The Heartbreakers

Oliver shoved the heavy metal doors and they swung open with ease. We were blasted in the face by thick, hot air that smelled of fried food as we stepped inside.

Even though it was well past dinner time, the entire kitchen was bursting with activity. I watched as a woman in a hair net chopped up a potato, her knife a flashing blur. Meat sizzled on a nearby grill as a cook flipped it over. A boy with a mop and bucket zoomed right by us, water droplets spraying everywhere. He was hurrying to clean up a carton of milk that a different chef had accidently dropped on the floor.

“Are we allowed to be in here?” I asked nervously. I wanted to leave before someone noticed us and we got in trouble. 

As if on cue, one of the cooks shouted at Oliver. “Perry, my man! How’s it going?"

Oliver grinned at me, before turning back to the man. “Great Tommy how about you?” he responded as he rolled up his sleeves. I watched in confusion as he washed his hands in a nearby sink. What the heck is he doing?

“Oh same old, same old. The rest of the guys coming down to see me?”

Oliver shook his head, making his curls bounce up and down. “Not tonight but I’m sure they’ll be down for breakfast.”

“They better,” Tommy joked as he turned back to toss the salad he was making.

After finishing scrubbing his hands, Oliver looked back up at me. “This place is like a home away from home. I know practically everybody who works here,” he explained to me. “You don’t have any food allergies, do you?”

“Um no..." I said slowly, completely confused. 

“Great,” he said, cutting me off. “You just wait here. I’m going to go whip us up my favorite.” I stared after him in shock as he made his way over to a huge refrigerator and began pulling out ingredients

Is the lead singer of America’s most popular boy band about to cook me dinner? I wondered.

In fact, he was. When Oliver was done making our food, he packed it all into a paper bag. Then he grabbed my hand and shot me a huge smile. Cara would kill to be here right now, I thought as I smiled back at him.

Instead of heading towards the pool like I thought we would, Oliver led me out the back door of the kitchen. “Grab the door stop,” Oliver instructed me as we stepped out into the warm summer night. “The lock on the door gets jammed sometimes and we don’t want to get stuck out here.”

Bending over, I scooped up the wooden block and shoved it in the door before it closed.

The light above us flicked as Oliver sat down on the concrete steps, careful not to spill the drinks he had in one hand or drop the bag of food that was in the other. I dropped down next to him and Oliver placed the food in between us. I didn’t know what he made, but I could tell that whatever it was would give me a heart attack. There was already a stain of grease creeping its way up the brown bag.

“So James Bond, what do you have for us?” I reached for one of the sodas at the same time as him and our hands brushed up against one another, making me jump.

He smiled before responding. “Well my lady,” he said in a horrible British accent, “why don’t we start with this before it gets cold.” Oliver pulled out a Styrofoam box. “I had this once in Dublin during our tour in Europe. Now I can't get enough of it."

He opened up the box to reveal the source of the grease and steam poured out. It looked like French fries, but they were covered in a white sauce with shredded cheese sprinkled on top.

“What the heck is that?” I asked, looking a little bit concerned. Maybe I shouldn’t have let Oliver cook for me.

“Garlic cheese chips. You’re never going to look at a fry the same way again.” Oliver picked up a fry that was loaded and shoved it into his mouth before any of the cheese could fall off.

“So what exactly is the white stuff?” I could already hear the ‘that’s what she said’ joke in my head if Drew or JJ were here, but apparently Oliver’s head wasn’t in the gutter; he was focusing on his stomach instead.