Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 137871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 689(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 689(@200wpm)___ 551(@250wpm)___ 460(@300wpm)
His brow creased. “You own the bar?”
“My dad does, but he can’t run it anymore. Dementia.”
“I’m sorry.”
She pointed to another cooler. “The potatoes in that one have been soaking, so they’re ready to cut. We only slice a few at a time, or they get mushy and brown. They’re pretty much made to order.”
He looked at the other cooler. “Did you want me to slice them?”
“You’ve been sitting out there all day. You’re hungry, right?”
He nodded.
“Then help yourself. The press is there. Drop them in the basket, and try not to burn your hands. Four minutes for regular. Six minutes for crispy.” She looked back at the bar and cursed as more patrons arrived. “There’s warm cheese in that pump.”
When she left, he scanned the appliances. This was very different from Gracie’s kitchen or his grandmother’s, but he understood what everything did and could quickly figure out how the fryer worked.
Wedging the pre-soaked potatoes through the press was easy and he liked the sizzle the oil made when he dropped the basket into the deep-fryer. Rolling up his sleeves, he anxiously awaited the timer as the oil bubbled and the scent of food wafted through the air. He was starving and couldn’t remember the last thing he ate.
Too impatient to wait for crispy, he gathered a plastic basket and lined it with paper. He pulled the fries and dumped them onto the platter. Glistening and still sizzling, he popped one into his mouth and cursed as it burned his tongue.
“Don’t!”
Covering his mouth, he spun and found Gabby watching him again.
“They’re too hot. You have to give them a minute.”
The burn in his mouth was already healing, thanks to the blood in his system. But she was right. They were way too hot to eat.
“Here.” She angled a fresh beer toward him, and he gladly took it.
Once he cooled his mouth with a sip, he plucked another fry from the basket and popped it into his mouth. He was ravenous, so he didn’t waste time on things like table manners as he stuffed his face.
Gabby carried a bin of dishes and trash to the counter. “Why did you leave the Amish people?”
He swallowed. “I didn’t have a choice. I broke the rules.”
“What’d you do, use a lightbulb?” She laughed.
“Something like that.” Except it was more along the lines of blowing a six-inch hole through a vampire's chest, but that was a lot to explain so he just kept eating.
“Do you have a place to stay?” She handed him a shaker of salt.
He shook his head and doused the fries in seasoning. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Look, the last thing I need is a stray cat to feed, but you seem pretty honest—I don’t know, maybe it’s the Amish garb, or maybe I’m just exhausted, and it’s making me stupid, but if you’re willing to give me a hand, you can crash here for a few nights. I could use the extra help and pay you minimum wage plus a cut of the tips, which are decent.”
“Really?” He hadn’t expected her to offer him a job, let alone a place to stay.
She glanced at his exposed forearms. “Really. Plus, I hate lugging things up the stairs. You seem…capable.”
He glanced down at the ropes of muscle covering his arms. Years of manual labor with primitive tools did that to a man. He never thought much of it since everyone on the farm was in impeccable health and had prime physiques.
“Thank you. I’m grateful for the offer.”
“Good. You can show your gratitude by filling these orders.” She handed him a slip of paper.
He read over the list. “How do I…?”
“First, you need to cover your hair.” She plucked a hairnet from a box, then snagged a laminated sheet from the door of the steel fridge. “Everything’s written out here. Clean up when you’re done, and don’t get hurt. I gotta get back to the bar.”
As soon as she left, he sifted through the dishes, salvaging any dog-safe scraps for Colby. Once he had a plate made up for him, he ran it outside and then returned to the kitchen.
Over the next few hours, Dane had a crash course in culinary arts with minimal instruction. He couldn’t taste-test the customers’ orders as he went, so he had no clue if he was doing a good job. As long as the meat was fully cooked and no one complained, he supposed he was doing all right.
As the evening went on, he got the hang of the griddle and created a system for prepping things like onions and lettuce. When the orders stopped coming, he gave the kitchen a deep clean.
“Holy crap.”
Holding the mop handle, he looked guiltily at Gabby. “Too much?”
“Too much? I don’t think this kitchen’s ever been this clean.”
He grinned, relieved. “I wasn’t sure when the grill closed.”