Chapter 1
SIENNA
Thinking that things could get worse was an understatement. Here I was, straining to reach a shelf to organize the new glassware that had just arrived. I never thought my height—just 5'2"—would be such an issue until now. Tara, the manager, had assigned me to organize the entire bar. I had a feeling she did it out of spite, though I couldn't figure out why. I'd been working at this new restaurant for almost a month, having moved from San Diego to San Francisco about six weeks ago.
The days were hectic, and every day I pushed myself to adapt to this new environment. The restaurant had recently opened, and while it seemed successful, the work pressure was overwhelming. Every time I crossed paths with Tara, I could see the stress in her eyes, reflecting the heavy burden she carried. I wondered if I would ever be able to handle that kind of pressure, being so new to the city.
"Get down from there right now, before you break something that isn't in my budget for extra damages."
That voice... it once felt so warm and safe. It was nothing like the voice it had become now. I looked over my shoulder and saw him standing there, arms crossed, with a gaze that could paralyze a lion. Then I looked down at my feet and realized what he meant. I quickly stepped down from the small stool I'd taken to reach the top shelf. I couldn't help but feel like he was watching me as if I were a little girl who didn't know what she was doing.
"I'm sorry, sir. Tara sent me to finish this."
Inside my head, a wave of frustration swirled. My size has never been an impediment to doing my job, you idiot! is what I wanted to scream at him. Instead, I stayed quiet. He watched me for a second, his expression almost indifferent.
"Go to the kitchen and help Ian. I'll find someone else to finish this."
"B-but..."
"No buts. Are you deaf? Do what I told you."
He didn't wait for an answer before walking away. I headed toward the kitchen, indignant at how the big jerk was treating me now. I understood he had changed in the last five years. His muscle mass, the sharp features of his face, even the way he dressed—everything spoke of a man who had become almost intimidating. Physically, I wasn't the same girl he had left behind either; some things had changed. He, on the other hand, hadn't always been such a despicable being. He used to be a person who seemed to have blood in his veins and a beating heart in that body that now seemed to have no soul.
When I came to San Francisco looking for him, I didn't know what kind of changes I would face, but this definitely wasn't what I expected. Maybe it had been a mistake to come back, but something inside me insisted there was still hope of recovering the boy I once knew.
"Hey, Ian. Corbin-idiot-Hunt sent me here to help you."
Ian looked up and gave me one of his warm smiles, the kind that reminds you of sunny days at the beach.
"Great! Because I needed someone to taste my new dish!"
I guess chefs never stop creating strange meals. I walked over to him, feeling a bit more relieved in his company. Maybe it could be a good day after all. As I looked around, I realized the kitchen was what made the whole restaurant function, filled with intense aromas and constantly evolving flavors. I laughed and stepped closer, ready to try his creation.
I spent the rest of the morning in the kitchen with Ian, helping out with small details: chopping vegetables, making sure everything was organized. Ian is a true master, and I felt lucky to work by his side. You could tell he loved what he did, and that passion was contagious.
"I need you to give me a hand waiting tables, Maddie. I'm short-staffed today; Susan is sick and Luisa has the day off."
I turned to see José giving me a pleading look, his eyes begging for help.
"Yes, of course," I said.
"Good. Sorry for stealing her, Ian."
"Are you really sorry?" Ian asked, while I set down the towel I was using to dry my hands.
"No," José replied shamelessly.
I smiled.
"I thought so," Ian said.
"Here," José said, handing me an apron with front pockets. I tied it around my waist and pulled my hair into a high ponytail, ready to face the chaos of the dinner rush. "Thanks, babe. I owe you one."
I smiled and walked out into the crowded restaurant. It was then that I realized I didn't know which section I was assigned to. Looking toward the dining area, the murmur of conversations and the clinking of silverware overwhelmed me a bit.
"José, I don't know..."
"Right wing, babe."
"Thanks."
I made my way to the first table, where an elderly couple was sitting. I took the notepad and pen from my apron.
"Good evening, I'm Maddie. I'll be taking your order," I said, giving them a smile. They watched me, and the woman was the first to speak, smiling warmly.
"How lovely you are."
"Thank you," I replied, feeling a small spark of gratitude.
"Well, dear, we'll have the rice, grilled fish, Caesar salad, and red wine."
"I'll bring that right out for you."
I hurried to the kitchen, dropped off the order, and let out a sigh. I felt a bit more comfortable with every new order I took. I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening that way, moving back and forth among rushing waiters, entertained customers, and the essence of good food.
In the middle of the madness, a part of me felt that, despite the changes and the distance, there was something about this place that reminded me of home. Perhaps it was the warmth of the faces I found at every table, or the frantic rhythm of the kitchen; either way, it made me feel alive.
As I immersed myself in the work, I realized that while life can be unpredictable and the past is marked by shadows, there is room for moments of joy. And even if Corbin, the jerk, treated me poorly, that wouldn't define my experience here. The night moved on, and I kept smiling, even if the prick Corbin was in my way.