Every inch of the white tile-walled kitchen had been designed for food production, and the staff worked it to the max. Elbow-to-elbow, the three line cooks held their territories in front of the stove, grill, and fryer. Servers darted in to pick up orders, the barback hauled glassware, and pretty much everyone brought Kate more work. Her job was to clear the food debris and paper trash from the gray plastic bus tubs delivered to her. Then she had to rack all the dirty ware, send it into Hobart, and circulate the clean stuff back out for use.
“You’ve never done this before, have you?” a male voice asked.
She glanced up from her duties to see Steve, one of the servers, watching her. Tall and slender, with a dark tan and blond highlights in his hair, he looked like a surfer dude.
“Nope,” she said.
“Definite bummer, but you’re gonna have to speed up. We’re almost eighty-six on forks.”
“Eighty-six?”
“Out of.”
“Gotcha,” Kate said, moving a silverware rack into the cleaning line.
Jerry, who was currently MIA, had demonstrated the job to her well enough. In fact, it had seemed easy before crunch time came. But Jerry must have left something out of his instructions, because this just wasn’t working out the way it should. In the battle of woman versus machine, the machine was kicking her butt.
“Do you have any tips on how I can go faster?” she asked Steve.
Steve’s mouth widened into a goofy smile. “Nothing much I can say right now.”
Something was up. Something no one had shared with her. Not that she could do much about it, other than feed more dishes through Hobart. Without thinking, she used her arm to wipe sweat from her forehead, forgetting that hot sauce and ketchup were smeared on that particular arm.
“Careful, there. You don’t want it to end up in your eyes,” Laila, the most senior of Depot Brewing’s servers, said as she made room for another tub of dishes. The silver-haired woman pulled a clean napkin from her server’s apron, and handed it to Kate.
Kate wiped her forehead. “Thanks.”
“I’ve been in this business a lot of years,” Laila said. “Worked most everyplace in town, too.”
Kate nodded. She’d seen Laila’s plump and smiling face in an old staff photo behind the bar at Bagger’s, right next to Harley Bagger’s vintage lighter fy”age ligcollection.
Laila adjusted her apron and patted Kate on the shoulder. “Over the years, I’ve collected some nuggets of wisdom, and I’d like to share three with you.”
Kate brightened, despite the fact she probably still looked like an accident victim. “Really? What?”
“First, don’t go anywhere with empty hands. There’s always something that needs tending.”
“Okay.”
“Second, comfortable shoes are a must.”
Kate looked down at her food-speckled, white leather sneakers. “Got that covered. What’s the third?”
Laila grinned. “How about we let you stew on that until you get caught up?”
Yup, Kate smelled something, and it wasn’t just the hot sauce she’d been wearing. The scent was that of a rookie dishwasher being roasted. But she could appreciate a little gamesmanship as much as the next girl. And when inspired, she could engage in some, too.
THE CLOCK on the wall opposite Kate inched its way to three P.M., one hour before her quitting time. The kitchen’s rhythm had slowed from its earlier frantic beat to a busy yet congenial hum. The line cooks cracked jokes and laughed with one another. The servers took brief breaks, chugging soft drinks and counting their tip money. And Kate finally caught up.
“Awesome job! I can see the counter,” Steve said as he approached with a heavy load of dirty dishes.
“But not for long,” Kate replied. “Where was this stuff hiding?”
“Hiding?” He set down the bus tub. “Dude, it wasn’t hiding.”
Just like Steve wasn’t hiding another goofy grin. Now, at least, she knew what was up.
“No biggie,” she said. “I’m game. Bring it on.”
And he did. Two more tubs soon joined the first.
“Is that the end of it?” she asked.
“Dunno. There might be more,” Steve said before ambling off.
“How’s it going?” Laila asked when she arrived with yet another stack of dishes a couple of minutes later.
Kate gestured at the mess. “Could be better. I’m not sure I get the rhythm of this place.”
“And that, my new friend, is where the third nugget of wisdom comes in.”
“Which is?”
The older woman smiled as she added her contribution to the mess. “Ask Steve once you’ve caught up.”
Another dishwasher might have whimpered, but not Kate. She was made of sterner stuff. Craftier stuff, too. After feeding another couple racks into Hobart, she took a quick glance around the kitchen. The servers and the cooks were all out front, too wrapped up in their current conversations to be paying attention to her. She quickly stowed the three remaining unwashed tubs on the floor, in the open area beneath Hobart’s exit ramp.
She’d barely had time to hide her grin, too, when Steve arrived with another load. He did a double take at the clean counter.
“Wow! Did you really get through all those dishes, Tink?”
“Tink?”
“Short for Tinkerbell. You made that stuff disappear like magic.”
Tink wasn’t the sort of nickname she wanted to encourage, but she’d have to deal with that later.
“Just doing my job,” she said, knowing that his view of the dirty tubs was blocked. “And Laila said you’d share her third restaurant hint with me as soon as I was caught up. So how about it?”
“No can do,” he said with a nod to the dishes he’d just delivered.
She’d been expecting this.
Kate gave Steve her best smile. “You know, that’s one awesome-looking orange-and-white VW van with all the old surf shop stickers out in the employee parking area. It’s yours, right?”
“Down to her tires,” he answered with obvious pride.
“I thought so!”
“Betty’s the real deal. I found her in a junkyard when I was seventeen, and…” His brows drew together. “Hey, why are we talking about her right now?”
“Steve, order up!” one of the line cooks called.
“In a second,” he answered without looking away from Kate.
“Now, before it’s cold!” the cook bellowed.
“Betty looks like you keep her nice and neat,” Kate said.
“I do.”
“Then you’d probably be real sad if all these dirty dishes ended up in her, wouldn’t you?”
His tan seemed to fade. “No way. You wouldn’t.”
If her mascara hadn’t already been sweated off, she would have batted her eyelashes. “I might.”
“Yo, Steve!” the cook shouted. “ND; d. ow!”
Steve briefly looked his way. “Yeah, just hang on, would you?”
“Sounds like you’re pretty busy,” Kate said. “I, on the other hand, have plenty of time to go out to the parking lot and bring Betty a little gift. Or you can tell me Laila’s third nugget of wisdom.”
The cook had started hissing something unintelligible in the secret language of angry fry cooks.
Steve winced at the sound.
“So what’s it going to be?” Kate asked.
Steve hesitated for just a second, appraising Kate with a friendly stare. “You’re tougher than you look, Tink.”
It was nice to hear. For so many years, Richard had told her that she wasn’t tough. Her moving to Keene’s Harbor and her nutty plan to turn a broken-down family vacation spot into a B &B was all about showing that she could survive-and more than that, succeed-without anyone’s help. She had something to prove to herself and
