Mike is waiting by the large oval table near the elevators. He’s studying the considerably sized floral arrangement balanced on top. Not that I expected him to, but he hasn’t changed since I saw him last month. He’s wearing jeans and a thin brown V-neck sweater. He looks up as I approach and lights up, a huge smile splitting his face.
I walk into his waiting arms. The embrace is sweet, and it’s like greeting an old friend I’ve known forever. We’ve texted a lot over the past month, getting to know each other. He’s decent enough but always slipping Knox into the conversation which isn’t the greatest considering I’m usually trying not to think about Knox.
“Hey, you.” He taps me on the nose.
“Hi, yourself. You ready to get in these streets?” The sooner we leave this hotel, the better I’ll feel.
“Definitely. Thank you for coming with me. I know you have a big day tomorrow.”
I smile at him, pulling him by the hand out of the rotating doors. “Sure. I love this city. I think you will too.”
We walk out onto the sidewalk and I breathe a sigh of relief.
First, we hit Chinatown, then Union Square, then hop on the cable car and ride it down to the wharf where we have lunch.
I spear my poké, looking out over the water. “Beautiful view.”
Mike’s looking at me when he replies, “Very beautiful.”
I’m all smiles when I lean toward him. “Thank you. Did you enjoy the morning?”
“Every bit of it. And look at this view. Maybe we can visit Alcatraz next time.” He’s pointing to the island in the near distance.
Before thinking, I say, “We sure can. I’ve never been.” Next time. I haven’t given a lot of thought to what this is with Mike. And if our family doesn’t make it to the finals, there definitely won’t be a next time. Knox was right. Do I really think I can maintain some sort of long-distance relationship? I barely have enough time to see friends and family who live in the same town. And that’s because I work with most of them.
And even if Mike and I lived in the same town, would I want something more than friendship with him? He’s cool, but it takes more than that for romantic interest. For a relationship. Maybe there’s more and I just need to open myself up to it.
We take the trolley back to near where I’m staying and walk the few blocks to my hotel. Before going in, I lean into Mike and we kiss. And it’s…fine. Average. Mike is good for me though. He doesn’t have me questioning my abilities or keeping me on edge all the time.
“I’ll see you tomorrow.” I walk through the doors and scurry toward the elevators.
Knox is waiting for me. Maybe not waiting, but he’s there.
“What’s wrong, Amber? You’re looking unusually flustered.” He’s leaning against the wall next to the elevators, legs crossed, as well as arms. His sweatpants and T-shirt are wet, giving me the impression he’s just been out running. Did he see me with Mike?
“God, you’re such a creeper. I’m not ‘unusually flustered.’ I just came in from outdoors. What’s your excuse?”
“I was working out. Just came down to get some water.” He shows me the bottle in his hand.
The elevator doors open and a middle-aged couple gets off. Knox steps in. “Going up?”
I sigh and enter the box.
“So. Mike Smith?”
Of course he saw us. He sees everything. Knows everything.
“What about him?”
He shrugs and peels at the label of his water bottle. “You’re dating?”
“We’re friends.”
He nods. “Friends.”
Right, because Knox and I are not friends, even though he asked if we could be. If we could put everything behind us. After four years of torturing each other, it seems an impossible task.
The elevator doors open and we step through. He turns left and I turn right.
*
We’re rested and ready. A new set of four families are seated at their tables: Warren versus Everheart and Townsend versus Ortiz. Mama looks healthy and has promised me she’s taken her medicine correctly. There’re observers from both the Smith and Dolter families. I wave at Mike and then nod at the one sister who returned. Mike waves back.
Mama says, “That Mike sure is fine.” She raises both eyebrows at me.
I glance back at him.
He smiles and gestures a thumbs-up.
“Do you think so?” I try to observe him through new eyes, taking in his face, his build, his eyes. “Fine?”
“Are we looking at the same man?”
I shrug on my green chef’s jacket. The Everhearts have donned their black, the Ortiz family their blue, and the Warrens are wearing white. When I saw them last month, I thought that a bold choice, even though most of us are professional chefs, it’s still a competition.
The director comes out, and we all perk up, bringing our collective attention to her.
“Welcome, semifinalists. And congratulations for making it to the next round. The first task is to bring back two of your dishes and make them better. A main and a side. One caveat is that it can’t be your highest scorer. Another glitch is that you’ll sit one of your team members and sub in from the team you aren’t competing against. We’ll pick which member.”
Gulp. I look around at the other families. No one looks particularly happy. When my eyes land on Knox, he winks. Fucking Everheart. I will quit before I sous chef for him.
Thankfully it doesn’t come to that. They sit Weston and sub in Wyatt, and the Everhearts and Warren family go first.
Dean Ellerson and Chef Buccola attend this round of
