Jordan POV
I got to the restaurant almost at eleven. Almost an hour late. The shift started at ten. And me? I was sprinting through the street like a madwoman, heart pounding and lungs begging for mercy. I should've accepted my fate and walked. But no — I thought I could make up for it with speed. Now, besides being officially roasted, toasted, and burned to a crisp… I was sweating like I'd run a half-marathon. In a coat.
I sneezed right before walking in. Again. Great. The universe wouldn't rest until it saw me completely humiliated.
Inside the kitchen, Clara and Melissa were already organizing the front-of-house service. Clara gave me a quick nod — no smile, no words. Melissa gave me a weak smile and murmured what sounded like a "good luck." I swallowed hard. I was screwed.
As soon as I walked in, Adam hit me with a look that cut straight through me.
"You. Are. Late." Each word is sharp and deliberate. His tone didn't rise, but it hurt more than if he'd yelled. My face burned. My throat dried up. My whole body was still hot from the run but somehow shivering at the same time. That kind of chill that warns something is very wrong.
"The power went out overnight…" I started explaining, fast and flustered. "The alarm didn't go off, my phone was dead, and—"
I stopped. It didn't matter. The look in his eyes said everything. Adam wasn't one for long speeches — his silence alone could crush any excuse. And Lorenzo? He kept his eyes on his task, like nothing had happened. Or like he didn't want to get involved.
Adam disappeared for a few seconds and came back with a rolled-up uniform, which he tossed at me without a word. I caught it on reflex.
Well done, Jordan. You didn't even bring your uniform. And of course, he noticed. Of course he did. I didn't even finish scolding myself before I heard him order:
"Put that on. And prepare the plating station. Fast."
I nodded. Almost dropped the uniform but managed to keep it together. Or… something resembling.
I ran to wash my hands. Passed by the lockers, pulled off my soaked sweater, and left it in a corner — damp and cold. My skin still felt sticky, the sweat drying like a gross reminder of my screw-up. I threw the uniform on in a rush — the fabric stuck to my damp skin, and the heat from running faded into an icy chill crawling up my spine. That weird, uncomfortable chill… My body couldn't decide if it wanted to cool down or overheat. Maybe it was doing both. At once.
Could I be any more miserable? Doubt it.
I walked back into the kitchen with my nose threatening to drip and my heart still racing. My two coworkers — both unfairly attractive, because the universe has an excellent sense of irony — saw me show up a mess, stuck to my clothes. So sexy.
I started chopping vegetables with all the concentration I could muster. Each chop on the board was an attempt to prove I was still useful. That I wasn't just some walking disaster.
I was sweaty, dizzy, cold in my arms, sweating down my back. My head throbbed slightly.
But no panic. I was still on my feet. I could do this.
"Jordan, fish sauce." Adam's voice was sharp. I looked up, nodded quickly — didn't trust my voice.
"Yes, chef!" I grabbed the saucepan and hurried over. Almost tripped over my own feet but made it. And sneezed. Again. At least I wasn't carrying anything at the time.
Seconds later, Lorenzo came over and handed me a mask. Simple gesture — but that discreet, knowing smile of his made my heart stutter. His look seemed to say: "You're a mess but keep going." I smiled back, shy. And blushing. Always blushing around, him.
Focus, Jordan. Focus.
It was the longest shift of my life. The Ogre Chef didn't go easy on me — his orders were cold, precise. It is almost like endurance tests. But I endured. Or tried. Every plate, every final touch of sauce, was done with whatever energy I had left. Heat rose up from my collar, my vision blurred now and then, but I didn't stop.
Not yet.
When service finally ended, I let out a breath of relief. We all sat down for lunch. My body was grateful — it still held all the tension from the morning. I was weirdly exhausted. The appetite I thought I'd had vanished, and the fact that Chef Adam wanted to speak to me in his office after lunch didn't help. Still, I forced myself to eat.
"You, okay?" Melissa asked, glancing sideways at me. "You look a little flushed." Instinctively, I touched my face. It was warm. But I just shrugged. I hadn't stopped moving since I walked through that door.
"I'm fine." Was I really? My body said otherwise, and the headache was starting to tighten.
I'd need to take something as soon as I could.
"You overslept?" she asked in a low voice, conspiratorial. But we were so close to each other that the effort was pretty much useless. Even with her next to me and Chef Adam all the way at the other end of the table… I'm pretty sure he heard. I nodded.
"Another classic Jordan Parker episode?" she whispered. I smiled. Yep. She nailed it.
"You can say that again." I sighed, frustrated.
"I had a freezing shower last night. Power went out halfway through the night. My phone was dying… alarm didn't go off because of that."
I said it softly but not hiding it. I'd probably have to repeat the same story to Chef Adam in a bit — if he even let me talk. If he didn't fire me first.
"Oh no! What bad luck. Well… it's over now." She smiled encouragingly. But was it over? My eyes instinctively searched for Chef Adam. He was talking to Clara, probably getting feedback on the service. But the look he gave me in that exact moment… It was anything but reassuring. My heart picked up again.
"Did you call your landlord to check what happened?" Lorenzo's question caught me off guard. I knew he was listening — he was right there, next to me. It was impossible not to feel his presence. Even though he'd been quieter today. Or maybe it was just the Chef Ogre drowning everything else out.
In a way, maybe that was for the best. The stress of being late had been so overwhelming I hadn't had time to dwell on the awkward tension between me and Lorenzo after last night.
At least… I think there was a moment. Wasn't there?
"I didn't even think of that," I admitted.
"You should call and check if it's been fixed," he said, with that practical tone that calmed me down.
"Lorenzo's right… imagine if you still don't have power or hot water when you get home," Melissa added. Just picturing it made me shiver.
"Yeah… I'll go check. And grab my phone too." I started getting up quickly, planning to head out when.
"Jordan." His voice cut through the room with that unmistakable firmness. Damn it. Chef Adam. Of course. There was still the office. Still… the sentence.
I looked at him, already embarrassed, feeling like I'd messed up all over again. And… I sneezed. Again. I swear I saw him roll his eyes. He stood up silently and headed to the office. I knew I should follow. But I hesitated. Just for a moment.
That's when I felt Lorenzo's hand close around mine — firm, steady.
"It's going to be okay," he said softly, warmly. And I wanted so badly to believe him. To cling to those words like a lifeline in the storm.
Clara gave me a look somewhere between judgment and resignation. Melissa… leaned in slightly and whispered with that mischievous-but-loyal glint in her eye: "Hang in there. We'll trash-talk him later." And she winked.
I wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both at the same time. The truth? I was about to explode. My body is still sticky with dried sweat. My head is pounding. My throat is scratchy. My pride… completely flattened. And my heart? My heart just wanted a break. I just wanted to breathe. Just wanted… not to be here.
I felt everything all at once — the exhaustion, frustration, the hopelessness. I wanted to cry. Really cry. To let everything drop and just… fall apart. But I got up. Because I had to. Because it wasn't time to fall apart yet.
Not yet.
There was still… Chef Adam.
Hang in there just a bit longer, Jordan. Just a bit longer.