Chapter 10 - The Quiet Kitchen
At seven o'clock that evening, the training center was quiet and still.
The twenty students had gone home to their families, the stainless-steel counters had been wiped down to a mirror finish, and the quiet hum of the commercial walk-in coolers filled the vast room with a comforting, familiar sound.
June stood near the rear kitchen window, looking out at the calm, blue waters of the Chicago River as the sunset painted the evening sky in brilliant shades of pink, gold, and violet.
Soft footsteps sounded against the floorboards behind her.
Cormac walked up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his chin gently on her shoulder. He smelled of fine tobacco, rain, and expensive cologne—a scent that had become her home.
June leaned back against his broad chest, placing her hands over his arms, feeling the steady, strong rhythm of his heart against her back.
“Are you tired, my love?” Cormac whispered into her neck, kissing the soft skin behind her ear.
June looked down at her hands—at her clean, manicured fingers, at the brilliant emerald ring that sparkled in the sunset light, and at the tiny, faint pink scar on her right thumb that reminded her of where she had come from.
“No, Cormac,” June whispered softly, turning in his arms to look up into his pale gray eyes. “For forty-eight years, I thought I was just surviving day by day. I thought I was an old cook who had reached the end of her road.”
Cormac reached up, his thumb gently stroking her cheek, his eyes filled with endless, unconditional love.
“And what do you know now, June?” Cormac asked softly.
May you like
June offered him a warm, radiant smile that lit up the quiet kitchen—a smile that held no fear, no regret, and no doubt.
“I know that the road is just beginning,” June whispered, closing the small distance between them, pressing her lips against his in a deep, peaceful kiss as the stars came out over the skyline of Chicago—clean, bright, and completely free of shadows.
