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Ch. 8 - Late Night Talking

The hallways were stuffy, the summer heat mixed with a twinge of humidity making it almost hard to breathe as I walked through the corridors. My steps echoed slightly as only a few people passed through the hallways alongside me. 

I was on my way to my last shift of the day, dinner. As I approached my destination, I pushed the kitchen door open and sauntered, closing the door behind me. A smile made its way to my face as I spotted Harry at his prep station, chopping away at a large carrot. 

"Well hello, Chef," I chimed. His knife paused, hand stopping mid-air. He swiftly pulled his chin towards the door, his gaze meeting mine.

"Long time no see," he responded, promptly averting his gaze and continuing his prep work.

"What's on the menu tonight?" I asked, walking to the sink to wash my hands before getting to work. 

"Vegetable soup and bread," he called back.

I nodded my head, taking my hands and pulling my hair between them. I reached for my hair tie with my index finger and wrapped it around my hair and made a ponytail. I reached for the water knob, turning the hot water on. I opened the bottle of dish soap on the edge of the sink and flipped it upside down, a single drop of liquid soap spilled into my palm, and I turned the bottle right-side up. I ran my hands under the water.

"Soup on a hot ass day?" I mocked his menu choice, "You British people are weird." I lathered the soap in between my palms before washing between my fingers, the backs of my hands, and then under my nails.

"It's the best we can do," Harry shrugged. "Plus, I make a pretty fantastic veggie soup." 

I turned off the faucet and dried my hands. I walked in his direction and stopped myself on the opposite side of his station, turning to face him.

"How may I help?"

"There's some celery you could chop for me," he pointed to the wide, silver refrigerator with double doors. It was impressively high-grade, it'd be impressive even if we weren't in an apocalypse. I gave a quaint nod and ventured to the silver doors, reaching out and pulling on the handles upon arrival. My eyes scanned the shelves, searching for the green stocks of celery. I spotted them on the far right-hand side of the middle shelf. I grabbed them in my hand and closed the doors, heading toward the sink once more. 

We continued prepping, small talk coming in spurts. Once our vegetables were all cut and diced, I brought them over to the stovetop. Our largest pots were resting on the preheated burners, a touch of oil in the bottom of each.  I grabbed a handful of each vegetable and started filling each pot evenly.

"Oh by the way," Harry spoke up over the sizzling vegetables. "Happy belated birthday, I had no idea. I'm sorry." One corner of his lips turned up into an apologetic grin. 

"Thanks, Harry," I smiled kindly and turned back to the pots on the hot stove. "No need to apologize," my facial features scrunched as I shook my head. "You've only known me like," I paused and looked up, pretending to count, "a few days." I put down the bowl I had emptied, grabbed the next bowl, and distributed its contents evenly again. 

"Still, I feel bad." His shoulders fell. "So," his body language perked up quickly, "I'd like to make it up to you if that's alright with you?" He suggested. I hummed and nodded my head.

"Go on," I motioned with the bowl, gesturing to him to continue.

"I'd like to make you dinner."

"Okay." I agreed.

"Tomorrow night work? After our shift?"

I nodded and gave him a quick smile. Once all of the vegetables were sauteed a nice golden brown, I added canned vegetable stock to the pots. Thankfully we had enough cans leftover for another meal, enough for the Saviors to find more on their next run.