In Over Her Head: An Anchor Island Novel by Terri Osburn (love story books to read TXT) 📕

coffee table to press pause on the show, then he turned to find her standing at the end of the couch.

“Anywhere is fine.” Pointing to the beer, he said, “Are those to share?”

“Oh, yeah.” Lauren set the pack on the coffee table and perched on the edge of a chair.

His furniture—the sofa and two bulky leather chairs—created a U-shape around the coffee table and he settled back where he’d been before on the couch.

“What’s up?”

“First, I owe you an apology.”

He nearly made a joke about where the real Lauren might be, but the tension in her eyes stopped him. “Okay.”

“You’ve been trying to help me, and I’ve been too proud to let you.”

Since she’d taken nearly all of his advice, that wasn’t quite true, but this didn’t seem the time to point that out. As a group, chefs were trained not to show weakness, and few liked to admit when they were wrong. Points to her for doing so.

“Like you said, you didn’t ask for my input,” he replied. “I should have given you more credit.”

Lauren snorted. “If today is any indication, I should have shut up and listened.” She whisked a bottle from the cardboard pack, twisted off the top with one smooth motion, and tossed it onto the coffee table. “They hate me.”

“Who hates you?” he asked, following her lead and snagging a bottle for himself.

“All of them. Even Jackson. He’s just being cooperative so he can keep living on the island.”

Curious, Nick asked, “How do you know that?”

She took a long swig before answering. “Because I heard them in the kitchen. They didn’t know I was on the other side of the door to overhear their enlightening and honest conversation. Though I suppose I knew even before that. They pushed back on everything I said today.” Tapping the bottle in time with the words, she added, “Every. Fucking. Thing.”

He couldn’t say he was surprised, but he’d expected the first rifts to start a week or so in, not on the first day.

“What were you wanting them to do?”

“Normal prep,” she said, dropping back in the chair. “But this station was over there before. Why did I have to move it over here? And the line ran that way not this way. And why did the bins have to be over there when before they were over here?” The bottle jerked through the air as she ranted. “I don’t give a damn where this shit was before. Why can’t they just put it where I tell them?”

Seeing the problem, he asked, “Would the way they had it before work for the flow you need?”

“What?” she said, squinting his way. “Are you saying they’re right?”

This was delicate ground and if he didn’t want to wear that beer, Nick would need to tread lightly.

“I’m just trying to get the whole picture. Are you having them change what they’re used to because it’s a better setup, or because the old way isn’t your way?”

She snarled, then huffed as steely-blue eyes dropped to her bottle. “I suppose the way they had it before could work, but it isn’t how I envisioned my kitchen.”

“So long as they create your food to your standards, what does it matter where the mise en place is done?”

“The logistics of the kitchen is not the problem,” she mumbled. “They don’t trust me.”

“Do you trust them?” he asked, pretty sure he knew the answer.

“I don’t trust anyone,” she admitted.

“Then there’s your problem.”

“Look,” she said, sitting up and setting her beer on the table. “Other than what Jackson made me over the weekend, I’ve never tasted the food they’re used to making. And I didn’t get to taste anything today either because I sent them home early after hearing them agree about what a bitch I am. How do I know if they can cook my food?”

Nick scratched his head, unsure how to explain this in a way she might hear it.

“How many restaurants have you worked in?” he asked.

“A lot, why?”

“So each time you got hired, they had to believe that you could do the job, having nothing to go on but your resume.”

“I’m a trained chef. Of course I could do the job.”

“Then you expected them to trust you.”

“Yes.”

“But you won’t trust the people who served hundreds if not thousands of meals out of that same kitchen you’re trying so hard to reshape.”

He could almost see the light go on over her head. “That was a totally different menu,” she argued, not ready to admit defeat.

“That was sauces and proteins and vegetables cooked over a heat source. We are all doing the same thing, Lauren. Some better than others, yes, but we’re still just preparing food to make people happy.”

“Fine. Then tell me, oh kitchen guru, how do I get them to trust me?”

“Trust goes both ways. Just as you’re making them earn yours, you have to earn theirs.”

She scoffed. “So what? We stand in a circle and do trust exercises?”

Not a bad idea, actually. “Yes, that’s exactly what you do.” Nick left the couch to search for a business card on his side table. “Here it is.”

“Here’s what?”

He handed her the card. “Defying Gravity Adventure Park up in Nags Head. They specialize in this kind of thing. It’s basically a giant jungle gym with suspension bridges and zip lines. Teams work together to complete the obstacles, some of which are fifty feet off the ground. If you can’t learn to trust each other up there, then there’s no hope of it ever happening.”

Blinking, her eyes shifted from the business card to his face and back again. “You want me to take my kitchen staff to an obstacle course?”

“Why not?”

“Because crossing some suspension bridge has nothing to do with cooking a scallop to the proper temperature.”

Nick plucked the card from her hand. “You came to me this time. If you don’t like my ideas, then you’re on your own.”

“Wait.”

She bolted from the chair and reached around him for the card. Nick turned at the same time and