Cerella Sechrist - Harper's Wish

“Hey, Bossman?”

“Bossman” must have been the one in the middle of the storm, surrounded by steam and wiping his face with the back of his sleeve every few seconds. His black hair clung to his temples and forehead, and he didn’t even glance up at Rafael’s questioning tone. A pot began to boil over, and he reached for it, sliding it off the burner. He then shifted to another pan and quickly flipped what looked to be chicken before moving on to begin plating another dish. Harper was impressed with his movements. Though he was tall with broad shoulders and strong arms, he shifted gracefully through the steps of preparing multiple dishes at once.

“Connor?” Rafael tried again to get his attention.

“I told you, Rafael,” the chef snapped, “I know you’ve never done the serving before, but you have to do this. Just hand them the menus, write down whatever they want and bring the orders to me. I’ll handle it from there, yeah?”

It took Harper a second to sort through the Irish accent rounding each word. Before Rafael could reply to his boss, Harper laid a hand on his arm.

“Where’s everybody else?”

Rafael made a face. “Nobody else, chica. Just us.”

“What?”

“And push the soup, okay?” Connor barked without looking up. “I’ve got plenty of that, and it’s already made.”

Both Harper and Rafael shifted their attention back to the frazzled chef.

“Boss, there’s a lady here, and she’s looking for a job.”

“I don’t have time for job applicants right now. She should have applied six weeks ago before the tourist season got under way. Tell her to come back tomorrow. Or next week. Or never. Does it look like we can take on any additional staff?”

“Not to state the obvious but...what staff? It doesn’t even look like you have a server out there, just the busboy.” Harper spoke the words loud enough to be heard above the chef’s frantic movements.

Her words got the attention she’d wanted, and the chef, Connor, stopped for a full five seconds as his gaze zeroed in on Harper. His eyes were green, she noted. A deep, mossy color that seemed fitting for his Irish brogue. His dark hair was long enough to fall across his forehead, wild and unruly as he swept his forearm across his brow to brush it from his eyes. There was a smattering of stubble across his jaw, lending him a slightly rugged look that was enhanced by his broad chest and shoulders. It was clear that he was irritated by the intrusion.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my kitchen?”

Harper knew she’d better talk quickly. Connor obviously didn’t have time to waste.

“I stopped by to apply for a job. I have experience. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can help get you through this.” She spoke with a confidence she didn’t entirely feel. It had been several years since she’d done any serving, but she had to be better than the overwhelmed Rafael.

Connor made a sound of exasperation as he turned his attention back to the cooking.

“My scheduled server was a no-call no-show, and my sous chef had to step out due to a family situation. I tried calling in my part-time server, but I couldn’t reach her. We’re not normally very busy over the lunch hour, but we got a call for a party of fifteen who couldn’t get a reservation at any of the other restaurants. We need the business, so it’s up to Rafael to fill in as a server.”

“Which I’ve never done,” Rafael said. “I might occasionally help out on the line, but I’ve never done the serving.”

Connor slid several finished plates up onto the hand-off pass. “Order up. Get these dishes out.”

“Boss,” Rafael pleaded, clearly out of his depth. “Give her a shot, okay? I have no idea what I’m doing out there.”

To Harper’s surprise, Connor paused and eyed her through a cloud of steam.

“You said you have experience?”

Harper nodded vigorously. “About seven years’ worth, between high school and college.”

Connor arched an eyebrow. “How long ago was that?”

She placed a hand on her hip, annoyed at how he was trying to deduce her age. “It’s been a few years.” More like ten. “But it’s the same as riding a bike, isn’t it? It comes back to you as soon as you touch your feet to the pedals.” And that was how she felt, already craving the familiar adrenaline of working through a lunch rush as if she was still a server.

“You’re a feisty one. What’s your name?”

“Harper.”

He frowned briefly. “Well, Harper, you’d better get these dishes out or you’ll be fired before I even hire you.”

Harper turned to a relieved-looking Rafael. “Get me an apron. And an order pad.”

The younger man didn’t ask questions. He grinned as he moved to do her bidding.

“What’s the soup of the day?” she asked.

“Sweet corn and crab chowder.”

“Anything else I should know?”

This question drew Connor’s full attention once more. “I need this afternoon to go well. Help me pull that off, and we’ll talk about getting you a permanent position.”

Harper nodded in understanding and then turned, catching Rafael’s eye.

“You’re a lifesaver, chica.”

Two minutes later, Harper emerged from the kitchen wearing a hunter green apron over her sundress and carrying an order pad. She drew a breath and moved into the dining area, hoping she’d have enough time to take all the current orders before the fifteen-person reservation arrived.

“Hi, welcome to, um...” She faltered for a minute as she tried to remember the restaurant’s name. “The Rusty Anchor.” Her smile widened. “Sorry about your wait. Can I start you off with something to drink?”

* * *

TWO-AND-A-HALF hours later, Harper stretched as the last of the party of fifteen walked out the door. She placed her hands around her hips and dug her thumbs into her aching back. She’d forgotten how exhausting serving could be when you were on your feet for hours on end. And she’d barely spent a full afternoon at it.

“Need me to finish clearing your tables?” Rafael asked as he stepped up beside her.

“Yeah, it looks like things are going to quiet down for a while.”

“You showed up at a good time. I was really starting to freak out at the thought of doing all that serving. Hope it means the boss will give you a shot here.”

Harper followed Rafael to the last couple of tables that needed cleaning up.

“Connor’s the boss, I take it?”

“Yep. Owner and chef. Inherited the restaurant from his old man.”

“It’s normally pretty slow around here?”

“Oh, yeah.” Rafael nodded. “The place is usually dead, especially through the week like this. It used to be a favorite of the locals, but when Connor’s old man passed on, they stopped coming. And now, with all these fancy newer restaurants in the area, the tourists are more interested in hitting those than seeking out a local treasure.”

Harper didn’t say anything, but she couldn’t help wondering how much money she’d be able to make serving at a place like the Rusty Anchor. For now, though, any income was better than nothing.

“Is Connor a nice boss?”

Rafael began loading water glasses into a plastic bin. Harper helped by gathering up stray silverware.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy. A little uptight at times, but he’s got a lot on his plate, running this place and raising his daughter.”

“He has a daughter?”

“Yeah, Molly. She’s six. Keeps us all on our toes but especially Bossman.”

Harper digested this information as she reached for a fork.

“Rafael?”

The sound of the Connor’s voice startled Harper, and she dropped a handful of silverware. It clattered to the table.