Chapter 4

 Rachel



Droplets of tears streamed down from my eyes, sliding down my cheeks, with my eyes burning.

If anything I hate in this life and in my work, it is those onions. This one thing makes everything I love about cooking hate. But my relationship with his onions is something very complicated. It's hate and love kind, Love eating and adding them, in the food I make but I hate cutting, copping them

But that is what it is. I have loved cooking for as long as I can remember. The first time I cooked something edible was when I was six, and that was a boiled egg. And after that, I never stopped. I started reading cookbooks, watching cooking shows, even watching my mom cook and tried everything to learn this skill.

I don’t know why, but as a child, whenever I was sad or the kids at my school used to bully me because I didn't have a dad, I used to come home and cook even as a child all alone at home with my mom working busy all the time. I never felt alone. Cooking food brings me peace and it still does. Maybe that is one of the reasons I decided to make my passion a profession and came to meet with Jayce.

He was the first person to teach me many things that I couldn’t even learn by myself. And I used to love the time we spent together in the kitchen. He might be my boss, a teacher in some ways. But his company is something that I used to enjoy, and I was always eager for our next lesson together. Until one day, everything changed.

I signed, with the onions making me cry. My mind reminded me of the first time I came face to face with Jayce, the day when everything started. The very beginning of our story. 

Flashback*****

Today is no more than any other day, just one, the same day as me waiting at the table like usual. 

But this is not something I ever wanted to do. I want to be in the kitchen, with a chef playing with ingredients and creating something and everyone here can devour each bite, forgetting about anything about the food they taste.

But look what I am doing? I'm here waiting tables, wearing this ridiculous outfit, I mean look at me, standing here with a shirt that seems so tight that at any moment I walk,the button of the shirt is going to pop out, ripping the shirt off my chest and the skirt is so short that I don’t think I can ever bend down even if wanted to without showing my ***. God, I sighed,with my leg throbbing, if I was complaining before about the clothes, which are not even that bad as the heels. For godsake, we are waiters not stripers, wearing something like these and displaying ourselves. But I can't do anything about it. You know the phrase, that beggars can’t be choosers. That’s me. I need money and, more so, the experience of the hotel business, even if it’s coming from a waiting table. I want to open a restaurant of my own and the first rule will be no heels or short skirts, which are my number one priority. 

“Rachel food for table six,” I nodded, loading my hands with plates, walking my way to deliver the food. 

And as I was walking, my legs twisted in the worst possible timing and way I could have imagined, making the plates of food fly in the air, dropping on the floor and on me, with my body landing on something stiff yet soft.

My eyes are closed as I’m hoping that this will all be a stupid dream and I want to wake up at any moment now. But my heart knows this all is reality and it's my job that I only started working a few weeks ago, and I'm doomed.

“You okay,” I heard a soft mumbling voice in my heart, as I felt an arm wrap around my waist. 

I quickly opened my eyes, startled by the sudden closeness. And noticed that the stiff, soft thing I landed on was nothing but the lap of one of the customers. Shit, Rachel, now I'm definitely going to lose my job.

Startled by the closeness between us and people in the restaurant, they eyed me suspiciously. I stood quickly, wanting to separate myself from the stranger. Only to groan loudly and lose my balance again. Don’t tell me I sprained my ankle.  

“Hold on,” I heard the voice of a stranger again, as he wrapped his hand around my waist, preventing my fall, staring at me with a smile. 

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. I feel so helpless now with all eyes staring at us.

 “Rachel, what do you think you’re doing,” a voice shouted and made me stand still even with my leg hurting badly.

“I’m sorry, it's just heels…,” I tried to speak with my voice shaking both from pain and fear of losing my job.

“Oh don’t give me these silly excuses, pack your stuff and leave. You’re no longer needed here.” 

“But…,” I tried to explain. 

“And who do you think you’re to fire her?” All the eyes turned to a voice that was coming from a stranger supporting me. “What do you think about the ridiculous uniform of waitresses in this place? What do you think this place is a family high end restaurant or strip club?”

“ That is what it is,” said the manager, staring, glaring at the stranger beside me. “And as a guest, I don’t think you have the right to interfere in matters related to employees here,”

“You, clean this mess and leave.” 

“But….,” I tried to say yet again, but was ignored by turning his back on me, leaving the room like nothing had happened.

I turned my head to the stranger who was still holding me, “I’m sorry for ruining your meal, if you please allow me to take you to another table as I clean the mess,” 

I separated myself from trying to walk only to stop and whimper in pain. I took a deep breath trying to take a step, only to be stopped, with a hand on my shoulder, turning and making me sit on one of the chairs.

“Sit,” The stranger that helped me before said as he kneeled down, putting my feet on his lap, checking my sprain. “It's all red, you need to see a doctor before it gets any worse,” he seemed worried, but why?

“Rachel, you're still here,” the manager's voice shouted again.

“That guy..,” he mumbled, standing on his feet, giving a deadly stare at the manager. “You know what, I had enough of you treating your juniors like slaves,” 

“What can you do about it,” the manager challenged. 

“Try me,” he said, picking up the phone. 

Damn, this stranger is fighting for me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy, not even my own father, ever take a stand for me like this.

The call ended, and the stranger turned his attention to me. “Let's go,” he said, holding me tight, putting all my weight in his arms. 

“But..,” I said, but he only smiled, turning his head to the manager. “Pack your things or you might not have the time to do so."

“What..,” he questioned.

But without caring about him, we walked slowly towards his car. And drive to the nearest hospital.

The memory of that day is still clearly vivid in my mind. That was the first day that someone took a stand for me, even as a stranger. Jayce supported me, but it's sad that none of us wanted anything serious about our relationship. I sighed, shaking the memories of the past from my mind and continuing my work.

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