Stone considers this. “True.”
Saint walks by, critiquing our preparations. “You’re not there yet, Noa. Before you finish, I recommend you visit Danny and Rad’s table. They’ve gently poached their sausages, whereas you have thrown yours directly into the pot where they will burst from the heat.”
“Don’t blame her,” Stone interjects. “That was my choice.”
Saint regards him with a flat gaze. “I consider your plates as a team, so your mistakes are hers and vice versa. Perhaps you should keep that in mind the next time you watch your teammate take down copious notes while you simply stand there watching everyone else attempt to learn.”
Stone’s expression goes flat as a shark’s. I lay a hand on his arm, hoping to cut off his retort.
“I told him to wait while I took down notes,” I defend, to my surprise. “He learns by observing. Always has.”
Saint didn’t expect my defense, either. His brows jump. He takes a moment to study the two of us. “While it’s admirable that you protect each other, that’s not what you’re here for, is it? I’d prefer not to take part in whatever healing journey you two are on…” Saint’s stare slides to the stockpot on the burner “… as myfive-year-old daughter wouldn’t eat those potatoes even if her healing journey would take her to Disney world.”
Stone idly follows Saint’s stare, then jumps to attention. “Fuck.”
I slide out of the way as Stone lifts with the overboiling pot like it weighs nothing, book-ending his curse with one of my own.
“Overcooked, mushy, and tasteless, I would venture to guess,” Saint muses before heading to the next table, where Mr. and Dr. Stanton wait patiently.
“Iwillkill him.”
“Shush, Stone, and give me the pot.”
Chest tight from another round of the chef’s criticisms, I devote myself to serious study for the rest of the evening. I don’t register Stone’s actions until he asks me for a spare pen.
“I only brought one. I didn’t think you’d want to write anything down.”
Unaffected, he strolls over to the Stanton’s station and asks for an extra pen, which Dr. Stanton is delighted to give him.
It’s his way, but I’m always amazed when I see people so easily sidle up and make conversation with those they don’t really know. Stone has a talent I’ll never possess, an ability to get anyone on his side at the same time he can whither a person with a single glance, which I suppose is why so many have let him get away with so much.
When he says something that makes both Stantons laugh, I have to force myself back to the task at hand, otherwise I’d just keep staring at him.
I’m busy redoing the potatoes when Stone returns.
“The Stantons are safe,” he says to me. He places a wad of bar napkins on the table in front of him. “They mean well. It’s Danny and Rad we have to look out for.”
I risk a look at him, fighting a grin. “You felt it, too?”
“I always assess my competition,” he says flatly before his eyes turn to slits as he regards Saint, who is busy discussing brûlée techniques with Rad, “That fucker over there wants me to take this seriously? I’ll give it to him in spades. I’ll be a master by the end of this session.”
With a stained apron strapped across his body, Stone poises his spatula above the pot, glaring at Saint with such savage determination that I can’t help it. I laugh. “You can make any world your own, can’t you?”
“I’m never afraid. You with me?”
“You know I am.”
Stone gestures to the boiling potatoes. “Then let’s go.”
And that’s how my classes with Stone suddenly became enjoyable.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Stone
Time moves way too fast.
One minute I’m at the top of my game and then I’m not. One month of good behavior and I’m yesterday’s news. Millspace Pharma will continue to use my company. I should be thrilled, and I am, at least for my career. Millspace will be the most lucrative deal I’ve taken on.
