Chapter 6 First Day

• MILA
• By the start of my first day, I had twenty new ideas to incorporate into the menu, hoping to make my mark at my new job. But things were proving difficult.
• Samara, as executive chef and owner, was often busy, and did not have time to chat with me most days. She had been nice enough to tell the rest of the kitchen to speak in English instead of Fresonian, so I was able to communicate with my fellow workers. I reported to Fiona, a sous chef, who was not as kind as Samara.
• Fiona did not seem to like me very much. She was constantly criticizing my work, and never let me experiment with the recipes. I wanted to talk to Samara about my ideas, but Fiona was always right there to shut me down.
• Still, the work was good, the pay was better, and I had hope for the future. Right now, that’s really all that mattered.
• I had decided to wear the stone necklace under my chef’s uniform, afraid of leaving it alone in my motel room. The uniform hid it quite nicely, and I found it oddly comforting to have. I told myself that this way, I could slip it to Felix if he were to ever come in to eat.
• The real problem is, I noticed a few people staring at me and checking their phones. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I realized they were looking at the photo in the news. Anxious, I hurried into the first shop I could find and purchased a cloth face mask to cover my nose and mouth.
• Halfway to Samara’s, I noticed a fruit vendor on the side of the road. He had a wide assortment of citruses, including kumquat, yuzu, and grapefruits. But what caught my eye was the large, juicy-looking supply of prickly pear.
• Prickly pears were common to Fresonia, often found in the drier areas of the mountain ranges. They were actually my favorite fruit, and even when I owned my café in America, I made sure to import all my prickly pears from Fresonia.
• By lunchtime of my first day at Samara’s, I had the menus memorized.
• Samara’s signature dessert was a lemon pie, but it was the one dish she was really hoping I could make alterations to. Some prickly pear would be the perfect addition–especially with a dollop of whipped cream, and some cinnamon in the graham cracker crust…
• The vendor was extremely kind when I asked if I could purchase his entire supply of prickly pears. I didn’t even mind spending what was left of my money on the fruits, knowing the paychecks to come.
• Samara’s only served dinner, so I was expected to arrive in the early afternoon to start preparing for that day’s diners. I had decided to arrive early each day, partially to prove myself as a worthwhile employee, and partially because I simply did not have anything better to do with my time. When I got to the restaurant, I was surprised to see not only Samara, but several workers in the main dining area, gossiping.
• Samara waved me over as I entered. When she spotted my face mask, her brow wrinkled in concern.
• “Are you sick?” she pointed to the cloth and scooted away. “We can’t have sick people in the kitchen. It’s unhygienic.”
• I shook my head emphatically. “I’m not sick.”
• Samara still looked confused. “Then why are you wearing a mask?”
• “I was cooking last night and got splashed with some hot oil on my face,” I lied. “I’ll be fine, but the scars are a little scary while they heal, and I thought it would be best for everyone if I just covered them up.”
• Samara nodded. “Very thoughtful of you.”
• She turned back to the table, and it was the first time I could hear what everyone was saying.
• “He’s offering a million dollars to find this Mila girl,” one of the other junior chefs commented.
• My name was out there? My blood ran cold.
• “Isn’t your name Mila?” Fiona looked at me, smirking.
• “It’s, uh, actually Miya,” I said, hoping my voice did not give away my panic. “I think you misheard me, Samara, but I was too nervous to correct you during my interview.”
• Samara laughed. “Oh, dear, never be worried about correcting my pronunciation! These foreign names always trip me up. You’re too sweet.”
• My other coworkers laughed.
• Later, in the kitchen, I was washing my hands when Fiona approached.
• “You’re chopping vegetables today,” she informed me.
• “I was hoping to speak with someone about the lemon pie,” I said quickly. “Samara mentioned she wanted me to play around a bit with the recipe, and I thought–”
• “You thought wrong.” Fiona cut me off. “You’re a brand-new junior chef with no formal training. And you’re a foreigner. You will chop the vegetables until I decide that you’re good enough to move on.”
• I lowered my head in agreement, thankful for the mask that was covering my burning face.
• I didn’t mind chopping vegetables too much. It was rather therapeutic, actually, and took my mind off my troubles. I was halfway through a pile of carrots when Samara rushed into the kitchen.
• “The Prince has arrived for dinner!” she exclaimed.
• An immediate chatter broke out across the kitchen, and my peace was interrupted.
• Felix was here.