Shasta

Miles searched the small refrigerator under the bar for the cream, but nothing was in sight. He looked over the window to see if the chefs would be available. Sierra was gone and Shasta was busy cooking at the stove.

“Shasta, do you have any cream for the parfaits in the fridge?”

“Yes.”

“Can I come in and get some?”

Shasta turned his head, his eyes threatening death if Miles stepped a single foot in the kitchen.

“Okay, when you have a moment, then.”

Miles turned back to the empty bag of cream, tossing it in a nearby trash container.

“Everything alright?” asked Anita as she brought a work order up to the counter.

“We’re out of cream for the parfaits.”

“Oh, dear, that won’t do.” Anita walked away. Miles was watching as she approached the entrance to the kitchen.

“Shasta, I’m coming in to get cream for the parfaits.”

Shasta hunched over his cooking as Anita entered, taking several bags of cream from the fridge.

“Thank you for your help,” she said as she left, returning to the front. She passed a bag over to Miles, while putting the rest in the fridge.

“If you ever need anything from the kitchen, ask me or Sierra, because Shasta is very busy cooking,” she warned. Miles turned back to work on the parfait and saw Shasta at the window, looking at the order Anita had dropped off.

“So Anita is the only server allowed in the kitchen?” asked Miles.

“That’s because Shasta has a crush on her,” taunted Sierra, returning from the storage closet with a box.

Shasta, rather than turning red in embarrassment, chucked the nearest ladle at her; Sierra barely dodged it.

“I’ll drop the food. I’ll drop the food,” pleaded Sierra. Shasta picked up the ladle that had dropped. Rather than throw it at her again, he dropped it in the sink for washing.

“Oh, finally talking about Shasta’s crush on Anita,” said Oliver as he approached the bar.

Shasta got another murderous look in his eye as he picked back up the ladle; Oliver hid behind Miles. Shasta took a deep breath then returned the ladle to the sink, washing his hands before cooking again.

“None of your business,” he grumbled when he made it over to the window with the food.

“Isn’t it adorable? The grouchy chef and the princess waitress,” cooed Sierra, teasing more than anything.

“Don’t you have an order to work on?” asked Shasta, passing her Anita’s order. Sierra stuck out her tongue but moved away from the window, leaving Miles and Oliver gazing at Shasta. Oliver looked more eager than Miles, working on the parfait.

“Isn’t Anita looking for her soulmate?” asked Miles, finally remembering. The waiters looked back as Anita checked a customer’s hand as he entered the diner.

“Tragic, isn’t it,” teased Sierra.

Shasta turned back to glare at Sierra, instead zeroing in on something. He walked to the table in the center of the kitchen. One of the bowls Sierra had used moments ago was dripping sauce onto the surface.

“Sierra,” he growled, grabbing her by the back of the collar. He lifted her and dropped her outside the kitchen.

“Consider yourself banned from the kitchen until I say so.”

He then went to work, cleaning as well as taking care of the order Sierra hadn’t finished. His speed picked up like a madman on a rampage.

“Oh dear, he kicked Sierra out again,” commented Anita as she came up to the window.

Anita headed towards the kitchen, Miles watching as she approached the door. Sierra sat at the entrance, waiting.

“Shasta?”

Shasta seemed to freeze at the mention of his name. He took a deep breath and then slowed his working pace.

“What?”

“Can you please let Sierra back in. She needs to work too.”

“She messed up my kitchen.”

“I know, but you know she is doing her best to keep it clean. These small accidents do happen.”

Shasta looked over at Anita’s, her eyes pleading. He immediately turned pink, adjusting his face to hide the coloration.

“Fine, just don’t make a mess.”

“Thank you.” Sierra skipped back into the kitchen.

“Thank you, Shasta,” said Anita as she returned to the front.

Sierra was starting back to work when Shasta gently hit her on the head with the ladle.

“No messes,” he hissed.

“Touchy,” grumbled Sierra, rubbing the spot on her head. She looked over to Miles and shrugged. Miles shrugged back, finally ready with the parfait. Maybe Shasta was more sensitive than he was letting on.