"Work," she said. "It’s just work."
Tracy could feel Mr. Hayes’ shoulders sink down ever so slightly in defeat.
"Okay," he muttered with an air of resignation. "I understand."
He stood up and walked out of the room with a big, damp circle on his t-shirt where Tracy’s head had been. She watched him go and nervously rubbed her thumbnail over the tip of her middle finger.
It was going to be a long day.
Over an hour later, and with only minutes to spare until Gordon Baxter was scheduled to arrive, Tracy stumbled through the restaurant’s back door with one arm full of papers and the other precariously balancing a paper bag of odds and ends. She hustled through and dropped everything on the long, sleek prep table with a sigh.
"What a…"
The paper bag toppled over, sending dozens of glass salt shakers spilling out with an enormous clatter. Tracy grabbed one before it could hit the floor. Unfortunately, there were about five more that she didn’t have the reflexes, or the spare hands, to grab. The rest smashed on the tile in small, glittering explosions.
"Great. Just great."
Tracy grabbed a broom and started to sweep up the mess. Right away, the repetitive stroking motion let her mind wander back to her earlier vision and the mysterious man in it. What were his intentions? Why was he appearing to her? Tracy knew that she was safe for the time being. After all, it was "his" blood that the man wanted, not hers.
What if he was lying? Her thoughts took it further. What if he shows up at your door right now?
She froze and stared down. The constant drag of nervous apprehension was starting to get to her. Her hands were shaking and her heart was pumping a mile a minute.
What are you going to do if it is him?
It had to be. She could feel it in her gut, which had quickly twisted itself up into tight, painful knots.
A hard, firm pounding sound made Tracy jump, the broom’s handle slipping from her hand and falling down into the glass pile.
Again the knocking came, and this time it was enough to get Tracy moving. She walked slowly over to the door, took a deep breath and jerked the thing open.
At first, the bright light of day made it hard for her to make out the man’s features. Tracy squinted her eyes and bit the inside of her cheek, trying desperately to see the man she was sure would be her undoing.
When her eyes finally came into focus a few seconds later, she saw Gordon Baxter’s light skin and dirty blond, swept-back hair.
Tracy sighed a deep breath of relief and extended her hand. "Hi. I’m Tracy."
Gordon met her handshake with a smile.
"It’s a pleasure," he said and softly flicked his head to get a stray chunk of hair out of his eyes.
The award-winning chef’s features were chiseled and rugged. Even his crystal blue eyes screamed masculinity. He was taller than Tracy, though not by much, and he was already dressed in his newest whites.
Realizing that they’d been standing there a little longer than they should have, Tracy released her grip on his rough hands and stammered, "Come, uh, come in. Please, Mr. Baxter."
"Thanks. And, please, call me Gordon."
He walked past Tracy, who had already started to relax. In fact, she felt like a huge weight had been lifted, though the impending grand opening was more than enough to keep her spirit bogged down in the mean time.
Gordon walked in and set a sizable case down next to the bag of spilled salt shakers. Tracy had been so distracted that she didn’t even notice he had it.
"What happened here?"
He poked the scattered pile with the tip of his black shoe.
"Oh, oh!" Tracy scampered over and quickly swept the mess up into a dust pan. "That was nothing. I was just finishing cleaning it up." She dumped it out and cast the pan aside. "Can I show you around?"
"That’s okay. I'll take a look while you finish." Gordon’s voice faded as he walked away.. While she was busy sweeping up, he made himself comfortable in the kitchen. By the time she looked back, he was inspecting the range.