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Vincent Charbonneau did not love. Whatever love that might have been was sucked out of him in a slow but sure manner the moment he started losing taste. Now his tongue was rendered useless and unfeeling, and his heart with it. The few times he could taste was the dull tang of soured lemons, as if the heavens chose to heartily laugh at their ironic cruelty inflicted upon a sinner.
That’s what he was.
A sinner.
So he chose to face his work instead. Devote his hand to creating works of culinary art, devote his mind to the restaurant he built from the ground up, and his life to dishes he would never get to experience.
Perhaps the lack of love in his cooking came from the bitterness within.
Vincent sighed, checking his watch with growing irritation. His new hire was coming in for the second day, and he was already twenty minutes late. He had barely made it on time to learn the basics, and it wasn’t even a week in until he decided to pull a stunt like this, something that even the greatest idiots would avoid in such a prestigious environment-
Then the door opened, and in came the redhead who was already proving to be a nuisance. Rody Lamoree, the new waiter who seemed to have a knack of making other people wait.
“Sorry I’m late-”
“Sorry? Sorry doesn’t cut it, it’s only your second day and you’re already-”
Vincent took a second longer to study Rody, his hair matted and clothes wrong and overall appearance completely drenched, and a growing sense of aggravation started taking root in Vincent’s heart. He should have fired Rody for this. He should fire Rody for this.
But that look on Rody’s face, the look of pure adoration when talking about some random girl who had no interest in him, kept flitting through his mind. It made him hesitate just a second longer than he should have, and then Rody would do something and he’d have to let it go.
Well.
Vincent wasn’t going to think any further about that matter.
“Why do you look like that,” he said flatly.
Rody scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “I uh... I thought biking really fast through the rain would dry me as I go, but turns out it just soaks me faster.”
Vincent stared at him.
Rody averted his gaze.
He wondered how Rody hadn’t died in a ditch yet.
He wondered how Rody still looked like he was illuminated by the world and whatever graces the angels above would send when he was so utterly unpresentable.
He wondered what those beautiful red locks would feel like in his hands.
Vincent cleared his throat-and with it the traitorous thoughts of a sinner damned to hell-and grabbed a hand towel from a neighboring table before pulling Rody to him. He started to dry his hair and murmured, “Dry off, you can’t be seen by customers looking like this.”
He paused, looking down and ignoring the feeling of the silky red hair slipping through his fingertips. “You do know umbrellas exist for a reason, yes?”
Rody’s voice was flat, unbothered. “Don’t own one.”
Vincent blinked for a moment. Didn’t own one? How absurd was that? Rody hadn’t seemed the one to stick with affluence, but the lack of basic self preservation of this man…
He remembered the diamonds adorning Manon during their short relationship of…convenience. As if Rody could afford them.
Rody really loved her.
The surprising bitterness in the back of his throat was the first taste he’d had from anything other than lemons.
Vincent needed more.
He realized the silence was getting rather agonizingly inappropriate, so he quickly said, “I’m giving you mine for the ride back so this doesn’t happen again.”
Rody blinked, hard, as Vincent started to dry him off again. “Oh, uh-thanks, but ah…Then how are you gonna be getting home without one?”
“I live here.”
Silence for a minute, as if Rody was thinking deeply about those implications. “...Like. In the restaurant??”
Idiot.
…How adorable.
“My apartment’s upstairs,” Vincent answered, a hint of exasperation seeping into his tone.
“Oh-oh yeah, that makes a lot more sense. Wow…”
“Is there a problem?”
“Nah, it’s just-isn’t that worrying? Like, if something happens to the building it’s all gonna be gone-”
Vincent smacked him with the rag he was holding, a moment of impulse he rarely gave into.
Rody’s green, beautiful eyes met his, a moment of astonishment washing his face before Vincent said coldly, “If you have enough time to talk nonsense, then you’re ready for work.”
Rody stammered out some puny response before fleeing away into the kitchen.
Vincent stared after him, before letting out a breath he’d been holding.
Even now I cannot escape the fiery gates of oblivion.
Vincent paused on his assured walk to his stationed place in the kitchen as he heard Rody make loud conversation with the cooks. He might have heard a laugh, one shushed in a rush by his employees who understood their place. Normally he would wonder who dared bring such homeliness in a professional area, one where people could get burned before even realizing it. But all he could think was how Rody’s laugh was like a tinkling of bells, something so strangely delicate compared to his big, loud personality.
He almost smiled.
Forgive me, dear God of Creation, for it seems I have sinned again.
The burning in the back of his throat grew, as if a calling to his senses returning.
Yes…Vincent could cook with love.
And Rody would see just how much a sinner could give.