Boss Lady

When my alarm goes off on April 9th, I spend a few moments staring at the ceiling. Today is it. Our last day to get ready for tomorrow's grand opening. I have so much to do that I don't even want to get out of bed.

But at the same time, I feel a little thrill of excitement. I'm no longer dreading the grand opening. With enough staff to cover the 6-day evening block we plan to be open, a chef who is very on top of things, a fabulous menu that I have been taste-testing all week, and all of the decor in place, my dream restaurant is so close to being a reality.

I finally drag myself out of bed and survey my closet. I should have chosen an outfit last night. Now I'm stuck trying to make a decision with morning fog. Of course, I fell into bed exhausted last night after a long day making sure the kitchen was clean and ready for today.

I eventually decide to stick somewhere between casual and professional with my favorite non-holy jeans and a gray short-sleeve button-up shirt. Pulling on tennis shoes (because I've got lots of running around to do), I pull my wild red locks into a tight bun, grab a light jacket and my purse, and head out.

When I pull my old gray Honda Accord into the parking lot, I find it empty. Checking my watch, I realize that, for the first time in weeks, I'm running ahead. The staff won't start showing up for another half hour.

Since I have the restaurant to myself, I unlock the doors, open the curtains, turn on the lights, and take a walk-through. The dining room is clean and organized. The kitchen is a marvel of shining counters, silver dishes and utensils, and clean tile floors. Everett helped me get a small break room set up in a spare room next to the pantry. With a small fridge for employees, a table, and a few chairs, it's rather sterile. I walk briskly to the storage closet off the dining room and grab a few odds and ends leftover from making the centerpieces.

Everett is the first of my employees to show up. He finds me sitting at the break room table, putting the finishing touches on a nice floral centerpiece for the staff table. I have also put up a cute hanging plant (fake) that matches the ones hanging on the dining room walls.

"What's that for?" he asks.

"I thought the break room could use some decor. It was a little bleak."

He smiles. "That's very thoughtful of you. How late were you here last night? I thought you left when I did, but I don't remember everything being this. . . clean."

"I just wanted to make sure everything is perfect for our last day and a half of prep before the grand opening," I answer, biting my lip.

"Well, it looks great. I'm sorry I didn't stay."

"It's fine." I wave my hand. "Honestly, I enjoyed having some time to just be alone and think."

He looks like he's about to ask a question, but he hesitates before he says, "Are you excited for tomorrow?"

I nod. "I'm excited. A little- well, a lot nervous. You?"

Sighing, he sinks into a chair next to me. "Also excited and nervous. I've been waiting for this day my whole life, it seems, and now it's almost here and I'm afraid I'm going to choke."

I look at him in surprise. "But you're an incredible chef! Everyone will love your food!"

Everett's worried look disappears under a bright smile. "Thanks! I hope so. I just- I've never managed a kitchen before. It's probably silly to talk about this with my boss, but what if I'm not good at it?"

I'm shaking my head before he finishes speaking. "Everett, the other chefs all like and respect you. And you exude so much confidence, I don't think you'll have any problem keeping things under control in the kitchen. And if there are problems, we'll figure things out. You're not in this alone." I gently take his hand in mine. "I'll help you. We'll get through this together."

The distant sound of the front door interrupts us. We pull our hands apart and stand. I'm glad that Everett walks out of the room, because I can feel myself blushing a little. I'm not sure why I feel so embarrassed. It's not like we were in a romantic embrace or anything.

Soon, everyone is there. While Everett and his chefs start prepping food for tomorrow and Alexia gets her sous chef working with her on desserts, I do a walkthrough with the front-of-house staff.

My waiters and waitresses are mostly college students looking to pay their tuition. Some of them have a little previous experience, but I'm very grateful that I made my way through college largely off my work as a waitress. I use my skills from those past jobs to help me set up a smooth system to make sure every customer is taken care of.

We're done with training by lunch. I excuse them to go home and go check on my kitchen staff.

The kitchen is full of delicious smells: freshly chopped vegetables, simmering sauces, and sweet desserts being pulled from the large ovens. I watch my capable staff in their fresh white coats maneuver around each other and smile. This is what I always pictured when I decided I someday wanted to own a restaurant.

I observe quietly until Everett calls for everyone to head to lunch. "The meat order should be here soon. When you come back, we'll prep the meats we need to do today, then you can head out. We got more done than I expected today, so you should be able to take off early. Good work everyone!"

The other chefs slowly disperse, some to the break room for home-packed lunches, and others to nearby restaurants. We're in an area with quite a few options. I just hope that we stand out enough to draw people to our doors.

Soon, only Everett and I remain. "Are you staying here for lunch?" he asks with his usual friendly smile.

"I was going to wait and eat later. I'm not really feeling hungry." I'm not lying. Even though my stomach occasionally grumbles its displeasure at my light and long-ago breakfast, nervous butterflies are making me feel a little nauseous and definitely not like eating.

Everett gives me a searching look. "How about we eat together? You need to keep your strength up, even if you don't feel hungry."

I roll my eyes and follow him to the break room. Two of the female chefs are there, as well as Alexia.

"Hey, Ms. Linden," she says cheerfully.

"You can call me Lacy," I say.

"Perfect! Then call me Alex," she answers. I nod and Everett and I take the last two chairs at the large round table. The other two re-introduce themselves (Nancy, a tall, slim brunette, and Jen, a short, plump blond), then we all dig into our food. I brought a peanut butter and honey sandwich, one of my childhood favorites.

Once I choke the first bite past my nervousness, I realize how ravenous I am. I devour the rest of my sandwich quickly and with gusto. When I finish, I find Everett watching me with laughter in his eyes. "That must have been some sandwich," he teases. "Maybe we should add it to the menu."

"Peanut butter and honey," I say, looking down and blushing. Again. "One of my favorites."

"I'll have to remember that," he jokes, "In case I need to bribe you."

"I love peanut butter and honey! But I think I prefer peanut butter and nutella," Alex says.

Nancy and Jen throw in their opinions, and soon we're all having a lively discussion about the best peanut butter sandwiches.

The whole lunch feels like just a chat with friends. I almost forget that we're all here to work until Everett stands. "Break's over," he says in his 'boss' voice (a little louder and a lot more serious than his usual playful tone). "Let's see if that meat is here."

I follow him to the back, where the delivery truck was supposed to be 15 minutes ago. Since there's no sign of them, I sigh and pull out my phone. Pulling up the number, I call Feld and Fideman. When I get them my info and inquire about the order, the woman says, "Oh, it's not arriving until 3. Didn't you get the notice?"

"What? No, I didn't see any notice of a late delivery!" Putting my phone on speaker, I quickly open my email app and check. It's not in the inbox. Oh, the spam tab. Of course it would end up there. OF FREAKING COURSE.

I sigh. "Okay, I see it. Thanks." I hang up and turn to Everett. "The meat won't be here until 3. The delivery was delayed. I'm sorry."

He thinks for a moment. "Well, I don't have much else for anyone to do here."

"Have you already made the marinades for the meats that need them?"

"Not yet." He taps his chin. "Only the chicken needs to marinate. I can have the others help me prep the marinade, then send them home. It shouldn't take me too long to get the chicken ready myself."

My laughter bubbles up so fast it comes out as a snort. I clap my hand over my mouth, but I can't keep the rest of the laughter from breaking out (thankfully snort-free this time). Once I've gotten control, I lower my hand. "That's ridiculous. No way can you get that much chicken prepped that quickly."

"I don't mind," he says. "I didn't have plans anyw-"

I clap my hand over his mouth to cut him off. Then, realizing that I'm touching his very warm, soft lips, I quickly drop my hand. "No. We have employees, Everett. We need to use them. See if anyone is willing to come back at 4 and help this evening. It will go much faster if you have more help. I can help as well."

"Should I really trust you with a knife?" he asks, lifting an eyebrow and flashing his teasing grin.

"I'm good with a knife," I answer indignantly. "I haven't cut myself in years, I'll have you know." I then reach out and knock on the wooden cupboard next to me, just in case.

Everett laughs at that. "Alright. That sounds like a plan, boss lady."

"Boss lady?"

"Yep. You're the boss, Lace," he says in an unexpectedly serious voice.

Unsure how to respond, I give the first answer that comes to mind. "Darn right I am."