Maya wiped down the counter and glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes until the dinner rush would commence, and she still hadn't prepped the specials board.
She'd been working at the waterfront restaurant for three years now, ever since she'd drained her savings to enroll in culinary school. Every dollar she'd set aside through high school had gone toward tuition, and she didn't regret a single cent of it.
Tonight's feature was a salmon dish with whipped cream cheese and a generous spoonful of roe folded gently on top. The tiny orange pearls gleamed under the kitchen lights. She'd practiced the plating a dozen times, wanting it to look effortless by the time real plates went out to real tables.
Her chef, Marcus, had told her early on that patience was a prerequisite for anyone hoping to run their own kitchen someday. You couldn't skip the years of grunt work, the burned sauces, the humbling feedback. You had to earn the confidence that came with repetition.
That's why the news from this afternoon had rattled her so pleasantly. A consortium of local restaurant owners and culinary investors was launching a mentorship program for emerging chefs, and Marcus had submitted her name without telling her.
She found out through a voicemail she'd listened to twice in the walk-in freezer, her breath fogging in the cold air.
She set down the rag and smiled at the specials board. She'd write it up neatly, feed the dinner crowd, and figure out the rest tomorrow. For now, there was work to do.