A/N I am not a food expert, I'm happy I know how to cook a little and I have never worked in a restaurant nor will I ever. This is purely because it is an awesome AU. All of my knowledge comes from the Internet and Foodnetwork.
ANYWAY – ENJOY, I think enjoy is very appropriate with this story, I mean… food yay!
If Only All Stars Could Shine This Bright – ****
Culinary Review 'La Vedette' (New York City, NY, West 46th Street), Classical French
Executive Chef; Kurt Hummel (28, origin Ohio), Restaurant Manager: Rachel Berry (29)
by: Andrew Holst
As an acclaimed food critic I find myself in sometimes little pearls of exquisite finery, all hidden from the main tourist eye and filled with only true New Yorkians with taste buds that can handle little bites of luxury.
I am lucky to tell you that I have found another secret guarded from the mass – French Restaurant La Vedette (star or spotlight), opened past May and is singled out on a corner in the prestigious West 46th Street, close to 'Restaurant Row'.
The ambiance is a true knock-out and I was drifting off to an almost French brasserie like place, until I was viciously popped out of the dream when restaurant manager Rachel Berry lost her control over some of the service girls and practically yelled the entire restaurant together. It may confuse you why I am still utterly enthusiastic over this place, and if anyone can reveal what days Miss Berry isn't present – please, let me know first.
No, I was about to write some ugly words about the restaurant and leave, until the food came. The blonde waitress that had to hear the yelling from her supervisor from less than three inches distance still managed to place my appetizer on the table, wishing me to enjoy my food. And I did.
Many say it was supposed to be Miss Berry to be the so claimed star of the restaurant but they could not be more wrong – the true star was the delicious 'Tartelette aux Artichauts' (artichoke tartlet) I was served. And the man that put this petit étoile into the spotlight? Chef Kurt Hummel, 28 and former pupil of the famous French Chef Jacque Fournier.
You see, Chef Hummel rarely comes out of his domain – the kitchen – but every time a dish leaves through the doors, we can hear the voice of a man that owns this restaurant more than Miss Berry ever will. I had the pleasure of meeting his sous-chef, Miss Quinn Fabray, and she was very fond of her mentor. I saw myself wondering why Chef Hummel hadn't started a restaurant of his own, but according to Miss Fabray he hadn't truly found his 'mojo' yet. He wants to cook, create little pieces of heaven and bring pleasure to his costumers.
And even though I can speak further of the delicious food I have tasted that very night, I am afraid I feel like I only tease you and might even undersell what I have experienced. Whereas there are no words of how the true spotlight shines from the kitchen and Chef Kurt Hummel shines the brightest.
"… of how the true stars shines from the kitchen and Chef Kurt Hummel shines the brightest." Quinn shut the magazine and held it against her chest. "Well, someone has a crush on you."
A snort came from the corner in the kitchen where Kurt was lining up several ingredients.
"He has a crush on my food. As he should." He ducked underneath the sideboard to retrieve his chopping block. The restaurant's staff was arriving soon and he needed to present his menu so his main waitress Brittany could memorize it – which was quite the task for her.
"Kurt, I'm serious," Quinn, his sous-chef and moral sanity in his kitchen, walked toward him with the magazine still in her hand, "All you have to do is call the editor and –" she opened Dining New York again to find the critic's name, "Andrew Holst will throw himself at your feet."
"All he wants is my food." But not even Kurt could stop the little grin from coming. "You don't even know if he's gay –"
"I met him. Kurt!" She smacked him with the now rolled-up magazine. "You weren't even listening to what I was saying!"
"All I needed to hear were the words 'little pieces of heaven' and 'delicious'." Kurt straightened his back and contemplated between knives. "Besides, food critics come undercover, you talk to many customers –"
"Because you refuse to show your face."
"- and all customers say the same. Any guy could have been this – this Andrew."
"Yes, especially that guy that introduced himself as Andrew and requested to speak with you." Quinn rolled her eyes. When was Kurt ever going to accept that even chefs could have a love life?
Kurt pursed his lips in a way only he could before yanking out one of the vegetable knives and started to viciously chop up celery for his mirepoix. "Is Santana on her way yet? I need her to sample options for dessert."
And gone was the amiable Kurt Hummel and in came Chef Hummel, real star of La Vedette and rising champion in French cuisine. Every time Quinn tried to get him to step out of the kitchen and live a little, he turned professional and demanding.
"I will check her at once, chef," she said, biting her tongue against saying something less obedient. He was still his boss – no matter what Rachel said about being the Queen Bee – Kurt was the one giving orders. And after the trainwreck food runner called Chandler, everybody knew that they needed to stay off his blacklist. Chandler had made no secret of his admiration for Kurt and compliments about things other than his food was a way to subtly ask for a neck shot. He was fired within a week, and Rachel had muffled it off as disagreements in his contracts.
No, it was safe to say Kurt Hummel didn't do personal, romantic affairs. His life was food, and food alone.
They worked in silence for a little while, Quinn finishing off the entrée and Kurt perfecting it. Their routine was daily and sacred. The quiet before the storm, because as soon as the rest of the kitchen and restaurant staff were barging through the restaurant's doors there was no way of talking to Kurt about other affairs than the menu.
Quinn walked off to the computer to print the first hardcopy of tonight's menu, reading it over to see if there weren't any mistakes before handing it over to Kurt. She watched his eyes glide over the words, gritting his teeth and shaking his head. There were days she cursed his nitpicking and controlling ways – like today – but other days it saved the night, like that one night where the deliverance messed up their orders. She would never forget how Kurt made the driver cry and got the right order for free.
"Looks good." he finally said and handed it back.
Roaring noises of a motorcycle came through the split of the back door and a minute later a lean Hispanic woman burst into the kitchen. She threw her helmet on her usual spot, shrugging off her leather jacket and tossed her bag along with it.
"I love it how the kitchen gets hotter when I arrive." she smirked.
"Afternoon, Santana." Kurt gave her one glare and the smile vanished.
"Good afternoon, chef." She exchanged looks with Quinn that spoke more than words: it was one of those nights again. Santana didn't know what Quinn had said to provoke it, but she hoped it would pass before they were serving desserts.
Santana was La Vedette's pâtissier, which meant she was in charge of everything baked, frozen and sweet. And even though she wasn't the number one fan of French cuisine, the fact she met her girlfriend on her first night of work was more than enough to step over that barrier.
"Go change," Kurt ordered, "I need those crème brulee samples, tout suite."
Kurt turned back to the dishes he created for the tasting, noticing something that might trigger an angry look from Rachel, but decided he would handle with her later. She might be reigning the restaurant – mainly the customers – but Kurt was King of the Kitchen, this was his kingdom and nobody would ever tell him how to run it.
Not even his sous-chef and chef de partie slash pâtissier – who were conspiring in the far corner of the kitchen, close to the reserved room for his cooks when they were on their breaks. Santana didn't like driving her motorcycle in uniform, so he allowed her to get dressed before they started. He loved his female coworkers and was happy his kitchen was mostly filled by women. They thought and cooked in a way Kurt needed to keep the balance, plus it did well for restaurant reviews.
"When you two are done planning out my love life, would you please come out and get a move on?" he shouted with his authoritative voice. Both came out, Santana fully dressed and tightening her buttons, and did not even blink with guilt – as if he could make them. "Good. We have forty five minutes, let's get this rundown done – allez!"
The staff gathering was actually the only time Kurt was up front in the restaurant, relaxing against the wall and hidden in the corner of the booth.
His eyes weren't even focused on the person talking, but everybody knew he was still paying close attention.
"- served with a sauce béarnaess –"
"Béarnaise –" he corrected, "with a z-tone."
He didn't take his eyes off the outside road and knew Brittany nodded, repeating the correct pronunciation immediately and continued the menu. A side-eyed glance was tossed his way but he didn't let it affect him – he knew Rachel wanted to talk to him about the food they were serving tonight and until then he remained calm, staring outside to watch the workmen outside finish the new restaurant across the street.
For weeks he had been trying to figure out who was going to compete with La Vedette, but the construction workers didn't even tell him whether it was a fastfood restaurant or high end quality.
All he knew was that it trouble.
He smiled to himself when the service staff let out a collective 'hmm' after tasting the options. It was necessary they knew what they were serving, so they could explain it to their customers into the smallest detail.
"Kurt!" Sugar, one of the other food runners, squealed. "That article in Dining New York was really amazing."
"Totally." Brittany agreed and Kurt was surprised they had even taken trouble of reading the review.
"Yes, well," Rachel interrupted, smashing down her menu, "that guy was obviously seeing things because I never yell at my staff –"
"U-hu." Quinn rolled her eyes.
"I was just –"
"PMS'ing?" Santana suggested and Rachel snapped her mouth shut.
"Yes," Kurt turned completely back to the table, "it was an overall lovely review. Let's finish up, where's the new garbage boy?"
At the same moment the front doors swung open and a big built young man stepped inside. He had a mohawk, and looked like he didn't dine much in restaurants like La Vedette.
"That's no boy." Quinn muttered and the man spotted them, walking toward them in a strange macho step that made Kurt roll his eyes.
"Are you my new garbage boy?" Kurt asked immediately before Rachel could intervene.
"Yup. Name's Puck." He threw a wink at Sugar, who started to swoon.
"None of that here." Kurt snapped in such a way Puck straightened his back like he was in the military. "You're my new garbage boy, have you read the job description?"
"Kurt –" Rachel tried but became quiet at the look she received.
"You will only be in the kitchen, and the kitchen alone." Kurt stood up to talk more clearly to him. "You do not go into the restaurant, under any circumstance – you will not –" he slapped Puck's hand that was reaching for the leftover sample on the table, "eat my food unless you're allowed to. Tonight you'll work with our dishwasher Brett –" he cocked his head to the small boy that was still licking the spoon of his crème brulée with passion, "and help him where needed, am I clear?"
Puck swallowed so loud it had to be heard outside and even though Kurt was shorter than him, his massive presence was enough to feel small.
"Am I clear?" Kurt repeated.
"Y-yes, sir." He nodded jerkily and Kurt squinted, eyeing him up and down.
"It's chef." And he slammed a towel that was lying on the table against Puck's chest. "Kitchen crew, start preparing!" Chairs scraped back over the floor and the table shook with the sudden movement as everybody started to hurry to their places. "That means you too." he said to Puck and he had never seen someone scurry back to follow everyone that quickly.
"Stop making new staff members almost cry." Quinn said softly into his ear and Kurt shrugged.
"They need to know whose kitchen it is, and I know his type. People like him used to throw me in dumpsters. He'll adapt quick enough." he whispered back and intended to go to the kitchen too until –
"Kurt!" Rachel screeched, and the remaining restaurant staff stayed in their seats to watch the show.
Quinn raised an eyebrow, asking silently if she could start preparing and he nodded before she left. He braced himself and turned swiftly around to face hell in a kitten sweater.
She was standing there with her hands in her sides, trying to be the boss she was meaning to be but failing miserably.
"Kurt," she said again, "you're not in charge of hiring people –"
"Yes I am when I am in need of a garbage boy." he countered.
"Fine, but next time come to me first then or must I remind you I am the one writing paychecks?"
Kurt shrugged. "It's the same amount of money except instead of Jacob you write down Puck." He wiggled his fingers to state the obvious.
"That's not what I meant, Kurt."
He couldn't stop the flinch at hearing his name being said so often. He was used on being Chef or Chef Hummel at his domain, but Rachel stood above his status as much as he hated it, only because she was the one that hired him.
Rachel threw back her long brown hair and hid a secret smile at shutting her chef up.
"Anyway, what I wanted to discuss with you." she said. "Why aren't there any vegan options for tonight's menu?"
Kurt threw his head back, praying at whatever was listening because he had been expecting this confrontation. "Because nobody has ordered the vegan option in seven weeks." He stared back at her and crossed his arms. "It's a waste of food."
"It's narrowing our menu." said Rachel.
"Rachel, the last and only person ordering the vegan option was you when you took my stepbrother out on a date here."
"Yes, well, I only trust my own restaurant's food."
"Also known as my food, my kitchen and my menu." he spat. "If you wanted a vegan restaurant, you should have started one and hired a vegan chef." Rachel opened her mouth before closing again, biting her lip in defeat. She knew very well a vegan-only restaurant on Restaurant Row would crash and burn on opening night. "That's what I thought, no disrespect to vegans, but I need to keep track on my deliverance, when there is need for a vegan dish or when you have a date again – you just let me know." End of discussion, he almost added.
The service crew was still gawking open-mouthed and Kurt looked past Rachel's shoulder, cocking an eyebrow at them.
"I am still your boss." Rachel said quietly.
"Then be one, send me to my kitchen and let me do my job." Kurt pursed his lips to prevent himself from smiling. He was playing with fire and he knew it, but if it wasn't dangerous it wasn't fun to do. "Can I go now?"
"Y-yes!" Rachel woke from her small trance.
"Good." He turned around, straightened his whites and marched to his kitchen. The name of the restaurant represented the spotlight and it was definitely showtime.
Starting at five, nobody was allowed to speak to Kurt directly in the kitchen. If they needed anything to know they needed to ask Quinn, and only she was allowed to ask Kurt if she didn't know the answer.
Music was forbidden, as much as some of the cooks loved to sing while preparing – Kurt wanted to hear nothing else but orders and sizzles. Nobody questioned these orders, apart from new employees but when they asked a colleague why, they were told to just wait until the appetizers were starting to run.
Watching Kurt cook and serve should be equal to watching a Broadway show. He moved almost gracefully, perfecting each and every plate that would leave the kitchen and placed them himself on the service desks – either the hot or the cold one.
Occasionally he yelled for something, making sure everybody was still alert for his orders and continued to inspect the garnish.
"You were born to do this." Quinn had said after their first night together, and Kurt had given her a rare smile. Hearing praise like that was like getting a standing ovation and if there was something Kurt loved, it was the sound of applause.
Ever since he was young he knew for certain he would end up in a kitchen, preferably in his own restaurant, and he would be cooking, tasting and creating. His mother, wherever her soul may be, always supported him on achieving what he wanted. And after weeks of spoiling his dad with cupcakes, soufflés and a cake (which he swore on that his mother did not help him), Burt agreed that Kurt could use the actual oven, with parental guidance, instead of his easy bake oven – because his 'masterpieces' needed more care than that.
"Can we get those main courses coming?" he shouted, grabbing the printed orders from the buzzing printer. In the back of the kitchen something clattered on the floor and Kurt straightened his back. As a chef it was his duty to see and hear everything, all to keep sure his kitchen was one well oiled machine. "What's going on there?" He moved to one of the furnaces, trying to see the back doors. "Puck? What are you doing?" he yelled so hard it made a few of his cooks flinch.
Puck froze, staring down at the mop and bucket he dropped. "Nothing!"
"Nothing, chef." Kurt called. "And exactly, you're doing nothing, while I need you to something."
Quickly Puck scrambled up the bucket and mop before disappearing out of his sight again.
"He'll learn." Quinn assured, side eyeing him, "I still don't understand why you're being so harsh on new people."
Kurt huffed, walking to the furnace where one of his cooks, Sam Evans, was screwing up the caramelized onions for the main course. Without even a warning Kurt grabbed the pan and threw the content in the garbage. Sam was about to say something, but wisely shut his big-lipped mouth.
"Go to the pantry, get new ones, start over." Kurt ordered, taking out a new pan to cook his mushrooms.
"Yes, chef." Sam couldn't get away quick enough.
"I thought I told you. I am harsh, because they need to know who is in charge." he muttered to Quinn while heating the pan up to the highest stand. Sweat droplets were already forming on his forehead, but nights that passed without sweat were considered unsuccessful. "If you don't – they'll walk right over you." He gave her a small smirk before melting glorious butter in the pan. "Get me a Merlot." he ordered to the random cook passing him. "And Rémy Martin brandy."
"Going to set the thing on fire?" Quinn asked with an cocked eyebrow and rolled her eyes when Kurt started to grin almost manically.
"It's all about little pleasures, Fabray."
"But what about big pleasures?" she started to convince him again.
"My personal business is very much personal, thank you very much." He looked around his kitchen. "Not something I would like to discuss amongst our colleagues."
"Okay, fine." She crossed her arms. "Then go out with me and Santana and we'll talk about it with just the three of us."
"Not now, Fabray."
Blindly he took over the Merlot and brandy and placed them on an empty spot, not really caring about the order.
The doors to the restaurant swung open and Rachel toddled inside on her pesky little heels, arms swaying determined.
"Kurt!" she shrieked. Kurt let out a sigh and pretended not to hear her, continuing stirring while pouring brandy over the mushrooms. "Kurt." she said again, except this time much closer and Kurt actually jumped up at seeing her over the kitchen lines.
"Rachel!" he said with wide eyes. "You're not allowed across the barriers, how many times do I have to tell you this?"
"Oh, schmuck, you keep on telling it's dangerous and –" Kurt subtly rotated his pan so the fire licked the content and the brandy's alcohol lid up. With a scream Rachel backed away, holding her hand against her heart to calm down. "A warning!"
"I thought 'stay behind the barriers' was warning enough?" Kurt said with a smile playing on his lips, shaking the pan some more so the flames fired up. With her jaw tensing she stepped back to create distance between her and the furnaces. He almost muttered 'good girl', but decided he had been teasing his boss long enough tonight. "What do you want? Aren't you supposed to prove to everyone in the restaurant you don't yell at your staff?"
"Everything is going just fine."
"Good! Now tell me why you're hear wasting both of our times then?" He kept his eyes on Sam retrying his onions, nodding approvingly.
"There are two gentlemen outside and –"
"And they better be enjoying my food and you better not be annoying them?" he filled in for her, making her turn even redder in anger.
"Well, yes – I mean no –"
"They are not enjoying my food?" He turned back to her. His eyes were practically shooting fire just like his flambé mushrooms.
"I mean, yes they are enjoying your food and no, I am not annoying them."
"Just yes would have been sufficient, thanks." Plates filled with main courses gathered up on the prepare desks and Kurt eyed them all to see if they were identical. Not even a pea was allowed to be out of place, and after careful inspection Kurt started to finish them by placing the final details.
"What I'm trying to say, Kurt." Rachel said, stepping closer to the counter and didn't even have to duck to see Kurt – that's how small she was. "There are two gentlemen outside, booth three, and they want to compliment you."
Kurt almost shot out with spreading the sauce and stared up. "I don't do customer one on one."
"They just want to compliment you! You love compliments."
"Yes, in magazines, in the culinary reviews." With stars and culinary terms, by people who actually know what they're talking about. He pursed his lips.
"They seem very professional and influential, they could be writing for a magazine!" she said, stamping on the floor with her heels.
"Everybody could be writing for a magazine." he clarified. "And all magazines know –" he turned around to the review that was hanging between the orders to find the sentence he was looking for, "Chef Hummel rarely comes out of his domain – there you go."
"Please, Kurt, just these men. Just once."
"No." Kurt said sturdily. "Going out there means leaving my kitchen, leaving my kitchen means that this kitchen is unsupervised –"
"Quinn can handle it perfectly!"
"I am sure she can but –" Again in the back of the kitchen someone dropped something. "Puck! You better clean that up before I see it," he yelled over his shoulder and turned back to Rachel. "See, I am needed here."
"Main courses are almost going out and then Santana does the desserts, you can leave for a minute!"
"Let them taste the main course first, if they still wish to compliment me I'll take it in consideration." Kurt tried to draw attention from Quinn. "And otherwise Quinn can go, you said two men after all. I doubt they'll be interested in me."
"No, Kurt, they specifically for you and they really want to talk to you. One of them seems like some big hotshot and the other one didn't speak much, but seriously. He ordered the wines on name and year. And they matched perfectly with the entrée and appetizer."
"He could have checked the menu." Kurt blinked vividly. It always said which wines went best with what.
"On year?" Rachel had that knowingly look on her face, a look Kurt hated with the fire of a thousand stoves.
"He could have been bluffing."
"Oh, come on!" She started to tap on the floor with her shoe. "After main course I will ask them again, and if they say yes you come out, deal?"
Kurt was already making up excuses why he wouldn't be able to come out to accept their so called compliments, and regretfully nodded.
"Good! We need people like them to come more often. The quiet one is really cute by the way." She leaned over conspiringly.
"Not you too." he grumbled – he was perfectly capable of making his own choices regarding his personal life.
"What? You mean – for you?" Rachel snorted, she actually snorted. "I meant for me."
"You're dating my stepbrother." he said as a-matter-of-factly, and Rachel waved his statement away.
"See you after the main course." She skipped away through the doors and composed herself again before she was seen by the dining customers.
"Why is she acting like she beat you?" Quinn asked in a hushed voice.
"She wishes." Kurt muttered back, but had a weird feeling in his stomach he wasn't getting away this time.
Soon all the main courses were gone and Santana and her team were plating up desserts.
"Looking good." Kurt said, eyeing the process carefully.
"Thank you, chef."
He let it all play out they way they did every night, and decided it was time he ate something real instead of the bites and tastes he had to eat throughout the night. The moment he was about to turn around to give the orders to Quinn, the doors swayed open again and Rachel stepped inside with a scary smile on her face.
"Kurt!" she squealed. "They still want to see you –"
"Who?" he asked confused.
"The two gentlemen! They enjoyed their main courses."
"And I promised them you would accept their compliments in person." Rachel's smile was far from faltering, even with the glare Kurt was shooting her. She promised them he would come in person, there was no way he could break that – it would ruin their reputation. "And customer is king." she said herself, crossing her arms.
"You can't promise things like that."
"But I did because we had a deal." She was practically doing a victory dance and the entire kitchen had turned silent – something very rare. "So, chef Hummel, you go out there and talk to them. Booth three."
Escapes and excuses were flooding his mind, but all of them were only harming the reputation more and more.
"You will regret this." Kurt said, untying his apron to appear completely spotless.
"Leave your knives here." Rachel warned.
"I give them one minute, nothing more, Fabray! Overtake, allez! And make me some of that crème de champignons, will you. I haven't eaten yet."
Quinn suddenly appeared to his side, facing Rachel. "Are you sure you want him to go now?" she asked subtly. "He's crabby when hasn't eaten." He stared at her like she was an angel, maybe he would go out with them anyway.
"Yes now," Rachel said, "before they leave. They just finished their main course and didn't seem very dessert-y people."
"I take offence in that." Santana stood on his other side, flamer in her hand where she was caramelizing the sugar for the crème brulee with.
"Maybe chef Hummel can convince them to take dessert." Rachel said, waggling her eyebrows and Kurt finally realized how cornered he really was.
"One minute." he said darkly, holding up one finger.
Rachel stepped back, watching him step over the lines and straighten his back before he pushed the doors open. He knew the entire kitchen was watching him, this was a first for them too, and he confidently walked into the restaurant area.
Booth three, booth three, he thought calmly and of course booth three was near the front. He felt everybody staring at him, mostly because his white uniform drew attention and his stroll looked like he was on a warpath.
The booth was already coming in his eyesight and the man facing the kitchen already smiled at him. He was around Kurt's age, fairly handsome if you were into meerkats, and had a look in his eyes Kurt didn't trust a bit. This was why he didn't leave his haven of the kitchen - who knew what kind of rats would be up front?
"Chef Hummel." Meerkat greeted and Kurt promptly ignored the other man, not even glancing at him.
"Good evening." Kurt said with a practiced voice. "I understood you wanted to compliment me."
Meerkat's eyebrows rose. "That's nice and direct."
"I have a kitchen to run." Maybe he was crabby when he was hungry? He should ask Quinn more about this.
"Of course, of course." he held up his hands in surrender. "I just wanted to send my compliments to the chef, you, for this lovely menu."
"Compliment accepted, thank you." Kurt said so fast it was barely understandable.
"Although –" a different voice said. A voice that sent shivers down his spine, raising the hairs in his neck and it sounded so sensual and sweet, just like honey. He hadn't heard that voice in years. His head turned so fast it cracked and stared wide eyed at the other man in the booth. He was hidden in the farthest corner, folding a napkin and looked up at him. The eyes were still the same – hazel with a warm glowing iris and his lips were still moving as he spoke. "And of course, a little bit too much butter, but I'm used to that with you." His lips stayed pursed at the 'you' tone, eyes twinkling playfully.
"Hey Kurt." he said with a wink – a wink. How dared he? "Long time no see."
Blaine Anderson, that was his name, and God, Kurt hated him. He remained silent, standing like a statue in front of the booth and Meerkat was still watching it, completely amused.
"How was France?" Blaine asked, wanting to get some kind of answer out of Kurt.
"Magnificent." he managed to say, blood coiling underneath his skin – where was his knife? He needed to place it in the table, with force.
"I bet it was." Blaine smiled and Kurt almost went weak at the breathtaking and face-splitting grin. It had been seven years since he saw him, the week before he left for France for his internship and Blaine was going to do whatever he wanted to do.
"Can I tempt you two for a dessert?" Kurt offered, finding his cool again, but the heat bubbling in his body was ready to burst. "We're serving excellent crème brulee, I might even serve it with some rat poison –"
"KURT!" Rachel, who had been eavesdropping the whole thing, shrieked.
"We'll pass." Meerkat snickered, appreciating the humor of it. Clearly he knew about Kurt and Blaine's past.
"Excuse me then, the manager is calling me." He smiled insincerely to both of them, eyes lingering longer on Blaine than he intended to, but somehow they still managed to keep him captivated.
"See you around, Kurt." Blaine said and gave him a crooked grin.
Without even replying Kurt turned around, fists clenching and having the need to chop something brutally. Yes, knives, chopping, good.
Rachel passed him with a judging glare that was so terrifying he almost felt the words 'you're fired' being tattooed on his back, but he didn't care. Three years of culinary school he had been walked over by one Blaine Anderson and when he finally had the chance to leave for France, mister perfect almost took it away from him.
He hated him, hated him and he told him he would see him around? Not in a million years.
Kurt threw the doors to the kitchen open, feeling them sway shut behind him again and it was then when he started to breathe again.
Endnotes: thank you for reading, I hoped you liked it and please let me know what you think. Until the entrée!