Holly versus Mr. Ivy by Amanda P. Jones
Chapter 11
Rhett
the kitchen, grateful she’d decided to trust me enough to ease up on some of her boundaries. I got it. Sometimes you didn’t click with other people, and it didn’t make sense to push for anything more than coworker status. But from the moment I’d met Holly, I’d known we were bound to become friends. I didn’t know how or why I knew that, but I did.
I also didn’t know what had made Holly change her mind. Was it because I’d had a bad day and she wanted to make me feel better? But then why had she agreed to a movie night before? I’d worn her down. It was the only explanation. She’d finally realized I wasn’t some jerk.
Holly threw a white apron at me. I tied the strings around my waist.
“We’re going with my mom’s chocolate chip recipe because I have that one memorized. Grab two sticks of butter and two eggs from the walk-in.”
“Yes, Chef.” I went to the walk-in refrigerator and grabbed what she wanted.
“Cube the butter.”
“Yes, Chef.” Good thing I’d been around kitchens enough to know what that meant. After slicing a knife through the cold butter, I asked, “Now what?”
“Dump that into the stand mixer and turn it on high. It needs to beat for five minutes.”
I bobbed my head. “Yes, Chef.”
Her lips twitched as she held back a smile. “You don’t have to say that after every sentence I speak.”
I winked. “Yes, Chef.”
“Rhett,” she warned, holding a measuring cup in my direction, “don’t be a smart aleck, or you won’t get any cookies.”
Too bad for her, I didn’t know how to be anyone but myself, which included sarcasm. I turned on the mixer, speaking loudly, “Well, that’s just mean. You’re the one who offered to cheer me up by baking cookies. You’d really take them back?”
“Yeah, I would. I think you underestimate how much I love my mom’s cookies. I’d save the entire batch for myself.”
I busted up laughing. No way little miss petite would eat an entire batch of cookies by herself. I had at least sixty pounds on her, and even I couldn’t manage that feat. “Sure. Lull me in here to bake the cookies you so graciously volunteered to make for me, then snatch them away. I see how it is. In that case, I’ll leave you to it and go back to my office.”
I spun on my heel, ready to leave the kitchen. Holly caught the back of my shirt, yanking me toward her. I stumbled into the stainless-steel counter, my thigh slamming against the edge.
“Ouch.” I winced. I was a little shocked she’d managed to pull me off balance, considering our differences in stature. “You definitely owe me cookies now,” I grumbled.
“I’m sorry for hurting you. Are you okay?” she asked softly.
I nodded.
“Good.” Her tone went right back to being bossy. “If you want hot cocoa, your butt better stay in here and help. Also, knock it off. No talking in my kitchen. Remember?”
I fiddled with the bowl in which I’d placed the two eggs. “Why do you have that rule?” It seemed unnatural to work in silence.
She scratched her elbow. “When I first came to the restaurant, I was new to being an executive chef. I naïvely thought everyone wanted to be my friend. So I acted that way. Sure, we had fun and the kitchen was filled with laughter, but my staff took advantage. We were taking too long to get meals out the door. People asked for time off way too often, and they were always late. I kindly asked each employee to try harder, but nothing changed. Well, not until I turned into the ‘ice queen,’ as they so lovingly call me now.” She looked at the floor, her voice sad. “I didn’t earn their respect by being nice, so I did a one-eighty, and now I don’t know how to find a middle ground. I’m trying, but it sucks.”
“Hey.” I squeezed her arm. “You’ll find a balance. Only two more days with Josh and Darby. Things have to improve after that.”
She scoffed. “Sure.”
My lips turned down. I didn’t like that she felt this way. “The first job I ever had after graduating from college was for this restaurant in New Haven. The owners had inherited the place from their parents, but none of their kids were interested in taking over. I was there to help transition everything from the family to management under the new owners.”
I leaned against the counter, my palms resting on the edge behind me. “I went in thinking I had to prove myself, acting like I knew everything, even though I didn’t. The assistant manager and I got along okay, but it was awful going to work every day. I missed my college life, where I had been more relaxed. I was stressed all the time and worked way too much. It wasn’t what I’d thought life would be like, you know? I felt like I’d just wasted four years of my life getting a degree I couldn’t possibly use because that job drove me mad. All because I was trying to prove to the people who hired me that I was the best. And you know what?”
She met my gaze. “What?”
“I had a few good ideas, but for the most part, I really didn’t know what I was doing. When I realized that, and allowed myself to stop striving for perfection, things changed.”
“Changed how?”
I pointed to the mixer. “Can we turn this off yet? I’m tired of yelling.”
“Oh, yeah.” She stepped past me and turned the switch off. The mixer slowly came to a standstill.
I welcomed the quiet, but a hum buzzed in my ears. “I started listening to the assistant manager and owners more rather than assuming that because I’d graduated at the top of my class, I had all the answers. When I admitted I valued their feedback, we all trusted one another more. I don’t know how exactly you could do that here, but maybe when you meet with each employee to come up with their goals, you can let them know you’ll always be there to listen to what they have to say. Try to be a partner and supporter instead of just a boss. Ask how they would change things up in the kitchen. Ask about their hobbies outside of work. Stuff like that.”
Her brows furrowed. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Think about it.” I shrugged, pretending that her decision didn’t matter to me when it did. I wanted her to feel comfortable here. “I’m not saying you need to change everything. But maybe allow some talking?”
“I’ll consider it.”
I pointed to the mixer. The butter had turned pale and fluffy. “Is it too late to triple the batch? Might be a nice surprise for the staff.” And if I gave Holly all the credit, it might help them soften toward her.
She glanced at the clock. “If we hurry. We’re running out of time.”
“Yes—”
She cut me off with a glare and a finger stabbing toward my chest. “Don’t you dare say it.”
“Yes, Chef,” I mouthed.
She smacked my chest with the back of her hand.
My brows flew toward my hairline. Why had my stomach fluttered like that? I had planned to keep my hands to myself, as I did with all my friends, but if she was bringing out the platonic physical touches, then so was I.
I guessed the talking thing would take a little while longer for Holly to get used to. She bossed me around, which was totally fine by me, but she shut down all of my attempts at further conversation. I purposely blamed it on the added stress of making enough cookies for everyone. But what better way to start this new camaraderie I wanted to build?
“I think I’ll take a rain check on the hot chocolate,” I whispered to Holly when the back metal door slammed in the hallway right outside the kitchen. The staff had arrived. Almost three-dozen cookies lined the prep area of the kitchen. I’d snagged two from the first batch out of the oven. Holly’s mom’s recipe was to die for. The sweet dough and melted chocolate partied in my mouth as I chewed the gooey center.
“That’s probably a good idea.”
Nico, with his long curly hair pulled back in a man-bun, waltzed into the kitchen. I didn’t quite understand the fascination with that hairstyle, but I’d also kept mine the same since college, so what did I know?
“Chef. Rhett.” He greeted us with a casual smile. “What are you two doing in here?” He pointed at us and the desserts littering the counter.
“Chef Dewhurst thought cookies would be a nice way to say thank you to all the employees for their hard work lately.”
Nico raised a brow, disbelief clearly written on his face. His attention turned to Holly, whose cheeks tinged pink. “Really?”
Holly shot me a confused glance before answering Nico. “It was a joint effort between Mr. Ivy and myself.”
Nico’s wide lips smiled, showing off his white teeth against his naturally tanned skin. “I see.” He snatched a cookie, popping it into his mouth. He swallowed. “Those are fantastic. We should talk to Starla about offering a cookie skillet using that recipe and her homemade ice cream.”
I pointed at Nico. “Not a bad idea. In fact, where are you two on the menu revamp?”
Holly scowled. “We’re doing our best, considering the short notice.”
Nico’s gaze darted between mine and Holly’s. He kept his mouth shut.
“I want to print new menus and have them ready to go by Thanksgiving. Are we on target?”
Holly shared a look with Nico. “I’d like it if we had more time. Usually, changing the menu takes months of testing.”
Yeah, well, Uncle Anthony didn’t like to wait. “I’m aware. Considering our restraints, can you be ready?”
Nico nodded. “We’re meeting Tuesday morning with the other chefs to discuss new dishes we’ll offer. We’ll test them next week as specials. Whatever sells, we’ll add in.”
“Excellent.”
Holly frowned. “Let’s just hope it’s good enough.”
Agreed. I bobbed my head once. “I’ll be in my office. Thanks again for the cookie, Chef.”
“You’re welcome.”
Back in my office, I couldn’t stop thinking about Holly agreeing to be friends. But more than that, how did just talking to her ease my stress? Yes, I still was overwhelmed and barely hanging on, but knowing Holly cared enough to make me cookies had helped me immensely. It also made me like her more than I already did. With each new character trait Holly revealed to me, the more I wanted to see all of her. Because what she’d shown me so far?
Unforgettable.