Johnathon's Arc

Chapter 3 of 31

One day left. Johnathon spread his knives across the counter in his small studio. Elsa watched from the stool, her green eyes tracking every move. He had to plate the balcony dish clean enough to win a national seat. His hands shook. He needed help, and he knew who to ask. A knock hit the glass door. Lexi slid it open and stepped inside without waiting. She carried her grey cat against her chest, his white paws hanging over her arm. "You look like you haven't slept," she said. "Good. That means you care. Now show me what you're doing." He set the cat down. Elsa crept over and sniffed the bigger cat's nose. The grey tom sat and let her, tail curled around his white feet. Johnathon almost smiled. Then he picked up his knife and got to work. He seared the fish first. He laid the sauce in one clean streak, exactly like his charcoal sketch. He placed each piece by feel now, faster than before. He didn't look up. He forgot Lexi was there until the plate was done. When he set down the tweezers, he turned. Lexi stood very still. She wasn't checking the food. She was watching him. Her mouth was slightly open. Her eyes moved from his hands to his face and stayed there. "What?" he asked. "You disappear when you cook," she said. "Like the plate is the only thing in the world." She kept staring. It was the same look she gave the dish two days ago, the same awe. But now it was pointed at him, not the food. Heat climbed his neck. He set down the towel. The stare didn't stop. Something shifted in his chest, and it scared him more than the judges. He liked cooking for her. He liked her watching. That was a new problem, and the qualifier was tomorrow. "I need you to taste it," he said, breaking the moment. "Tell me if it's ready." Lexi blinked and stepped forward. She took a bite. She closed her eyes. Then she nodded slowly. "It's ready," she said. "You're ready." "Then I need to be alone tonight," he said. The words came out before he could soften them. "I have to run it three more times. Clean. No distractions." Her face fell a little. She understood, but she didn't like it. She scooped up her grey cat. "Fine," she said. "But I'm coming to watch you cook it for real. At the qualifier. Try and stop me." She slid the door shut behind her. Johnathon stared at the finished plate. His hands were steady now. The dish was ready. But his head was full of her stare, and he had one night to push it out and cook like the seat depended on it. It did.