The kitchen doors loomed like a gateway to a battlefield, heavy stainless steel vibrating with the organized chaos within in the hands of chefs wielding it.
Chloe took a steadying breath and pushed through, her brand new chef’s white sitting pretty around her body. But they nothing the whites on the flour-dusted veterans already on the line.
The air was choked with the scent of reduced stock and burning caramel. Pots clanged, sharp commands were barked around, and the sizzle of pans was a constant drumbeat. It was a high-pressure symphony, and Chloe loved it immediately.
She spotted him almost instantly: Richard. He was near the chopping station, a lanky man in his late twenties, efficiently slicing a mountain of shallots. He looked up, catching her eye, and offered a genuinely friendly
