Chapter 3 The kitchen Dynamic

By the third day, Liam had memorized the sound of every burner in the kitchen. The front-left one stuttered. The fryer hissed too loud. The oven timer is stuck sometimes. These small things mattered when the tickets started rolling in.

The kitchen at The Saffron Spoon ran like a storm-loud, fast, and unpredictable. Everyone had a role, and everyone had opinions. Especially Marcus.

"You're folding the risotto wrong," Marcus barked. He walked over to Liam's station, his apron stained with a history of spills, his thick arms crossed.

Liam didn't pull back. stirring the creamy rice with steady, deliberate strokes. "There's no wrong way if the rice is cooked and the flavor's right," he said, his tone calm but firm.

Marcus with a straight face. "You're one of those cooks. Fancy and stubborn. Bet you think you're smarter than me."

Ivy stepped between them with a bowl of sauce. "Save the arguing for after the rush, boys," she said, setting the bowl down and giving Marcus a playful poke. "Let him cook, Marcus. You're not the only one who knows risotto."

Marcus muttered something about "newbies" and walked back to his station, but not before giving Liam a careful look. Liam kept his head down. The last thing he wanted was to stand out. But his skills were hard to hide. The way he cleaned his station, the way he layered flavor, and the way he plated dishes, it all drew attention, whether he liked it or not.

Dani, the pastry chef, leaned over during the break and whispered, "Where did you learn to plate like that? Her eyes were bright with curiosity. "Culinary school? Some fancy place in Paris"

Liam nodded. "Sort of, picked it up here and there," wiping his knife with a clean towel.

Dani leaned her head. "You're hiding something, mister. Nobody plates like that without a story."

He met her look, his expression playful but cautious. "Aren't we all hiding something?"

Dani giggled and let it go, turning back to her puff pastry dough. But Liam felt the weight of her words.

The Saffron Spoon was a sanctuary for all people running from pasts, chasing dreams, or just trying to survive. He wasn't the only one with secrets, but he felt heavier, like a shadow trailing him from a life he left behind. But Ivy was also noticing it. She didn't say much, but Liam caught her watching him sometimes when he adjusted a sauce's seasoning without tasting, relying on smell and instinct. When he turned off a burner two seconds before something boiled over. She watched like someone trying to solve a puzzle.

That night, they worked side by side again. Ivy was testing a new special. She worked with fierce focus, her hands firm as she reduced the sauce, tasted it with a quick dip of a spoon, and adjusted it with a pinch of salt. Liam watched her, admiring the way she trusted her instincts.

"Liam," she called, not looking up from the sizzling pan. "Plate this."

He nodded, stepping to her side. In silence, he arranged the dish with care. The result was elegant, balanced, almost too refined for the chipped plates of The Saffron Spoon.

When he handed it to her, Ivy stared at the plate, her brow wrinkled slightly. "This looks like something from a five-star restaurant," she murmured, her voice low, almost to herself. She slanted the plate, studying the content.

Liam nodded, trying to divert the attention. "Just picked up a few tricks." She raised an eyebrow.

"A few tricks, huh? You're full of surprises, Cross."

He gave a faint smile, turning back to his station, but his heart was beating fast. He had let his guard slip, just for a moment, and Ivy had noticed. She didn't press, but her silence felt heavier than words, like she was filing away the moment for later. The shift ended in exhaustion, the kitchen crew moving like survivors of a battle. Liam wiped down his station. The others walked out, some heading to the taco truck, others collapsing into chairs with bottles of water. Liam stayed behind to enjoy the quiet as the kitchen settled into its post-rush calm.

Ivy stayed too, stacking clean pans. "You did good tonight," she said, glancing over. "That duck plate? Customers were delighted. You have got a gift."

"Thanks," Liam said, keeping his tone light. "You set me up for success with that look."

She looked at him, leaning against the counter. "Don't get too cocky. But yeah, we make a good team."

For a moment, their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them, a spark of connection. Liam felt it again, that pull toward her, the way her presence made the kitchen feel like home. Every compliment, every moment of companionship, was built on a lie. He wasn't just Liam Cross, line cook. He was Liam Grayson, heir to a culinary empire, trained by the best chefs in the world, molded by a legacy he ran from. The truth sat heavy in his chest, unspoken.

His apartment was scanty, just a sagging couch, a small table, and a single window. He dropped his keys on the counter and stood there, staring at nothing. Ivy's face came back to him, her sharp eyes, her quick laugh, the way she studied his plate. She saw him, not as a name or a legacy, but as a cook, a teammate, a person. It was a gift he had not realized he had been craving. His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. Another message from his assistant: "Your father's hired someone to track you. They're close. Call me."

Liam's stomach twisted. He set the phone down, his fingers lingering on its edge. The past was catching up, faster than he had expected. He wasn't ready to leave.