Scrumptious by Amanda Usen Page B

crunchy cake. “The new guy seems good.” He spoke around a mouthful of cake.
    “He’s temporary,” she said flatly.
    “Guess you don’t like him.”
    “I didn’t say that.” She stacked dessert plates in the makeshift window. She had run home once more to take care of Sam, but Joe and Olivia hadn’t needed any help from her for over an hour, even though they were really cooking up there. She might as well go home. They didn’t need her.
    Marlene wiped her table with sanitizer and took off her apron.
    “You do like him, then?” Jacques asked, watching her.
    “I didn’t say that either.”
    He smoothed cake crumbs out of his drooping mustache and goatee. He gave her a sage nod. “First time for everything, kid.”

Chapter 9
    Joe finished a plate and slid it into the hot window.
    “Any idea why Marlene wants to fillet your testicles?” Olivia asked him.
    He grinned. “She does, huh?”
    “You like that idea? You’re sicker than I thought. I knew you guys were perfect for each other. You ask her to help you with brunch yet?”
    He would die, buried under omelet pans, drowning in waffle batter, choking on hollandaise before he would ask that little minx to help him with brunch tomorrow.
    The white beans in his sauté pan were thick and gloppy. He checked the flame under the pan. Not hot enough. The opposite of the problem he was having with Marlene. He cranked the dial sharply to the left. Every time she got close enough to touch him, he remembered how her breasts filled his hands. How her mouth made him crazy. “I’ve got it under control,” he said.
    “That doesn’t answer my question. Did you ask her to help?” Olivia asked.
    “Not yet.”
    “Joe, Sunday brunch is slamming. You’ll need two people, and Anthony isn’t up to speed yet. Sorry.” Olivia shot an apologetic glance in the salad kid’s direction. He flushed.
    “Never mind. I’ll come in,” she capitulated.
    “No way. You’re running on empty already,” he said.
    “So ask her already. Or I will. I’m beginning to like the idea of a day off,” she said.
    Suddenly, flames engulfed his pan, shooting up around its sides. He cut the heat all the way down the stove and dropped a lid over his sauté pan. When he pulled the pan off the stove, flames shot up into the hood. Joe swore.
    Olivia stood frozen, tongs in hand. “Salt, girl!” He thrust the box of kosher salt at her and took off for the bakeshop, almost running through Jacques on his way down the short hall.
    “I need baking soda,” he said when he reached Marlene. She thrust a five pound bucket into his hands and didn’t ask any questions. He sprinted back to the line where Olivia was still frozen, kosher salt box in hand. He elbowed her out of the way and dumped soda on the flames. It hit the stove in a powdery whump, and the flames sputtered, still trying to break through the heavy powder.
    “I hope this does it,” he said. “If the Ansul system drops, we’re done.” They couldn’t serve food from a kitchen covered in flame-retardant chemicals. That’s why he hadn’t reached for the fire extinguisher in the first place.
    Servers and busboys crowded the front of the line, trying to get a good view. Marlene must have followed him up there because Joe heard her shooing them back into the dining room. He poured again, tasting the soda on his tongue, feeling it coat his nostrils.
    The flames sputtered, died out, then disappeared.
    Olivia swayed next to him. Tears streamed down her face. He grabbed her around the waist, putting one hand on the back of her head, shoving down. “Head between your knees, kiddo. Lean on me.” He held her that way for a moment, bent over, cradled in the curve of his body until her shoulders relaxed. Joe pulled her slowly upright, still supporting her weight.
    “You gonna make it?” he asked.
    Olivia nodded. She sagged against the salad station. At Joe’s sharp gesture, Anthony tentatively took her hand and drew her away from the