Options.

Options were always my enemy. Even now, the options I had in front of me was letting me to doubt everything.

Was I supposed to go out on a coffee date with Steve even when he never stated clearly whether it was an actual date or not. In the midst of a word play, Steve brilliantly slipped his offer. Caught off-guard, I was spun into web of words and accepted his offer only to regret my decision.

Near the stove where I watched the cherry tomatoes danced and ripple in the olive oil, leaking off its bright red color into the pan, I recalled yesterday when I too felt the same. Blood seeped inside every crease and crevice before coursing over to my face when Steve and I had out banter which let to the debacle I accepted. Coffee.

"Hey," Linda's soft voice called out to me. "Your babies are on fire," she pointed to the pan under my custody which now roared up with flames from the inside.

"Crap," I cried and tossed the contents back and forth, lapping the now shrunken tomatoes in the reddened oil. The flame fused away from existence and my hand moved automatically to swirl the concoction, ensuring nothing was burned.

For many, this little stunt seemed like a normal routine of flaming contents for reeking bold flavors, it was only Linda who seemed to have understood the reality. I was daydreaming in the middle of a busy lunch schedule. I was playing with fire, literally and unknowingly.

"Where are you today?" Linda made her fingers danced over her netted hair. In the clouds would have been her guess but it was the other way round for me. I was done in the drains, beating myself over the decisions I tend to make in my life.

"We will talk later," I halted Linda's move towards me and concentrated back on the stove. There can only be one burndown the kitchen plot in a day and I think I had my share of it. "Let me get back to the veal."

The little piece of meat needed my attention. Any distraction would only result in me overcooking it and the next thing I know would be a yelling session from Marcy or worse, Steve.

"Careful with the meat, its tender." Like clockwork, the bossman's voice reared its face from behind me. He slid his head, almost on my shoulder as he checked for flame and temperature.

"I know what I am doing and I won't let it toughen."

"You better not. I get tough when they do," he pointed to the meat that seemed to be mocking me from the pan, taunting me to dream again. "Any minute now." His sweet voice taunted me even after his shadow moved away from me.

"Not yet," I yelled, meeting the almost pink hued portion at eye level.

I have done this before. I knew what I was doing. A few seconds more. Just a few.

Although I couldn't dip a thermometer to check the temperature, all my expertise cried out for me to hold it one more second before I transferred it off the heat. Only when I removed the precious meat off the stove did my body hit the wall created by Steve.

"Its overcooked," he said in his nasal, annoyed tone. "You ruined it."

I seemed to recollect checking the meat with my finger before setting it off. It was still not cooked fully when I set it away. When Steve lingered over, I turned to him. There would always be moments in a chef's life when they would have to stick with their gut than any scientific device.

"Its done to perfection," I retorted, deglazing the pan with wine. The mist of alcohol rose up merrily while the people standing beside it were involved in a tug of war.

"Do I look like a fool who doesn't know about overcooking and undercooking?"

With his hand clutched around his chest, Steve looked down at me like I was some teenager who was being reprimanded for being chatty. All my training flowed like blood in me when I squared his face. At the back of my mind, words mocked. Kiss your coffee date goodbye, Steve. We are at war.

"Enough," Marcy separated us. She was the headchef who also morphed into a high school coach whenever her teammates were at loggerheads. She leaned over to check the meat. It was then, when all my confidence crumbled under her narrowed gaze. She inspected the plate on which my pink hued meat sat. Marcy checked it from all sides like a health inspector, checking for flaws.

"Serve it with white wine sauce," a hint of smile appeared on her face before the goddess woman moved away to her station, watching her army march out the door with food in their hands.

"You.." Steve's words turned me to his flushed face. With his clenched jaw, it was clear who won this round. Yet, as was the thing with bosses, I resigned, submitting my hands up before another argument erupted for my own benefit.

"Anyone could have been mistaken, Steve." I lent my suspended hand to lower for a shake. He eyes me, then my outstretched arm before moving away.

Ouch. An ego the size of an elephant.

After the dinner rush died down, Linda and I grabbed a quick bite from what was already served at the restaurant before moving out. The night felt warmer than usual. I was Linda's company while she took her cigarette breaks. Yes, it was more than one. She justified her nicotine and tobacco concocted addiction as a means to refrain her from murdering Steve. I could resonate well with her on that.

Linda lit another cigarette and I stifled a yawned. Sore muscles and strained legs were crying for me to take then back to my room and dunk them for a warm bubble bath. Also as a child, Linda grew up watching murder documentaries to know it was never safe for a woman. When I failed to convince the serial killer menace in L.A. were all in the ninety's, I decided to be the silent company she needed.

If you thought I was equipped in any way to handle a raging man, let alone a serial killer, you would be wrong. In movies, I would be portrayed as the sidekick who died first. So when Linda asked for company, my laughter had to be suppressed. Yet, it was her rants about Steve and his annoying little ways that kept me cemented to my position, inflicting my lungs to an early death.

"Hey," I heard a voice call me out. It was Luke, who was parked at the corner of the restaurant, sitting in his car.

I waved at him and tagged Linda with me, who was by far four cigarettes' down. "What are you doing so late?"

Luke pointed to the glass doors from where emerged the man who still held the power to arrest my heartbeats. Philip walked over, straight towards the car. He must have followed the low grunt of the engine. Before he opened the car door, his hear tilted towards my side. My words decided to scramble in my mind before being spewed out the same way.

"Philip, there hi.."

He chuckled. His hand rose to his chest as moved closer to us. "Daisy, are you smoking?" His voice was a low grumble and it was then where I understood how good his sensory organs worked.

Suddenly, my heartstrings elongated like harp strings and played the rhythm of all rom-coms I ever watched. Was Philip concerned for me?

"No, its me Philip," Linda answered before I could say anything. "Daisy still needs to give into her vices."

With a smile that emerged around the corner of his lips, Philip leaned over to her. "Have you vowed to take everyone down here?"

She shrugged her shoulders and it was my mind which barked words, inaudible for anyone. He can't see your gesture. Use your words.

"Stupid Linda," were uttered in the aftermath of my mind and heart conflict. Philip and Linda turned over to me. She puffed her last smoke ring before looking for a place to toss her bud.

"Why would you say that?" Philip enquired for which I too shrugged. Now I was the stupid Daisy.

"Oh just for fun, you know. I love riling her up." A justification which didn't hold any water were my rescue words, floating me as I braved Philip's glare. 

"See you around Daisy," he waved at me and walked over to the car. "See you Linda," he almost yelled to reach the girl who had moved away, before entering the vehicle and driving off.

I walked over to Linda and leaned over her shoulder. "Save me," I prayed as if she was the goddess who held all panacea to my issues.

"I can't honey," she whispered before pulling me off my slant. "You have to do this yourself."

What was she talking about? I was astound.

Linda turned me towards the man who fit the mold to be called 'pain in the ass'. Steve walked over to me and smiled, as if the entire evening episode of his inflated ego and my cooking skill never occurred.

"Sooo," his elongated words had me confused. "Are we up for tomorrow? We don't have noon shift so how about that coffee?"

Like a dust particles stuck in a cog, I coughed out a laughter. "You are kidding me, right?" He nodded immediately.

Was he serious? Did he suffer a minor brain injury between yesterday and tonight.

"No I am damn serious." Like all narcissistic men, Steve seemed to have no recollection of his act from today and I was in no shape to deliver it with my eyelids fighting hard to remain open. 

"Steve, I can't have coffee with you. I have something which came up.."

"How about day after?" he asked, moving a step closer.

"Nope. Please understand that my schedule is booked for the whole month." This was the easiest way to convince him to let me off.

"Is it something I did?" Widening his eyes, Steve tried pouting his lips.

"Are you bipolar?" my hand covered my mouth and my eyes bulged out of their socket the moment those words fell out.

"What? No? Why would you say that?"

"Cats out of the baggg," Linda did her singsong voice from a distance were she puffed her fifth  consecutive cigarette.

Hanging my head onto my chest, regret filled me up on taking up his offer. When I tossed my head up, Steve's eyes sparked with a desire to convince me. He held his hand in the air, halting my thoughts and the derivative apology in place to set him down. "I think I did something. I know I did. But it wasn't directed to you."

"You think you did something? You don't know?" I parried on.

"It's something to do with the kitchen episode. Isn't it?"

"Ding Ding Ding," I rattled with hand with the imaginary bell.

"Fine," Steve raised both his hands. His shoulders dropped and his head leaned forwards, holding us privy to his words. "I am sorry for what I did."

"You are not a pinch of sorry for what you did," my eyes rolled inwards.

"You are right. I am not." Did he just accept his fake apology? With narrowed gaze and a sigh that went longer than a deep exhale, he rolled his head around. "What I did in there was for your betterment. I am your superior and I wanted to tell you its better to have something close to perfection than try for perfection and screw it up. That's how you learn."

"So you were so sure that I was close to perfection to stop than attain it?"

"Yes, rather than going overboard. You have been here only a day, Daisy. You still have a lot to learn. And perfection is learned over time and with patience."

I could have fought with him throughout the night, had we been inside the kitchen, behind the heat of the stoves and the clatters of pans and pots. But in the open, in the airy outside, my will to fight and prove myself right seemed to dissolve away like salt in water. A part of me believed his words, to not fully support my conviction to fight.

"Fine," I waved his words away dismissively.

"Fine what?" he nudged me to complete my words.

"Fine you win," was let out with a grunt. "You are right. Perfection needs time."

It wasn't him who coined the idiom nor was he being awarded for the same but like the wind waving a branch back and forth, Steve twirled his shoulders and hands to my words. "Finally," he sighed. "I though you would never heed to my words."

I wanted to taunt him more but the wavering leg support cut short our interaction. "Take it as you want it."

I turned to walk away when he called back. "So are we good for coffee? My treat."

There are a million reasons to say no to this man who seemed to keep me on my toes since he was introduced. But it only required one reason for me to answer yes.

The reason that left in his car a while back. The reason attached with the word called moving on.

~

Some tasks are easier said than done.