Bikki untied his apron and tossed it onto the counter with a relieved sigh. "Finally done." He stretched, cracking his neck. "You sure you'll be okay back there?" He nodded toward the kitchen doors.
Niki wiped her hands on her apron, eyeing the swinging doors nervously. "It's just the kitchen. How bad can it be?"
Bikki chuckled. "You'll see." He grabbed his bag and patted her shoulder. "Good luck, sailor."
Before she could question what that meant, Bikki strolled out, whistling. Niki took a deep breath and pushed open the kitchen door.
The heat hit her first, thick and stifling. Then came the noise — the clang of pots, the hiss of oil, the steady rhythm of knives against cutting boards. The kitchen was alive in a way that felt almost chaotic.
Four men turned to look at her. The kitchen fell silent for a moment. Niki felt their eyes scanning her like she'd just walked onto enemy territory.
The tallest stood at the stove, flipping something in a pan with sharp, practiced movements. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, a cigarette tucked behind his ear, and a faded tattoo peeked out from his rolled-up sleeves. He looked like he belonged at the helm of a pirate ship, not behind a stove. His eyes narrowed. "You lost?"
Niki swallowed. "Uh… Bikki asked me to help."
The man grunted. "Figures." He went back to cooking. "I'm Yash. Head chef." He jerked his chin toward the others. "That's Sameer."
Sameer, the only one who didn't look like he'd fought in a war, waved from the pastry station. His curly hair flopped over his eyes, and he smirked. "Hey, newbie."
Yash continued. "Rakesh's on drinks."
A bald man with a thick mustache stood at the drinks station, arms crossed over his broad chest. He gave a grunt in acknowledgment, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Anil's on dishes."
Anil, the oldest, barely glanced up from the sink where he was scrubbing plates. His weathered hands worked methodically, his expression unreadable.
"And that's Mahesh."
In the corner, a hulking man leaned against the wall, arms crossed. His beard was thick, and his gaze felt like it could cut glass. He didn't speak. He just stared.
Niki shifted awkwardly. Pirate ship. Definitely.
Yash flipped something onto a plate and slid it toward her. "Table five. Go."
She grabbed the plate and hurried out, feeling their eyes on her back. When she returned, the kitchen had settled back into its chaotic rhythm. Yash chopped vegetables with the precision of a machine. Rakesh mixed drinks like he was conducting a symphony. Anil scrubbed dishes quietly, and Sameer hummed to himself as he piped cream onto pastries.
Niki hovered near the counter. "What do you need me to do?"
"Toast these." Yash handed her a tray of bread. "Medium brown. Don't burn it."
"Got it." She moved to the toaster, trying to stay out of their way. The heat was intense, and the pressure even worse. Every move she made felt watched. Judged. She almost burned the first batch, earning a snort from Sameer. "Careful, newbie. We serve food, not charcoal."
"Thanks for the tip," she muttered, flipping the bread.
The next batch was perfect. Yash glanced at it, gave a curt nod, and moved on. No praise, but at least no complaints.
As the night wore on, the kitchen settled into a rhythm. Niki grabbed plates, ran orders, and even helped Anil dry dishes. Slowly, things changed.
When she balanced three plates at once without dropping them, Rakesh gave an approving grunt. Sameer started cracking jokes, nudging her with his elbow. "Not bad, newbie."
Even Mahesh, the silent wall of muscle, grunted once when she passed him, which she decided to take as a compliment.
By the end of the shift, the pirate crew didn't feel quite so terrifying. Yash wiped his hands on his apron and gave her a long look. "Come back tomorrow."
Niki smiled. "I will."
As she stepped out into the cool night, she realized something. Maybe the kitchen wasn't so scary after all. Or maybe she was tougher than she thought.