-- Ali's POV --
I woke up to a throbbing pain in my head. Forcing my eyes open, I glanced around my surroundings, momentarily confused. I was on the floor, my legs tangled in the sheets.
Had I fallen out of bed?
Then Summer's face swam into my mind and I remembered that I didn't sleep in a bed at all. I had slept on the couch.
Hissing in pain, I stumbled to my feet and checked the clock. It was only 5 am! Knowing that I could never sleep after being woken up, I walked sluggishly to the bathroom, muttering insults to Summer under my breath.
I could hear her snoring as I passed my bedroom and entered the bathroom, which added to my irritation. Of course, I had to put up with her because I would be a bad sister if I didn't, but she didn't make it easy, did she?
And every time I thought of that argument we had, years ago, I felt like dragging her out of the apartment by her hair. She deserved it, and that's what most people would do. But no, I had to be the better person and forgive her.
And even now, after being really kind to her and letting her stay, she still treats me like dirt on her shoe!
Thinking about that argument almost a year and a half ago, I brushed my teeth, washed my face and spent about half an hour brushing all the tangles out of my light brown hair and then tying it in a loose plait. I took one last look in the mirror and smiled faintly.
By the time I was out, it was nearly 6. Carefully, I sneaked into my room and tip-toed towards the wardrobe. I searched for my uniform, grabbed it, and was out of there like a shot.
"Hey Ali."
I jumped, squealing, and then whirled around to face Gina. She smirked at me.
"Gee!" I gasped, my hand flying to my heart, which was pounding against my chest. "Don't do that!"
She raised her eyebrows. "You know you don't have to sneak around her, don't you?"
"Yes, I do!" I said indignantly, following her into the kitchen and plugging in the toaster. "You don't know how she can be in the mornings."
She frowned at me but didn't reply.
"Toast?" I asked, holding up the bread.
"We're chefs. We can do better than that," she pointed out.
"Assistant chefs," I corrected her, popping the bread into the toaster. "Besides, I don't think we have time for a full – English breakfast, do you?"
"Yeah, we do," she said, checking her watch. "The restaurant doesn't open until 8."
"I know," I said, opening the fridge at taking out a bottle of milk. "But I want to get out of here as soon as possible. If she wakes up, we'll have to make breakfast for her too."
"She can't make her own breakfast?" Gina asked sceptically.
"Nope," I replied, pouring out the milk into two glasses and passing one to her. "She would always make me do it, and I'm guessing Dennis cooked for her."
Right then, the toast popped out again and I began buttering it in silence. Gina started talking about applying for Head Chef, as the job had been open ever since our old Head Chef, Arielle, left us for a better job. I thought it was a great idea.
"I mean, there's no harm in trying, is there?"
"No!" I said, shaking my head. "It's a lovely idea, Gee."
Without a doubt, Gina was the better chef out of the two of us. She didn't like to rub it in, but we both knew it was true. And we both knew that if she applied for the job, she would most certainly get it.
"Why don't you try out?" she asked kindly.
I snorted. "I barely got this job. I'll never become Head Chef."
**
Gina and I left swiftly, but not before leaving Summer a note of instructions with how to use a toaster without burning the toast. Gina thought it was stupid, but I thought it was necessary.
We took the bus to work, since neither of us owned a car. Not that I was complaining. If I could, I would spend my whole life not driving. It scares the hell out of me.
When it came to our stop, we thanked the driver and hopped off. There were quite a few people going off on our stop.
We walked down the street, passing many of our favourite shops on the way. The sun shone brightly in the blue sky, making me feel hot and sweaty in my uniform. I tugged at the collar to allow some air in. However, the weather didn't mirror my feelings.
"Blimey, it's hot," I said, fanning myself.
"I know," Gina sighed, and then rolled her eyes. "You do know that fanning yourself just makes you feel hotter, don't you?"
"It does?" I asked, surprised, dropping my arm.
Gina nodded. "Yeah, because you're moving your hand a lot."
"Oh," I mumbled, disappointed. "What time is it?"
"About half 7."
We finally approached the restaurant and, to our surprise and delight, saw that it was open.
The 'closed' sign was still up though, so we turned left and entered the back way, which was only for staff.
It was like any other restaurant kitchen. There were shelves on the walls for the equipment, utensils and ingredients, along with prep tables that held stoves, ovens, fryers and serving plates. On the far side of the room were the walk-in-freezer and the dry food storage area. Opposite them were the dish-washer, dish-washing sinks and cleaning supplies.
However, there was only one person in the kitchen when we entered.
His back was turned to us, and he seemed to be examining the menu. He was wearing the restaurant uniform and the chef's hat.
Confused, Gina and I walked inside, snatched our hats off the pegs and put them on, and then stopped behind him. When he didn't seem to notice us there, I cleared my throat loudly.
He turned around and my eyes met a pair of piercing sapphire ones. They really were a beautiful shade, and for a moment, I was lost in a sea of blue, but then I realised something. There was a voice at the back of my mind trying to tell me something but I couldn't figure out what it was.
His appearance was familiar...
"Hello, Ali. It's nice to see you again."
My eyes widened and I gaped at him, not being able to believe my eyes.
"What?" Gina whispered in my ear, but I just shook my head.
No... No, no, no! This cannot be happening!
"Dennis?" I breathed, shock freezing my muscles so I couldn't shake his outstretched hand.
He smirked. "You remember me!"
"What are you doing here?" I asked rudely, wanting the slap that smug smirk off his face. His eyes seemed to twinkle mischievously, and he sure took his time to answer.
"I'm your new Head Chef."
**
-- Summer's POV --
"Ali? Gina?" I called, stepping out of the bedroom.
The apartment was unusually quiet. Where were they?
I padded into the kitchen, wearing Ali's slippers. There were note on the table. I picked it up and read it.
Summer,
Gee and I have gone to work. We've got jobs, you see. You should try and get one someday. Anyway, we didn't want to wake you, so we left without making your breakfast.
There's a toaster on the table and some bread next to it. Just put the bread in and wait until it pops out, then butter it with the knife next to the toaster. Okay?
Ali.
Oh great! She's got me making my own breakfast?! Why couldn't she just wait for me to wake up?
Sighing, I decided to follow her instructions carefully. Toast seemed simple enough to make. I could do that, right?
I shoved the toast in with a little too much force, and then sat idly for a few minutes. Dennis's words still rung in my head and I tried not to think about it, but now that I was alone, I couldn't help it.
His face popped into my mind. There was a cold, hard look his intense blue eyes. There was no love in them. It made me feel angry, but I couldn't help missing him.
Then I realised what date it was and gasped. It was our one year anniversary.
The toast popped out, shattering my thoughts of how we would celebrate our anniversary. One thing was for sure, he would've spoiled me. He would've made me feel special, made me feel like I was the most beautiful girl in the world.
Dazed, I placed the toast on the plate. I picked up the knife, dipped it in butter and attempted the scrape the butter onto the toast.
Something vibrated in my pocket. I jumped, the knife slipping through my fingers and cutting my palm. Cursing under my breath, I hurried over to the sink and placed my hand under the tap. When I opened it, cold water poured over my hand and I hissed in pain, shutting my eyes.
Once I had carefully bandaged my hand in toilet paper (it was the best I could do) I rummaged in my pocket and fished out the phone.
One new message.
Excitedly, I opened the message, hoping it would be from Dennis, perhaps wishing me a happy anniversary even though we couldn't celebrate it. Not that I cared if he did. We were finished.
But my heart did sink when it showed Ali's number.
I am going to kill you when I get home.