Moonlight House (Book 2, Lonstino & Greenwood Series)

Chapter 12 - Sous Chef

The man escorts us inside and shows us to a cozy table. I'm still shocked at what I just experienced.

"What a dick. Who does he think he is to deny us entry?" Marisol whispers.

"Unfortunately, not everyone accepts people of color like us. You know, we should go somewhere else. It might not be as nice looking as this restaurant, but probably they won't do difficult."

"And let him get away with being a racist piece of shit? Oh, hell no!" She laughs as she opens her menu.

Seeing her so relaxed gives me confidence that all will be okay. "Does your father really work for the health department?"

"My father owns a landscaping business. I made that up," she points at me with her card.

"You are a good liar," I say and she laughs harder than before.

"When I have to, especially to solve an injustice. How was your free day?"

"It was fine. Did the usual errands and chores, and made the cookies while Erin was out taking care of the groceries. I'm afraid there would have been none left with her around."

"Best gift ever. I love cookies! Do you think I can sneak a taste now?"

"Don't you think we'll get- Oh, never mind."

Marisol has broken a piece of a chocolate chip and almond cookie and chews while covering her mouth with a napkin.

"Thanks God it was chocolate chips; raisins would have ended this date." Her eyes smile at me while she enjoys my gift and I laugh. "Food better be good here, otherwise I will finish this box right away."

"I'm glad you like them so much. You look really beautiful, Marisol," I offer her my hand over the table and she holds it.

"Thank you. You also look really handsome. Now that I think about it, I've never seen you wear other clothes than your uniform."

"You are not the first to mention that today. Whenever I'm not at work I just wear whatever is clean. I rarely go out to places where I can dress like this."

"Well, let's hope we have many more occasions to go out, just not again to this place. They don't deserve us. No one has even come by to offer us a drink."

Not even a minute later, a stressed server approaches our table and gets our drink order. All the tension and anxiety I was feeling before the date has disappeared. Marisol makes me feel incredibly comfortable. Knowing she hopes we meet again makes me truly happy.

"Have you owned the chocolate shop for long?"

"About a year. I've worked my butt off to make it work, but it feels good to be in charge."

"I get you. Well, you know Adam, so you probably also know that I'm part owner of Moonlight House. We all work hard, but knowing you answer to no one but yourself is satisfying. Do you make your own chocolate?"

"I don't. To be honest, I'm not great in the kitchen. What I do is buy inventory from artisans and make sure they get paid well for their products. I then do the resale. Meeting these people and helping them earn a living doing what they love is the best part of my job."

I would be fooling myself if I don't admit that I'm falling hard for her. Marisol is the woman of my dreams and the one I hope to come home to for the rest of my life. I keep these thoughts to myself and spend the rest of our date in pleasant conversation and plenty of laughter. The food is fine, but the portions are small and we joke about grabbing a snack on our way home. As I pay the check and we prepare to leave, the commotion coming from the kitchen reaches us. An obese man in a chef's uniform drags a young woman by her arm.

"How you dare to tell me how to do things in my own kitchen? Out! Out! Out!" He yells as he brings her towards the entrance. "You are a disgrace!"

Marisol and I exchange glances. "Humiliation show?" She says to me and I nod. He could have made her leave via the suppliers' door, but wanted the whole restaurant to watch them.

The woman takes off her chef's coat and throws it at him, then grabs a purse from behind the attendant's counter and leaves without a word. We leave the restaurant and find her outside fumbling with the contents of her purse.

"Are you okay?" I ask her. I feel concerned about the way she was sacked. I would never do that to someone in my staff, even if they deserved it.

"Oh, you saw that in there. Yeah, I'm okay. Kind of relieved," she smiles, gets a phone out of her purse and lets her bright red hair loose from its bun.

"What happened?" Marisol asks.

"Some people don't like hearing the truth. They take advantage of patrons. The steaks are smaller than what the menu says. The soup comes out concentrated cans and gets reheated. I understand needing a soup base and finishing it with fresh ingredients, but you can get the same taste you get in there at home with a can opener," she laughs.

"It would have been very handy if your dad was a health inspector," I say to Marisol who lets out a small snort. "And how long have you been a chef?" I ask the lady.

"Five years, and I'm only a sous chef. Unless one of these old turtles die, getting a proper chef position at a decent place isn't possible."

"How old are you then?" She looks eighteen at the most.

Marisol laughs and the girl smiles. "You shouldn't ask a woman her age! Especially one you just met. My name is Marisol and he's Samuel."

"It's very nice to meet you both. My name is Claire Hayes and I know I look like a teenager, but I'm 28 years old. I get it all the time. Likely also another reason why people don't take me seriously, besides not being able to keep my mouth shut."

"Claire, have you heard of Moonlight House?" I ask, as I get an idea.

"Who hasn't?" She shrugs. "The place to be in and to be seen. I'll visit one day; people talk a lot about it."

"Would you like to work there? As a chef?"

"Is there an opening there?" She asks wide-eyed.

"We were meant to look at profiles on Wednesday to hire a chef to help me carry the restaurant load. I'm the head chef there. If you are interested, I can ask my business partner Adam to sort it out. You can start on Wednesday."

"Are fucking serious? Like not joking?" She paces the sidewalk and turns to me. "Thank you so much! Do you have a card or something?"

"I have Adam's. I have no use for them myself," I get my wallet out and hand the business card to her.

"I will call him tomorrow and will see you on Wednesday."

"Looking forward to it."

We shake hands and Marisol and I walk towards our cars.

"You know, I feel like going back in there and yelling at them," Marisol says. "They let an excellent chef get away."

"I hope you are right," I stop and turn to her, cup her face and kiss her. Marisol gives me a goofy smile and I know everything will be alright.