The morning buzz of the Frenchies and Fries kitchen was alive with the clatter of pans, the hiss of steam, and the rhythmic chopping of knives.
Hunter walked in, the faint aroma of freshly baked bread mingling with the tang of herbs and spices.
Marcus, the second chef, stood at the counter, expertly kneading dough for flatbread while simultaneously watching a pot of creamy soup simmering on the stove.
Hunter rolled up his sleeves, walking toward the workstation. "Morning, Marcus. Need a hand?"
Marcus glanced up, his expression brightening. "Hunter! Wait, you got the job? I'm mean, how could you not when you're that good. Congratulations," Marcus said and Hunter waved it off.
"Thank you. I'm really glad to be working with you. Let's work?" he said with a wink and Marcus grinned.
"Yeah, very good perfect timing. I was just about to start prepping the roasted chicken for today's special," he said looking at Hunter with a smile.
