Saturdays we close at three and once the last customer leaves, we get to work arranging the tables and setting up for Weston's After Hours. Rumi stays an extra two hours to help and Tasha comes in to work overtime. I have waiters coming in at five p.m. who will have to be walked through expectations for the evening. People will be seated for three courses, the first being served at seven-thirty. I'll be working with two other sous-chefs, who I interviewed and chose for this event.

     It's not a strict black-tie event but we're still working to take the easy day-time look of Weston's and elevate it. Each table is set for the three courses with grey terra-cotta dinnerware and bronze flatware. Tasha calls the style Industrial Chic. I like that it isn't flashy. To match it, each table has a bronzed geometric votive with a tea light in it.

     Charles and Dolores had the day off but are coming this evening as guests, unusual for them but I insisted. I have a table set aside for them and Amelia, as well as Jack and Jasmine and Ashley and her husband, Ibrahim.

     "Okay," Tasha says clapping her hands. "I've got everything handled out here. You should start cooking." She turns and gives me a toothy grin before adding, "Good looking."

     I shake my head.

     "Come on," she exclaims. "It's a dad joke. Should be right up your alley."

     Rumi eyes me wearily, tugging at the lapels of her trench coat. "How are you going to cook with one hand?"

     I glance down at my hand, wrapped strategically and protected in a latex glove. "It's fine. Nothings slowing me down."

     She makes a disbelieving face but shrugs her shoulders. "If you say so. Alright, well I'm heading home to get ready. I hope you don't mind but I'm using tonight as a date. Vanessa is going to be so impressed by me. Everyone at school was complaining they couldn't get tickets because they weren't over twenty-one." She all but tosses her hair over her shoulder.

     Tasha squints at Rumi. "I thought you were dating a Romeo?"

     I balk. "His name was Romeo?"

     "Yes, and he was not nearly as eloquent as his Shakespearean counterpart. Vanessa, however, writes poetry."

     "Well if she writes poetry," I say.

     Tasha laughs. "What about you, boss? Is your boo thing coming?"

     "I don't have a boo thing," I respond coolly.

     Tasha and Rumi both eye me like their in on some secret I don't know. "Okay, I really have to go and get ready," Rumi says before Tasha can speak, heading towards the door. Tasha is still looking at me, unconvinced.

     "What? I don't," I insist.

     She purses her lips, humming. "Mmhm."

     I ignore the insinuation in her tone. "So you're going to walk the waiters through everything right? They should be here soon."

     Tasha nods. "Yep. Go hole up in the kitchen. I'll only bother you if the roof is on fire. But only after I've topped it off with lighter fluid."

     Tasha thinks she's a lot funnier than she actually is. I'm feeling generous so I laugh as I head back towards the kitchen. She calls after me, "I know that laugh was fake but I'll take it!"

     Most of the prep work has been done for the evening. I had to get another oven with more burners on it and a skillet side, which sits across the room. I've been looking forward to breaking it in all week.

     Fiona and Antonio get here about an hour before the doors are set to open and we jump right into cooking for the fifty appetizers. The entree is a spiced lamb rack over a mint yogurt puree, garnished with salsa verde and a side of roasted spring vegetables. I get the vegetables seasoned and in the oven since I want them really crispy and the roast is going to take some time, longer the cook on the lamb.

     Tasha comes in a little after seven. She's changed into a silky black dress that swings at her knees and has applied some red lipstick. "Okay, so everyone in Aurora is like super prompt. So we're good to start bringing out the first course if you're ready? Your mother said Amelia is running late, though. Train delays? And, also, the boy toy who you claim is not your boy toy showed up so."

     "Who?" I ask halting suddenly that Fiona turns and bumps into me.

     Tasha gives me a face that reads very much like an Amelia, all you know who. "The original barista? Was it Cas you called him?"

     "He's here?" I ask, confused.

     "Yes," Tasha says slowly.

     "Did you seat him?"

     "Uhm, yes, was I not supposed to? He bought tickets so declining him would've been kinda rude, no? Okay, you're giving me the strangest face. Should I not have told you? Listen, forget I even said anything. Worry about it after you feed everyone. Are you ready for the servers?"

     I come out of it. Or try to, at least. I'm a little hung up on Cas buying tickets. I'd told him he and Olivia had a standing invitation. "Right, yeah, we're good. Send them in. Fiona, Antonio, let's start plating?"

     Tasha nods before stepping out of the kitchen. The appetizer plates are already laid out and I've applied the cauliflower puree and seaweed. Fiona moves behind me, placing three scallops on top and Antonio follows with the couscous. I round up behind them, cleaning the edges of the plates and making sure they're perfect before I pass them off to the awaiting server.

     Once the first course has been taken out of the kitchen, I get started on the second course. The lamb gets browned in a pan first before it's placed in the oven to finish cooking. This gives it a good crisp edge. Antonio is working on the mint yogurt puree for the lamb while I move to the salsa verde once I get all the meat into the ovens.

     "Is this your first time cooking at this volume?" Fiona asks as she lays out the plates and starts garnishing them with the yogurt puree. She makes a smooth swoop across each plate with a spoon, like a paint stroke. The soft green of the puree is a sharp contrast against the grey plates.

     I nod my head. "The most I've done are some small family gatherings."

     Antonio pauses at the oven where he's moving another batch of the puree. "You've not done any restaurant work before, no?" He has a heavy Italian accent so I have to focus on what he's saying mostly because I'm mesmerized by the accent. It's real Italian, not a New York Italian.

     "No, this would be my first," I say.

     Fiona and Antonio exchange looks. "You've got the balls huh," Antonio says finally and in his accent it's too good not to laugh at. I refrain from telling them this is a whim. They both work at a restaurant in the city with a Michelin star. Feels like I'm spiting on what they do if I say this was just wish fulfillment or something.

     When Tasha returns, nearly an hour later, she's wearing a huge grin. I'm expecting some remark but she doesn't give it. "Tables have been cleared, should I send them in for the next course?"

     I nod my head. "Please, yes."

     As we send the main course out, I'm mildly impressed by the presentation of the lamb. I don't work with heavy meats that often. On a normal day, I'm sticking to poultry really but I've nailed the sear on the lamb. Each plate has two chops, standing upright and criss-crossed. You can see the centers of them, a perfect brilliant pink. They're arranged on top of the mint yogurt and the salsa verde has been drizzled on top and across the arrangement of roasted veggies beside it.

     For the dessert, I'm doing a moscato braised pear with poached Granny Smith apples and a lavender-infused mascarpone. It's a very light dessert, which should balance the heaviness of the lamb dish. The apples were cooked in a pear brandy, pulling out a more tart flavor and the lavender mascarpone offsets it nicely.

     The last course moves slower, and when Tasha returns it's pushing nine. The dessert goes out smoothly. Tasha is still smiling, which is maybe just Tasha. She's a lot of energy.

     There's extras so I encourage Antonio and Fiona to have some while I set aside food for Amelia and Tasha and then get started on cleaning up.

     "The lamb is—." Antonio kisses his fingers. Fiona laughs.

     "You nailed it," she agrees.

     Antonio bites into his second chop. "It's that compound butter. Brilliant."

     Uncomfortable with the praise, I busy myself at the sink. "So I'll be doing these twice a month, if you are two looking for some extra work. It'd be great to have you back."

     "So that would be not next week but the following?"

     "Yeah, every other Saturday night."

     Fiona looks at Antonio, tipping her head in question. "Easy enough," he says. Then he raises an eyebrow. "You will eventually open your own restaurant?"

     "Well, this is my restaurant," I respond.

     "Well, no, this is your café," he says.

     I shrug. "I haven't given it much thought. This is already an undertaking, so probably not."

     "You're young, you have time," Fiona says as she gets up and moves her plate to the sink. "It's late for me and I have to relieve the sitter. Dresden, it was a pleasure sharing the kitchen with you. Let's go, Fonzo, you're my ride."

     Antonio's got a lamb chop in his mouth and grins around it foolishly. I hand him a container of leftovers. "Here," I say with a chuckle.

     "Good man," he responds, clapping me on the shoulder.

     When Tasha returns to the kitchen, she's carrying a bin of dishes. It's actually an exorbitant amount of dishes, more than we ever see at one time coming from the cafe. I'm going to be here all night running the dishwashers.

     "Have the waiters left?" I ask.

     "Yes and I think you're supposed to call them servers. Non-gender."

     "Right," I say because I knew that. "I left you a plate there." I nod in the direction of the oven with my chin.

     "Aw, you shouldn't have," she responds before clapping her hands. "Okay, but stop what you're doing cause you have to come out and see everyone. So wash you hands."

     "I've got so much cleaning to do, Tash," I say.

     "It can wait. Come on, everyone wants to talk to the chef. Plus the critic is here and you need to speak to him. Don't make me drag you out."

     Reluctantly, I wash my hands and follow Tasha to the front. I think there's a difference in knowing fifty people showed up to have dinner here and actually seeing it. Most are standing now and socializing, but some are enjoying coffee at their tables. The rooms alive with chatter that quickly quiets when I walk in.

     I avoid gazes uncomfortably, as Dolores steps through the crowd and says, "Let's hear it for the Chef, Dresden Gibson."

     To my deepest mortification, there's a round of applause. I glance at Tasha because it's the easiest face to face. She claps daintily, giving me a playful smile. The room quiets again as the applause dies down and Dolores looks at me expectantly like I'm supposed to say something. Saying things is not my forte.

     "Uhm, I didn't really plan to say anything," I tell the room, honestly. "So I guess I'll say thank you for coming out to support Weston's After Hours. I didn't expect it but I am certainly honored to serve you this evening. Feel free to stick around and help yourself to some coffee or tea."

     Tasha takes my arm when I finish, dragging me across the floor. "Okay, so clearly I'm going to have to write your speeches, too."

     "That bad?"

     "I mean, brief, but nice. Humble."

     I don't see where she's pulling me to till I'm standing at a table where Luke Doucet is seated. "Mr. Gibson," he greets. There's a cup of coffee in front of him, which looks like mostly cream. I'd bet anything its full of sugar, too. He doesn't look like he can handle bitter. "Change your mind about that interview?"

     I grimace and Tasha elbows me, not very subtle. "No, I just came to thank you for coming. I hope you enjoyed the meal."

     "I see," he says with a swift roll of his eyes I don't think I'm meant to see. "Are you thanking all your guests?"

     "I'll be making my rounds, yes," I say through clenched teeth.

     "Well then I won't hold you up."

     I turn and walk away before I say something that really sends Tasha. She trails behind me, muttering, grumpily, "You could've been nicer!"

     I make my rounds slowly through the crowd, thanking everyone and accepting their praise as best I can. At the edge of the room is Cas. I see him before he sees me.

     He looks stunning in a slim-fit jacket and matching dark blue trousers. He's wearing a thin grey tie that matches the silk pocket square. His hair is swept across the side of his face and slicked back. He looks like he should be modeling in an Italian magazine, not standing in Weston's.

     "You came," I say when I get up to him. He noticed me as I was walking over and hadn't broken eye contact the whole time. I am uncomfortably aware of how grungy I am next to him, wearing a shirt I've rolled the sleeves up on and that has probably been sweat through.

     "I did," he says, easygoing. "And I bought a plus-one. Hope that's okay."

     I'm nodding maybe a little too much. So he's dating.

     Cas touches the elbow of a woman near him. She's tall, nearly his height, with long dark hair and a flawless complexion that is almost glass-like. It makes it hard to tell how old she is. "This is Lucy Mei, my colleague. Lucy, this is the chef, Dresden Gibson."

     "You know the chef?" she asks raising an eyebrow at Cas before turning to me. "The lamb was phenom!"

     "Knows the chef?" We're all startled by another voice. "He used to date him."

     I make a face. "Amelia."