That Was Then (The Re-Do Series Book 1) Read Free

We have a party from the Taiwanese embassy at twelve. Or have you forgotten?”
    Serachi sticks his large European nose into the air. He’s half European, half Belizean. It’s common knowledge that he ‘identifies’ with the former more than the latter. His nose clearly agrees.
    “I haven’t forgotten, Serachi. That’s why I prepared the mixtures from last night.”
    Thank God I did too, or I’d be bawling my eyes out trying to get everything ready at this hour .
    “As the pastry chef, it is your job to set a better example to our team, Kendall.” Serachi’s beady eyes narrow into slits.
    I glance around the newly renovated kitchen, empty except for Serachi and me. I’m late by my own standards, but the official work hour doesn’t begin for a few minutes.
    “I think I’m good.”
    This spins him into a frenzy.
    Normally, we’d banter some more. Serachi would call me a ‘hooligan’ which is his loving nickname for me. I’d then focus on my work with the kind of energy that comes from knowing you just creamed someone in a word war.
    Today, I’m already on a race to beat the clock so someone else will have to poke a hole in Serachi’s ego.
    “Do you mind?” I cut him off mid-speech.
    Even Serachi seems surprised. I’m going against our usual back-and-forth.
    “Excuse me?” He glowers.
    This is the perfect opportunity to make fun of him, but I really do have more pressing issues. The Napoleons won’t make themselves.
    “I’m late. I was wrong. Can we get to work now?”
    Serachi stutters for a moment, but I’m already heading to my corner of the kitchen.
    I love my job and – with the exception of Serachi – I love all the sou chefs and even the cleaners and dishwashers. We’re a team working toward a common goal: making good food.
    And getting a paycheck every two weeks.
    As I press the button for the radio and dig my hands into the custard I’d set last night, I allow my brain to take me where it will.
    That’s mistake number one. My brain has one thing and only one thing on its mind.
    Mister Elevator Guy.
    For lack of a better name, I’ll call him John Doe.
    So, apart from my incredibly embarrassing meat-pie-on-the-face thing this morning, I think I handled myself with dignity and class…
    Oh, who am I kidding?
    I made a complete fool of myself.
    Why couldn’t I speak? Even a quiet and demure ‘good morning’ would have made a better impression than my slack-jawed, one syllable response and dumb expression.
    It’s been a while since I’ve dated, but I don’t think it’s been that long since I’ve spoken to a good-looking man. Just the other day, my hand bumped against the bag boy’s at my neighborhood grocery store.
    Sure, the kid was at least five years my junior, but I managed to start a nice little conversation in the six seconds that it took him to bag my package of Oreos and my gallon of milk. He hadn’t left me with palm-sweat and heart palpitations.
    I try to focus on the pastry. As my sou chef wanders into the room, we work even faster to create perfect puff pastries, layered with whipped cream, and topped with a vanilla-chocolate glaze.
    Curwen’s assistance, unfortunately, gives my mind more time to wonder which leads me to mistake numero dos .
    The kitchen staff has a different lunch break, simply because we’re the ones serving lunch. Around three in the afternoon, I finally get a chance to untie my apron. I head for the back room, careful to check my face for any unwanted food items this time.
    I’m home free.
    The handle for the manual lift is stubborn and I have to throw my weight against it to open the door. I hate using the service elevator, but I have no choice. If Serachi sees me breaking the rules, even a little bit, he’ll have my head. The guy is wound a few sizes too tight, I’ll tell you that.
    After several excruciatingly slow minutes, I’m finally deposited to the main floor near the back entrance of the hotel. I slip between the boxes lined to the