Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65083 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Clare spends about an hour and a half with me to begin my job orientation. She gives me a tour of the banquet space, and introduces me to the other meeting staff, most of whom are general meeting planners, while my focus will be on weddings. After she leaves, with the promise that we’ll talk again soon, the resort’s IT specialist comes in and gets me set up on their computer and phone systems, and gives me an overview of the software they use.
After that, I order business cards, organize my desk and filing system, review the hotel’s website, and make several notes about things I need, questions to ask, and ideas I have. Caught up in details, I lose track of time, and just when I’m realizing that I’m hungry, there’s a knock on my office door.
Thorn is there, holding a tray with a covered dish. “Ready for a lunch break?” he asks.
THORN
I’m never fully prepared for the way I feel when I see Lexy, even when I’m expecting the encounter.
It’s a rush every time, and I’m surprised that my feelings for her have lasted for so many years. On the other hand, I’m not surprised at all. Because this is Lexy we’re talking about, and maybe you never really get over your first love, even though at that young an age I didn’t truly understand the depth of my feelings.
She rises from her chair and gives me a big smile. “Hi! How did you know I was here?”
“New travels fast around the resort.” Moving closer to her, I lower my voice. “And I have several spies working for me here in the office.”
She nods solemnly, in on my joke. “Noted.”
As I set the tray on her desk, my face cracks into a grin, like it does most of the time when I’m with her. “I brought lunch for you.”
“That’s amazing! And perfect timing; my stomach was starting to protest.”
“It’s a chef’s superpower, knowing when people are hungry.”
“I still can’t get over you being such a hotshot chef,” she says. “Though I’m certainly not surprised you’re so popular, especially after tasting your fabulous food last night.”
My chest swells with pride. “I’m afraid this meal is much more humble, but it was prepared especially for you.”
Her eyebrows go up. I watch her face closely as I remove the cloche, and see the moment the memory surfaces.
“Oh my gosh, you remembered!” The way her eyes light up makes it hard not to stare at her for longer than would be considered acceptable. I’m like a little kid again, hopelessly in love with my older brother’s friend.
She seemed so mature back then. Even though we were only one year apart, the age difference automatically made her cooler and smarter, and certainly unobtainable. She never treated me like a nuisance, even though she could have.
She looks at me very differently now, though, and I’m aware that our age difference doesn’t mean a thing, not anymore.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, still teasing. “Quesadillas and tomato soup are the only thing I ever make for lunch.”
“I can’t believe you remembered.”
“Of course I did.” The last time I served this to Lexy was the day that made me want to become a chef. I was alone with her, because Kai and Thorn were at school. They were already in high school, while Lexy and I were still at the middle school, and we had a half day.
She came over to the house, and I could tell immediately that something was wrong. Eventually, she confided in me that her parents were fighting again, and she didn’t want to go home.
I was desperate for some way to cheer her up, and of course we were hungry, so I made quesadillas and reheated some of my mom’s homemade tomato soup. It was simple, but Lexy was so impressed that I was able to make the meal, and her praise made me feel like a king.
More importantly, as we ate, we talked, and her mood shifted. I learned how food has the power to provide comfort, and that cooking for someone is a way to care for them.
“In all these years, I’ve never had this exact combination again,” she says. “Grilled cheese, yes, and those are certainly good, but they’re nothing like one of your crispy, flaky, gooey quesadillas.” She reaches for a wedge and brings it to her mouth, and I have to force myself to look away.
“Sorry, I’m being rude,” she says after she’s had two big bites. “Have you eaten yet? Have some.” She nudges the tray in my direction, where I’ve been standing, happily watching her eat.
I put up a hand, refusing. “I usually don’t eat lunch since I spend all day tasting food.” I pat my midsection with the same hand. “I have to keep in shape.”