Chapter 3 Shattered

Adam POV

I needed to start prepping for lunch service. The waitress had arrived - late, but still. Now the damn intern was running late too. Was this some kind of conspiracy?

Though, honestly... maybe it was for the best. The counters were clean, the stations in order, and the clock was ticking down to the first ticket.

"Lorenzo, I need the seasonal vegetables washed and cut into julienne strips. And double-check the mise en place for station four - it looked like a farmers' market yesterday," I said, eyes still on my notepad.

Lorenzo Vidal was my sous-chef. Can't say he was my first choice, but he proved himself capable - and that, to me, was what mattered. And he was here. In this small town everyone else ran from... the one I came back to.

Lorenzo nodded with that controlled smile of his. We weren't friends. But we worked well together. Boss and employee, like it should be. No blurred lines. No unnecessary trust.

"All done, Chef. I even added fresh herbs to the base sauce, like we discussed at the last meeting."

"Like we discussed." He loved reminding me. Loved seeming diligent, attentive, efficient.

It was past noon. The heat rose - and not just from the stove. First orders started coming in. Clara did her job well - precise, quiet, always on time.

The kitchen came to life, a rhythm of metal on wood, pans sizzling, fast-paced orders - a symphony that only made sense here.

For a moment, I almost forgot about the intern. Almost. Still no sign of them.

And the new waitress? Wasn't she supposed to be picking up plates by now? I didn't even know her name. Then again, if she'd arrived on time, maybe we'd have covered those basics.

That's when I heard the crash. Shattering glass. A stifled gasp. Then silence. The kind of silence that falls when everyone around knows something went very, very wrong.

I looked up. Lorenzo paused mid-task but didn't move.

Of course. Why get involved when you can watch from a safe distance?

"What was that?" I asked, already heading for the kitchen doors.

I pushed through the swing doors. Two steps. That's all it took to see the chaos.

Shards on the floor. A fallen glass. A customer with water in her lap. And in the middle of it all... the new waitress. Wide-eyed behind her glasses, gripping an empty tray like it could somehow fix everything.

Of course. Just what I needed today.

Jordan POV

I swear it wasn't my fault. I tried. I really tried. Even if disaster had already been circling the room like a black cloud about to burst.

I was doing my job - diligently, I might add. Or being hazed, more like. Because technically, I was supposed to be in the kitchen... not out here, balancing drinks like some kind of circus act.

I took the orders, gave them to Clara, took a deep breath... and started serving drinks. Playing it safe, I carried as little as possible. Two glasses first. Then a bottle. Everything lined up neatly on the tray, balanced with the care of someone transporting live explosives.

But no.

Clara thought I was wasting time and shoved me out with a fully loaded tray. Glasses, bottles, ice - the whole liquid arsenal the table had ordered, teetering on the edge of disaster.

Miraculously, I made it to the table.

I leaned in carefully, ready to start distributing the drinks. And that's when the customer - impatient or maybe trying to be helpful - decided she could take the bottle off the tray herself.

Fatal error.

I felt the shift in weight, the tray wobble. I tried to compensate.

I failed.

Two glasses slid. One hit the floor directly. The second bounced off the edge of the table and ricocheted. The customer jumped, startled - and in doing so, tipped the water bottle over... onto herself.

I heard her "AAAH!" before the rest of the tray's contents hit the floor.

Crash. Splash. Chaos. Water. Shards. Soaked blouse. Horrified expression. Me, frozen. Empty tray in hand. Mouth slightly open. Feet glued to the floor.

Beautiful. Perfect. Epic first day.

I have no idea how long I stood there, staring at the wreck like a slow-motion car crash. Frozen. Guilty. Ready to evaporate.

Eventually, I moved.

"I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry... I'm sorry..." I started muttering on loop as I bent down to pick up the glass shards. "Oh my God..."

I grabbed the tray and started placing the larger pieces on it, trying to ignore the eyes around me - or the unspoken judgement hanging in the air.

And then... I saw them. Shoes. Black. Perfectly polished. And I knew. Even before I looked up, I knew.

The Chef. Adam Black. Looking like he was about to turn my first day... into my last.

Without a word, he grabbed me by the arm - firm enough to make me stand, not hard enough to break anything - and shoved a broom and dustpan into my hands.

I stood there, staring at the tools like they were alien weapons. Oh. Right. The glass. For the glass.

For a moment, his stare short-circuited any intelligent thought I might've had. All I had left was panic mode. And the pounding of my heart like a samba drumline.

Before I even started sweeping, I heard his voice - low, irritated, grazing my ear like a whispered threat:

"When you're done... kitchen."

Chills. Crap. I was definitely getting fired.

...But at least I'd make it into the kitchen first. Small victory.

I watched him walk off toward the table, where he apologised to the customers on my behalf - in a tone so controlled it almost sounded professional. He even offered them lunch on the house.

I think the customers pitied me... or maybe it was the death glare he gave me. The customer - the same one who thought playing waitress was a good idea - even spoke up.

Said she'd just been trying to help, shouldn't have grabbed the bottle, and apologised... to him. Not to me. To him.

Of course. Obviously, he's the victim here.But did that help calm the beast?

Nope. Not even close. The look he shot me before heading back to the kitchen made that crystal clear.

Well... in for a penny, in for a pounding.

If I was getting fired, he was at least going to hear my piece. I came here to intern in the kitchen - the kitchen - not get hazed into waitress duty just because his staff didn't show up.

And if I was going out, I'd go out with noise.

I swept up the last of the shards, sighing, defeated.Okay... maybe louder than breaking dishes is hard to top - but hey, never say never.

All I wanted was a chance in the kitchen... not a one-way ticket to the Hall of Fame of Clumsiness.