“I was at a friend’s house.” But she doesn’t say anything more.

“Is everything okay?” I turn back to her, my blushing under control.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” She tucks her hair behind her ear, where a golden stud shines. For this one breath, I can taste the metal if I were to suck her earlobe into my mouth. I step in close, pressing my hand into her lower back.

“You seem tense. I thought maybe...”

She looks down at me, wary. “You thought what?”

I rub my hand along her back, slow, soothing circles. Seemingly despite herself, Amy smiles. It starts off shy; she doesn’t smile and look at me at the same time. But slowly it changes. This smile, just like everything about Amy, is a challenge. But I’ve never been one to back down. I run my hand up the back of her neck, the short, shaved hair there sending a shiver through me. She might smell different, but she tastes exactly the same.

“I thought maybe I could help you relax,” I say against her lips.

The security system beeps, the signal that someone has opened the back door. Amy steps away from me. “Maybe...later?”

“Sure.”

“There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about so...”

She smiles awkwardly at her feet.

“Great,” I say. “I love to talk.” But the hair rises on the back of my neck as she still won’t meet my eyes. I have a sneaking suspicion that I won’t love talking about whatever has made her so awkward.

“Hey, y’all.” Jameela walks in, followed by Toby. Amy puts more space between us. Like my hand on hers earlier, every movement and word from her is harmless but they burn nonetheless, this time not in that excruciating way that makes me want to go back for more. It’s a cold kind of burn.

I turn back to the prep work while Amy leaves the kitchen for the host stand. Jameela takes her place beside me and we fall into the easy rhythm we’ve cultivated since she started. She’s a great chef and team player and it’s easy to push Amy to the back of my mind with Jameela’s building excitement for tonight’s service.

Jameela even helps me stage a few shots for my Instagram. Tonight we’re testing new specials out on our guests to whittle down our choices in preparation for cooking for Camilla Vargas. The bustle of the night takes over and the kitchen gets warm, then hot. I burn my fingers on a cast-iron pan but barely feel it because even though this full house feels more like a fluke than good fortune, tonight is a good night.

You can see the cracks in a team’s performance early on. There will be a small mistake at first: meat that’s been overcooked, a custard that breaks again and again, no matter how many times you remake it. Each tiny disaster will snowball until, by the end of the night, the team is at each other’s throats and nothing is coming out of the kitchen fast enough.