Aisling's Summer Diary

Chapter 18 | The Royal Treatment

After a marathon lesson in the art of onion chopping, I’d learned two things: One, I still don’t know how to mince, dice, slice, or julienne an onion.  And two, my new boss used to be head chef at a swanky London brasserie—THE favorite of the royal family!  Not gonna lie, I am more than a little star-struck.  And more than a little freaked out!  On the other hand, imagine what it would mean for the hotel if I could create a menu fit for a queen?!

5:45 p.m.

I was mid-daydream at the chopping board, picturing an adoring gala crowd, tinkling silver, and dish after dish of my very own filling the room with sparks of color and drawing joyful little gasps from the diners, when I nicked my thumb.  I tucked it into my fist and excused myself.  Thank goodness the chef hadn’t noticed.  He’d been recounting (at length) the complicated recipes he’d devised for his most “discriminating” guests.  I found a first aid kit in the bathroom press, doctored my finger quick as I could, and ran back to the kitchen.  The chef was still going on about Princess Beatrice and her nut loaf.  Phewww!

I got cracking on ANOTHER onion, but the chef stopped me short, his eyes bulging at the clumsy mash on my chopping board.  “What is that?” he shrieked.  I flinched, almost slicing my other thumb!  He took up the board and dumped it into the compost.  “THIS is not a burger joint,” he said and handed me another bag of onions. 

7:30 p.m.

My hands were riddled with nicks and scrapes when I finally hung up my apron for the day.  And I reeeeeeked of onions.  All I wanted to do was go back to the hotel and have a nice, long shower.  Or maybe a bubble bath.  I was trying to remember the trick Ciaran had told me to fill the old tub upstairs and almost ran smack into Slater!  He was waiting for me at the corner, two ice creams bars at the ready.  How did he know I was working here? 

And why, after my culinary brush off, was he being SO nice to me?  I mean, first he gives me a personalized collection of family recipes.  Celia would NOT like that one bit, especially with sooo much at stake.  If I could best her in the kitchen, the Surf Shack would be that much closer to clinching the €10,000!  But Slater doesn’t seem to care at all about the bet.  To him, it’s just another one of his mom’s impulse-driven schemes.

They don’t get on very well, not since Slater’s dad moved to California.  She’s been on him ever since to get “a real job,” something that’ll give him a bit of “security,” which is kind of funny considering how Celia spent her first few years after school.  She used to be such an idealist (like Slater), out to make the world a more beautiful place, but now she seems to be obsessed with one thing and one thing only: the bottom line.

Part of me defaults to making Celia out to be the bad guy, but I can’t help but wonder what’s behind her nagging at Slater the way she does.  And that make-it-or-break-it challenge she put to Ciaran?!  What was that about, really?  Maybe it’s not money she’s obsessed with but taking care of her family.  That’s how my dad was when he lost his job in Boston.  Nothing else mattered.

But Slater hadn’t dropped by my work to talk about his mom.  He asked me, point blank, to tell him what was going on between us!  I’d been wondering the exact same thing.  We’d had that amazing night together on the beach—and that first kiss at the party!

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t crushing BIG TIME, but even with all of that headlong emotion and all the sweet little things Slater’s said and done for me, I never once stopped thinking about Murphy.  Or my promise to Siobhan.  I have no idea who or what I want, and I’m pretty sure that was more than a little obvious.  It sounded totally cheesy, but I said the only thing I could say to Slater—could we be friends? And Slater, being the sweetheart that he is, said YES!

8 p.m.

When I got back to the hotel, Siobhan was crashed out on the couch, a cup of tea and a stack of biscuits balanced on her belly.  She’d spent the entire evening handing out flyers in the village, or trying to anyway.  “They’d see me coming, and they’d TURN the other way!” she moaned.  “And the ones that did take a flyer just threw it away!”  It seems that even with our new name and our FREE grand opening party, they’re keeping as far away from this place as possible!”  How were we supposed to drum up a buzz with the whole town hung up on the hotel’s “old folks’ home” image???

And where had I been all night, Siobhan wanted to know, eyeing the plaster on my thumb.  “Nowhere,” I said and faked a yawn.  I told her I was going to veg for a bit in my room, maybe catch up on some reading.  She narrowed her eyes at me, not buying a word.  I wouldn’t be able to keep this up for long—Siobhan knew I was up to something—but I only needed a few more (ok, maybe a LOT more) lessons with the chef.  Then I’d be able to prove to Siobhan that what mattered most to me in Dún Mártain wasn’t some boy, it was our friendship.

 ...........
Click the Thumbnail Below or Click Info on Mobile to Watch the Webisode.