483

Reilly claps his hands together in excitement. "Yes! I got this, Luth. Trust me—these people won't know what hit 'em. I'll knock their taste buds into next week."

Thinking about why you agreed to Reilly's request, you did it because…

If you enjoy cooking, then you should do it."

Reilly nods with a slight grin. "Thanks. I really appreciate you giving me the job. I never set out to be a cook. After high school, I figured I'd be an auto mechanic, union laborer, loan shark—you know, some kind of legit blue-collar work. Cooking fell into my lap. The head cook was this big Italian guy—Johnny Fillet. He took me under his wing and taught me all about it."

"Why'd they call him Johnny Fillet? Did he cook a lot of meat?"

"Nah, he used to cut people with a fillet knife," Reilly says, waving his hand like he's shooing the question away. "Anyway, after six months of training, I was basically running the kitchen. I did it for a year, and other than cooking for myself or ma, I never thought I'd be cooking for other people again. At least there's that to look forward to. Well, I talked your ear off enough. Thanks, Luth."

Reilly stands and trots towards the campfire.