Friday dawns sunny and warm. Everett's interview is at noon at Lovebird Café. He plans on preparing some of his favorites from the menu for the interviewer, journalist Jonathan Edmundson.
I meet Everett at the restaurant at 10. He's looking dapper in his clean chef's uniform, his dark hair carefully combed and gelled into place. I've never seen him so nervous before, not even right before the grand opening. He's pacing around the kitchen, muttering to himself when I arrive.
"Everett. Are you okay?"
He stops and looks at me. I can see the dark circles under his eyes. When he doesn't answer, I ask, "Did you get any sleep last night?"
He grunts. "If I did, it doesn't feel like it."
I go to him and wrap him in a hug. "You're going to do great. Stop freaking out."
"Easy for you to say," he grumbles, wrapping his arms around me. "You're not the one about to give an interview to one of the top journalists in the state."
"Do you really think I haven't done my fair share of interviews?" I look up at him. "Delilah arranged at least four or five different interviews for TV shows and magazines while I was searching for a head chef."
"Really? I don't remember seeing or reading any of those."
"They wouldn't have stood out. You didn't know me then."
"True. Was it scary?"
"I was so afraid before the first one. Kim had to come and basically drag me to it."
"What happened?"
"It was completely anticlimactic. It really just felt like a conversation with a friendly stranger. The interviewer isn't here to expose your darkest secrets. This is a culinary magazine. They literally just want to hear about your food and about your journey to becoming a chef. They want you to inspire their readers. I promise, he's not going to make it difficult or ask trick questions."
I realize that I'm still holding him and let go, blushing. "Just be your charming, intelligent, funny self."
He smiles. "You know, if you ever get tired of the restaurant business Lace, you'd make a great motivational speaker."
I blush a little deeper and look down. "Thanks." I don't know why I feel so shy around him suddenly. I'm probably just still embarrassed that I hugged him for so long. He must think I'm a weirdo.
Thankfully, our awkward moment is interrupted by a loud rendition of "That's Rock and Roll" by Shaun Cassidy. I look up in surprise as Everett pulls out his phone with a sheepish smile. He quickly silences it and slips it back into the pocket of his neat black slacks.
"Sorry. I set a timer on my freak out so I'd know when I needed to stop pacing and get cooking."
I laugh. "Do you need any help?"
His smile softens. "Could you maybe just sit and talk to me while I work please?"
"Of course." I grab a chair from the break room and set it in the kitchen. For the next two hours, I watch Everett cook his heart out. As he cooks, we chat. I learn that he has a pet cat named Francois and that he loves watching football. He moved here from Georgia. He doesn't talk much about his family. His favorite movie is "Gettysburg" and he's kind of a history buff.
In return, I tell him about my long held desire to have a fish (fulfilled by Delilah's gift of Gulliver). I also talk about a few of my favorite kitchen disasters. I've been trying to come up with my own foods since I was little and have had some very entertaining failures, like the time I made "cinnamon rolls" by adding a large spoonful of cinnamon to the dinner rolls I was baking (they were nasty).
When noon rolls around, I leave Everett to finish plating the food and head to the front to wait for Mr. Edmundson. A short, muscular man with red hair and very green eyes arrives only a few minutes after I take a seat at the bar and I quickly let him in.
I seat him at a table near the center of the restaurant and tell him that I'll inform Everett of his arrival. I hurry back to the kitchen and find Everett almost ready to come out. "I can serve the food," I offer.
"No. I want to bring it out myself. Go sit with him and chat," Everett commands in his boss voice.
"Yes sir," I answer with a mock salute. I return to the table and sit next to Mr. Edmundson. I find him perusing one of our menus with a half-smile.
"What do you think?" I ask.
"I think I'm looking forward to trying Mr. Brodbeck's food. This all looks and sounds delicious," he answers, looking up with a friendly smile.
"I'm glad you think so." I return his smile.
"So you're the owner of Lovebird Café?"
"Yes. Lacy Linden."
"Nice to meet you, Ms. Linden. I'm Jonathon Edmundson. We've been hearing a lot of good things about this place."
"Thank you. We're really happy with how things are going and how much support we've received."
"What got you into the restaurant business?"
"I've loved food since I was younger and have always wanted to do something food-related. Unfortunately, I don't have the talent to be a good chef, so I decided to pursue my dream from the business side."
"Interesting. I don't hear that very often. Why do you think you wouldn't make a good chef?"
For the second time today, I find myself regaling someone with stories of my kitchen disasters. Mr. Edmundson is laughing so hard, I can see tears in the corners of his eyes when the kitchen door opens.
Everett shoots me a questioning look and I just shrug with a sheepish smile. Clearing his throat to announce his arrival, Everett quickly walks to the table balancing a large tray in his arms.
He sets the dishes down in front of us with a quick description of each one. To allow Mr. Edmundson to try multiple foods, Everett has prepared for us to eat family dinner style, with all the dishes in the center for us to serve ourselves from. He sets empty plates and silverware in front of us, then takes his seat across from Mr. Edmundson.
The men quickly exchange greetings and handshakes.
"Everything looks wonderful," Mr. Edmundson says.
"Thank you. I hope you enjoy it. Let me know if you have any questions," Everett answers.
The three of us eat in relative silence. Everett is covertly watching Mr. Edmundson to gauge his reactions and I'm less covertly watching Everett. The faces he's making are pretty hilarious: one moment a look of complete concentration, then a hopeful smile; a satisfied smirk quickly replaced by a look of worry. He's going through the emotional range of a movie in a fraction of the time.
When we finish, I offer to clear the dishes away so the men can get started. I jury to the kitchen and set the dishes down. I'm about to dash back to the table when I hesitate. Should I really interrupt them? Everett seems to be feeling comfortable with Mr. Edmundson. And it's not like my presence will help the interview at all. In fact, I might be an obstacle if the journalist asks questions about Everett's work.
I hope, of course, that he only has positive things to say about the restaurant and about me as his boss, but I don't want to look like I'm forcing him to say good things. Instead, I'm hoping that he'll say good things in my absence.
In the meantime, I return to the sink and start washing dishes. I have to really concentrate on not breaking out in song while I work.
When I finish, I peek back into the dining room, where I find Everett and Mr. Edmundson in deep conversation. They look like they're getting along really well. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief and head to my office to do some catch-up.
I'm just winding down a phone call with a supplier when I hear a quiet knock at the door. I quickly say goodbye and hang up, then call, "Come in."
Everett steps in with a smile. "That was great! Thank you so much for being here with me, Lace!"
"I'm glad it went well! I assume the interview wasn't as bad as you imagined?" I ask with a teasing smile.
He laughs. "No, Jonathon was really cool! I felt really comfortable. It helped that he ate my food first, so we could talk about that. I'm always in my element when I talk about my food, especially with someone who likes it! And you were right, he wasn't asking difficult questions or pushing for personal information. It was just like a casual conversation. I don't know why I was so afraid."
I shrug. "Everyone tends to be afraid of the unknown. Now that you've got your first interview out of the way, the rest should be much less intimidating."
"I think I'd still be a little nervous about doing one live, like on TV or the radio."
"Yeah, those are always scarier," I admit. "But you'll still do great when people start asking you for live interviews. You have a great personality! You just have to be yourself and people will love you."
"You talk like I'm for sure going to be asked to do live interviews," he says.
"I think that with the way your food is taking off, it's a very good possibility that you'll be in high demand in the local culinary world. People love new, young, handsome, successful chefs."
His smile turns suddenly into a very serious expression. "Is that how you see me, Lace? New, young, handsome, successful?" he asks, carefully emphasizing each word, but lingering longest on "handsome".
"Of course," I answer lightly, forcing myself to smile. "If you don't already know that you're handsome, your mirror must be defective."
He looks at me earnestly. "Well I'm glad you think so."
I nod and decide to change the subject. "Well, now that you've aced your interview with time to spare before your shift starts, are you going to celebrate?"
"What did you have in mind?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.
"Ice cream," I answer. There's a cute little ice cream shop a few buildings down from ours and I offer to treat Everett to some.
We stay at the shop to eat and chat and by the time we head back, the other employees are trickling in. They all stop to ask Everett about his interview and congratulate him. I watch for a bit, then return to my office. I knew it would be a success. Now I can't wait to see the article. And I especially can't wait to send a copy to Jeff.