Chapter Text
The summer storm catches her off guard.
She's not even been in Boston a week, and already the weather is giving her whiplash. When shebhad left the small apartment she had chosen to rent, the sky had been clear. Perfect. Now, by the time she has managed to get herself to North & Vine, it's a fucking downpour outside.
Silenty, she thanks Marcus for texting her about a staff-only entrance leading straight into the back of the house as she slips past the main entrance to the restaurant, and around the corner.
At least she can avoid dredging through the main space and the guests like a drowned cat.
Small mercies.
Come by for family meal tomorrow so you can get to know the guys, Marcus had texted her yesterday as she'd hurried to unpack the boxes the movers had left behind.
She's been nervous, but excited at the prospect. She had spend the past weeks stalking any and all information she could get on North & Vine on the internet (which included a small army of reviews and articles from various sources) and their staff (which included a whole lot of much less). From their instagram she had been able to pick out a few familiar faces that kept resurfacing in posts, concluding those must be members of staff, and from the website she'd gathered that the co-owner of North & Vine that Marcus had referenced throughout their conversations, Grant, was Grant Reilly, the head chef.
It was, to summarise, very little beyond the noise of critics and journalists. She had hoped to gain a bit more insight through their social media, but no luck there either.
Fuck, she hadn't even gotten the curtsey of a follow-back from Grant Reilly.
She tries not to think about that particular fact as she takes in a fortifying breath and pushes open the staff entrance.
There's heat and noise and smell that accosts her as son as she steps inside — typical for a restaurant kitchen, but it still takes her a second to get used to it as she closes the door behind her.
Somewhere in the past minutes, she's begun shaking from the way her soaked clothes cling to her body, and for a moment she has to blink away the burning sensation ij her eyes as she's reminded that her careful work of hours laying out an outfit thats nice and professional but not too much for a kitchen is ruined. Her hair's dripping, and her white shirt is clinging to her in a way that she knows it's see-through and her bra is visible, and the sensation of her jeans clinging wet to her legs is enough to make her want to crawl out of her mind.
Stupidly, for a moment, she wants to cry as all eyes turn to her and a man she recognises as Grant Reilly makes his way over to her.
But Iris Adams is not a quitter, and so she smiles at him as brightly as she can.
"You must be Iris," Grant says as he comes up to her with a wry smile. "No one from up around here would've trusted the weather report. The summer rain, it's... I'm Grant."
Iris tries not to grimace at the reminder before she goes to shake his hand. "Nice to meet you," she replies, and because she's apparently still a little too rattled for her own good, she then goes in for a hug, wrapping her arms around Grant's waist.
He is sinfully warm for the blissful split-second it takes for her brain to reach normal mode again and she let's go of him, trying her best to ignore the wet blotches from her clothes on his shirt.
Jesus Christ, Iris, get it together.
Grant blinks, clearly caught of guard,before he clears his throat and turns to address the room. "Alright everyone," he says, waving at the staff sitting around the table with an arm. "Okay, make some room for our new sous chef Iris Adams, all the way from New York."
This time, it's a little easier to smile at them as the scootch to make room for her.
"Okay," Grant says, voice softer as he places a hand on her shoulder, and points with the other to the space that's opened up. "You can squeeze in right there between Taylor and Beans."
Iris blinks. "Beans?"
That gets her another smile. "Beans, yeah. We call him that — well... I'll let him fill you in. It's not that bad." He gives her a slight wink before turning to Beans. "I could think of a lot worse nicknames for you, man."
He lets go of her, as if he hadn’t even been aware of the contact, leaving behind a scorching imprint of his palm on her shoulder as he steps away.
Iris almost immediately misses the contact as she follows his instructions and takes her place between Taylor — a guy about her age — and Beans — who immediately grins and launches into an retelling of how he mixed up Cannellini and Butter beans early into his employment at North & Vine, and subsequently never got to live it down, or get rid of the nickname that followed the incident.
Grateful for his attempts at including her, Iris launches into a detailled description about one of the bean-based prefix menus they cooked as a fall special at Purple Wolf back in New York.
It's probably way too borning for her to talk this animatedly about it, but she relishes in the opportunity to let herself revel in her passions for the culinary craft. She's helped create that bean-beased menu not long after she first started at Purple Wolf, working through countless rounds of trial and error in an attempt to get it just right.
It had been one of the few instances where she had truly loved working at Purple Wolf.
She's still mid-way in her monologue to Beans, who is nodding along to her words, when Grant's voice rings out again.
"All right, everyone, let's finish up," he says as he rises from his chair. "We've got big service tonight, and we still have to prep for that new tadting menu tomorrow, so let's hustle."
Iris's stomach bottoms out at the words new tasting menu, but she barely has time to think more on it as Grant turns to her while the others begin cleaeing away their dishes. "Iris, it was lovely to meet you and I can’t wait to work together in the future."
He reaches over the table to shake her hand again and Iris smiles as his hand engulfs her own.
"Likewise, Chef."