Taste of Iron

Eight: Don't Let The Puppy Bite

Eight: Don't Let The Puppy Bite

Atlas was an optimist.

Despite everything, he tried to convince himself that it didn't really matter who bought the restaurant. The previous owner only visited once a month, so he was certain that Emil wouldn't have the time to lounge around the place either. He had both his legitimate businesses and his...illegal activities to take care of. So surely he'd be a rather busy guy.

Maybe he'd come by occasionally to keep an eye, just to see how things were going, but there was no way that he'd be there seven days a week, right?

...Right?

"—it's my first restaurant, so I really want to see the inner workings of the kitchen," Emil said. "If I don't learn how everything goes then I can't contribute, yeah?"

"Uh huh," Atlas mumbled, clearly not pleased by the idea of Emil being there.

Though he appreciated Emil's enthusiasm and energy about making the place better, Atlas would just appreciate it a lot more if it was a few feet away from him. Preferably out of his line of sight too.

Atlas didn't just work to pay his bills. He did it because he loved to cook and feed people. It reminded him of how his mom would finally be able to relax after a long day of work as she ate the dinner that he had made. How his brother, Damian, who was extremely picky about food smiled whenever Atlas prepared his meals. How his other siblings would take a break from running around and fighting all day, and everyone would eat supper together in blissful silence.

Atlas loved his family, though they did have their difficulties just like everyone's does. He had never been very vocal or expressive about he felt, he didn't know how to. So he tried to showcase his feelings for them the only way he knew how to.

Even though he was thousands of miles away, cooking reminded him of his family. His home.

"So what're you doing?" Emil asked as he plopped up on the counter. Atlas bit his tongue, sitting on countertops was one of his pet peeves, for no particular reason. But he, of course, couldn't ask the owner of the place to not sit on his own property.

"Preparing for breakfast service," Atlas muttered. "You know there are other people that work here too, right? You don't have to stick by me the entire time."

"But you're the head chef."

"Which is precisely why I'm busy."

"But I want to spend time with you," Emil replied, making Atlas sigh in frustration.

When Emil told Atlas that he liked him, the chef quite frankly didn't know how to react or what to think. Sure, he was gay, and even a straight man could appreciate Emil's good looks. But he was a goddamn criminal. Atlas has stayed away from that side of the law his entire life, and he wasn't going to get involved in it now.

Emil was his boss, and a potentially dangerous man despite his innocent charm. But that didn't mean that Atlas would simply give in to his demands. For some reason, he wasn't scared of Emil. And he was going to stand his ground.

"The restaurant you just bought isn't going to be making any money if you don't let the head chef do his job, Emil," Atlas tried to reason. "I can't cook if you're standing over my head the entire time. That will fuck with my focus."

"Okay," Emil grumbled. "But we're not open to customers yet. I'll get out of your hair when you get to the actual cooking bit, don't worry!"

"How about you go to—"

"Atlas? The provisions are here," interrupted Denise, one of the sous chefs.

"Right, thanks," Atlas nodded as he washed his hands before wiping them on his apron. "Tell Jimmy and Frank to come out in ten minutes."