Working in the food industry was harder than Stevie had expected . . .
BY ALISON CARTER
IT was only a waitressing job, but Stevie was excited. She was allowed to wear anything as long as it was black, and the restaurant was bang on trend.
Its celebrity chef owner, Jake Rushmore, had featured it on his TV Christmas special.
“You look good,” Stevie’s sister Belle said when Stevie tested an outfit.
“But it’s all about customer service, not glamour.”
“This is Jake Rushmore we’re talking about,” Stevie said.
“And?” Belle was in her work uniform of slacks and polo shirt with “Small Joys Nursery” embroidered on the pocket.
Belle’s job was not glamorous – though she and her husband did own the nursery.
“And?” Stevie repeated. “You know I met Jake Rushmore at that food fair in Spinningfields?
“And there was a – I don’t know – a spark?
“You know Jake – he resurrects great recipes from history.”
“I know who he is,” Belle retorted, “but I’d forgotten your eyes had met across an olive paste sample.”
“Don’t mock. I’m not expecting the great man to fall for me.” Stevie grinned. “But you never know.”
Belle hugged her sister.
“Good luck, and don’t worry about your first shift being on Valentine’s Day.”
“What do you mean?” Stevie asked. “It’ll be all happy couples and big tips, surely?”
“I went to a few restaurants on Valentine’s before I met the man of my dreams,” Belle said, “and February the fourteenth isn’t great.
“Restaurants overcharge and people tend to have too-high expectations.”
“But this is a Rushmore restaurant,” Stevie rebutted.
“Well, I expect it will be brilliant, then. Go, girl.”
It was the first job Stevie was glad to get in the two years since she’d left uni.
She intended to be utterly professional on her first evening, learn fast and impress the boss.
She’d would let the fact that they had met before emerge naturally.
Jake would remember, because they’d both tried a new coffee at a stall and he’d looked into her eyes.
Jake was launching a new menu at the branch, and some “special specials” for Valentine’s.
The HR woman who’d interviewed Stevie had talked about it.
Stevie arrived a full half hour before her induction and hung about while sous-chefs and the sommelier milled about, stressing.
The person in charge of the actual cooking was a grumpy guy with lots of untidy auburn hair. He shouted a lot. “Don’t m
