Fists and Knives (A Harry Styles Fanfiction)

Chapter 1

“It’s good… but not good enough…”

Not good enough. Those three words have always stumped me.  Who decides what’s good enough? In this case, it was Robert Fley, one of the famous chefs at Carne Ve, a fancy chain restaurant that specialized in steaks.  Who put him in charge?  I mean, I get that he started the chain and is a pretty amazing chef himself… but still.  Did he just declare that he would decide what “good enough” was?

I cleared my throat and counted to three in my head to try and calm myself before talking to him again. “What’s wrong with it?” I asked through my teeth as I watched Robert and his assistant beside him poke at their steak with their forks. Robert’s bald and greasy-looking assistant, whose name I forgot the second after he introduced himself, raised his eyebrows at my tone. 

Robert didn’t seem to notice my tone.  “The steak is just underseasoned, the potatoes are a little too buttery, the beans are soggy, these mushrooms are on top of my steak…”

I frowned. “The mushrooms are an edible garnish? Also there for more flavor?”

Robert shook his head, his gray hair reflecting the light from the ceiling in an almost blinding way. “It just doesn’t taste good.”

I shoved my hands deep in the front of my messy apron and curled up my fists.  “You just told me a second ago it was good.”

“But not good enough,” Robert’s assistant added.  I glared at him.  Who was this guy?

“Kennedy,” Robert started.  I knew what was coming next.  I bit my lip and started to untie the bandana from my hair.  Some of my light brown bangs began to fall into my face, which almost felt nice after a whole day of having them secured back against the side of my head.  They were kinked a little funny just from having dried in my bandana; I had been slaving and sweating all morning trying to fix this perfect dish for this guy in a kitchen full of hot stoves and boiling water and fiery ovens.  “Kennedy, I just don’t think that this is the right place for you right now.”

I pulled at the corner of one of my eyes and looked at the black eyeliner that came off on one of my fingers. I rubbed my fingers together and looked back up at the two men.

“We didn’t even get to dessert.”

Robert forced a laugh.  “Look, Kennedy… We’ve seen enough.”

If there is anything you should know about me from the start, it’s that I don’t handle criticism well… but I cook for a living.  People judge my food three times a day, every day of the week… or at least they will when I finally get a job or my own restaurant.  I worked at Ruth’s Chris for a long time but was fired for throwing knives at other chefs who didn’t do what I asked.  What?  I had a temper.  Unfortunately, I was known for that temper.  I knew my beans weren’t soggy and there was plenty of seasoning on that steak – Robert just needed a reason not to hire me other than the fact that he was scared of me.  A lot of people were.

On the bus home, I leaned my forehead against the window.  I jumped backward when I felt something almost gooey on my skin.  I reached up and felt it hesitantly, thinking it was something someone before me wiped on the glass, but realized it was some of my mushroom sauce.  I had mushroom sauce on my face this whole time.  I sniffed the sauce and licked it off of my finger.  It was the perfect combination of sweet and savory… I couldn’t imagine what Robert was talking about.  I sighed and glanced to the right of me, seeing a older woman watching me.  She looked completely disgusted.  Before I could explain that I didn’t just lick a completely foreign goo off of the window, she collected her belongings and exited the bus.  Great.  Rejected by Robert Fley and now that woman thinks I’m a freaking weirdo.  What a day.