urged, my voice barely above a whisper. "Call Travis. We need a doctor."

Jasper nodded, his expression grave as he fumbled for his phone. With trembling fingers, he dialed Travis's number, explaining the situation in hushed tones. I closed my eyes, trying to block out the throbbing pain and the sight of my own blood. All I could do now was wait for help to arrive.

"I'm gonna take a peek and see how bad it is, okay?" Jasper's voice was gentle, but I could hear the concern underlying his words.

I nodded weakly, bracing myself for the sight of my injured finger. Jasper carefully unwrapped the towel, and I felt a wave of nausea wash over me as blood began to flow freely from the wound. I could see the mangled flesh of my fingertip, barely hanging on by a thread of skin.

My vision blurred and darkness crept in at the edges as my body succumbed to shock. "Oh God," I whispered before everything went black.

After a while of floating through nothing, I heard the beeping of machines and felt a strange, disembodied tug on my hand. My eyes fluttered open, and I found Jasper's face hovering over me, his expression filled with concern. I struggled to piece together what had happened, feeling disoriented and groggy. It took a moment for the fog to clear, but eventually, I remembered cutting my finger badly.

"Alex, don't you ever do that again. You had us all scared half to death," Jasper's voice cut through the haze as I slowly regained consciousness.

"Jasper? What's going on?" I mumbled, my voice still thick with sleep.

"You had an accident. You cut your finger pretty badly," he explained gently, his worry evident in his tone.

I glanced around the room and saw the same doctor who treated me before when I was hit by a car, sewing up my finger. I felt a pinch in my wrist where an IV had been placed. I hated this. I squeezed my eyes closed and tried not to think about what my finger looked like before we got to my room.

"You're lucky, Alex. It wasn't a total amputation, but it's going to hurt, and it will probably take a while to get full sensation back in the tip of that finger. But you should make a full recovery," said Dr. Whatchamacallit.

"Where's Travis?" I rasped, my throat dry and scratchy.

"He'll be here soon. I had to assure him that you weren't in mortal peril before he agreed to finish what he was doing and not make a big deal out of it."

"Good. He doesn't need to be dropping everything to watch me get my fingertip embroidered."

Feeling a surge of panic, I glanced up at the clock and saw that it was less than an hour until we opened. We were already behind schedule, and my absence certainly wasn't helping matters.

"Shoot Jasper, there was supposed to be a delivery today, did Mario get there?" I blurted out, my voice trembling with worry. Jasper began waving his hands up and down, trying to soothe me, but I was having a hard time focusing between Dr. Whatchamacallit yanking on my finger and the clock hands taunting me with their unceasing tick-tocking.

"Don't worry, Mario got there a few minutes before Newton's truck arrived. He said they were quick, but nothing seemed out of place," Jasper reassured me, his voice calm but tinged with concern. I slumped back onto the inclined bed and blew out a shaky breath. Time was slipping away, and we needed the restaurant open.

"Jasper, you need to get back and fill in for me. The prep still needs to be finished, and I don't want us to get behind like we did last time," I urged, my voice strained with urgency. He eyed me warily and glanced up at the generic clock, his mouth pulled down in a frown.

"You sure you're gonna be okay?" he asked, concern evident in his tone.

"I'm sure, just go! Make sure Travis doesn't freak out any more than he already is, and tell him I'm fine, okay?" I insisted. He nodded once and hustled out of the room, leaving me alone with the doctor and my thoughts.

"So when can I get out of here? I've got a restaurant to run," I exclaimed, eager to leave my room and get back to work. As I swung my legs to the side of the bed, I felt the IV tug on my wrist, irritating me further. "Ugh, I really hate hospital things."

"I'll remove your IV in a bit. Your blood pressure looks fine now, so as soon as I'm done, you're free to go," replied Dr. Mighty Mend It as he finished tending to my finger. He grabbed his chart and began scanning over the information on the clipboard. "Is your blood pressure always this low?" he inquired.

"Yeah, I usually run 100/55," I confirmed.

"No wonder you're prone to fainting," he muttered, a hint of concern in his voice. He continued to review the chart, occasionally nodding to himself. "At least I didn't give you anything strong in the IV. Your finger, however, should be numb for a couple of hours due to the Lidocaine," he informed me, his tone professional yet reassuring.

"You do realize you can't tell anyone about me, right?" I threatened, a sense of urgency in my voice.

"I've already been paid to treat a Travis Lombardi," the doctor assured me, his tone calm and confident.

"Well, you're good," I sighed in relief, grateful for his discretion.

As the doctor went over my recovery instructions, I listened intently, nodding along as he explained the steps I needed to follow to ensure a smooth healing process. When he mentioned making an appointment to have the stitches removed, I cringed inwardly, dreading the thought of returning to the sterile confines of the hospital.

With a sense of determination, I insisted that the doctor take care of the stitches himself. The mere idea of setting foot in the hospital again sent shivers down my spine, and I was grateful for any opportunity to avoid it. Thankfully, the doctor acquiesced to my request, assuring me that he would handle the task personally.

As he removed the IV and prepared to leave, a wave of relief washed over me. I was grateful to be free from the confines of the equipment and eager to return to the familiar surroundings of the kitchen, despite the chaos that awaited me there.