"Mama always said life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get."

~Forrest Gump

Kelsey could hardly believe her eyes.

When Chef Romano said "movie set", Kelsey had pictured a dingy studio in the midst of concrete, but the sight before her was otherworldly. The title of the movie was "A Summer in Paris".

There was a French café set up on one realistic-looking street, complete with flowers and a bicycle propped against the glass window, and a suburban house across the street, as well as a synthetic park that possessed foam trees and a metal bench.

All of it was within a few feet of each other.

And the people mulling about were so focused. Groups of what Kelsey assumed were extras, crowded together studying a script or listening intently to a coordinator explain where they needed to be.

Blinking, Kelsey pulled her senses back to reality and studied the directions on her phone.

"Building 4A..." she murmured.

"4A?" Someone next to her asked.

Kelsey turned and gasped.

The woman standing beside her was covered in blood and half of her face was rotting off. "Sorry honey, I'm making my way to another set. But 4A is up this street and two lefts away."

"Oh," Kelsey tittered nervously, "thank you so much. Uh, you look amazing. Have a nice day."

She hurried down the fake street, turned left two times, and arrived at a yellow building that wasn't much to look at, except for the mural of 1920's men and women dining and dancing at a restaurant painted on the side of the wall.

"Huh," Kelsey uttered, making her way inside.

The lobby was made of glistening tile and expanded into a dining room that could seat at least a thousand people.

It wasn't crystal chandeliers or ice sculptures, but the red fold-out chairs and gracefully tied-up plastic tablecloths were charming and easy to clean, Kelsey wagered.

Would this whole room be filled with movie stars come lunch-time? And would they be eating her food?

A harsh voice jerked her out of her reverie.

"Who are you?!"

Kelsey swung her head to the side to see a large, red-faced woman standing in the doorway of the kitchen

"I—I'm Kelsey Harris. For the internship?"

"Uh-huh," the woman huffed, hooking her thumbs into the pockets of her apron and unashamedly sizing Kelsey up from head to toe. "Come on, what are you waiting for?"

She gestured for Kelsey to follow.

Her fast, Italian accent was cutting and shrill, but it made Kelsey move double-quick.

"You may call me Chef Romano," the woman said, turning her back as soon as Kelsey was near, and leading her into the kitchen. "From now on you will use the back entrance."

"Yes, ma'am."

"And you'll wash your hands after every unsanitary task. If you poison the whole of Los Angeles, you'll be fired before you can tie your apron strings. Speaking of—"

Chef Romano grabbed a white apron from a pile hanging up on a single hook and tossed it blindly at Kelsey, who fumbled to catch it.

The kitchen was quiet, almost ghostly, as Kelsey gazed around at the gleaming pots hanging from tall racks, wide grills and stoves lining the white walls, and spotless stainless steel counters running like a maze through the facility.

"Are you listening, girl?"

Kelsey snapped back to attention. "Yes, ma'am!"

"Then get to work."

Chef Romano gestured to a small fold-out table in the very corner next to the sinks. On it was a pile of cloth napkins and silverware.

"You want me to roll up utensils?" Kelsey asked.

"That's what I said. And after that, you'll set the tables. After lunch, you'll wash the dishes, clean off the tables in the dining area, and come back in here after everyone's gone to make sure this kitchen is as spotless as it is right now."

Fear etched itself onto Kelsey's face as she registered what the chef was saying. "I won't be cooking?"

Chef Romano snorted. "Cooking? Here? Ha! Listen, this is an internship—not Hollywood Cooking School. So you'll be helping out here."

Kelsey's heart sunk to the floor and she was left speechless.

"The only time you will be allowed to use the kitchen is after-hours."

"When's that?' Kelsey whispered.

"Past nine o'clock. We have to keep the facility open because they do work in one of the rooms on the top floor," Chef Romano informed, "We won't tolerate any foul play here. If you ever step out of line, you'll be fired before you can—"

"Tie your apron strings," Kelsey murmured.

Chef Romano glared. "Now get to work."

Kelsey nodded and put her purse under the little plastic table. She hung the apron over her head and brought the strings around to tie it.

Her stomach twisted inside her and she felt like either crying or being sick.

She'd come all the way from Kansas to wash dishes. She'd gone to culinary school to clean tables.

She sat down and began rolling up utensils with trembling fingers. Maybe she'd be able to move up one day. Maybe she would show them that she could cook.

But the image of Chef Romano's stern face kept flashing in her mind and she knew it would be a very, very long time before she could use those beautiful, glistening whisks and gigantic industrial mixers.

She hadn't realized she'd been staring at the kitchen until a stream of white-clad chefs began to stream in. Their faces were stern, their appearance as tidy as the floors in a Swiffer commercial.

They all looked so professional. So amazing.

"Those forks aren't going to wrap themselves!" Chef Romano called across the kitchen, then turned to address the chefs. "We're doing shrimp scampi for lunch. Now I don't want any more complaints about lumps in the sauce, you hear me?"

Kelsey continued in her task, and soon there was a perfect pyramid of wrapped utensils covering her table.

The scent of shrimp and garlic and parmesan was almost too much for Kelsey, and then they asked her to serve it.

Five other waiters came out of nowhere, like rats from the walls, and before Kelsey knew it she was holding up at giant tray of shrimp scampi with an arm that had clearly not worked out enough.

She faced a room full of people—famous people. She recognized several from the movies and award shows she'd watched. They were all talking and laughing and not paying a bit of attention to the people serving their food.

Perfect.

Kelsey served each plate, offering a small "hello" just in case any of them were listening.

She was almost done with the tables assigned to her when a voice almost made her drop her tray.

"Kelsey?"

She jerked her head up.

It was Ethan Glenn. He was sitting next to an older man and a young woman who was wearing so much makeup, Kelsey was surprised her face wasn't sagging.

"I..um... hi," she murmured.

"I didn't expect to—"

"Here's your food ma'am," she interrupted, handing her plate to the makeup girl.

She avoided eye contact with Ethan and managed a smile. "Is that everything? Okay, enjoy."

She tucked the tray under her arm and hurried back to the kitchen, squeezing her eyes shut.

Why was he always in places he shouldn't be? The movie was called "A Summer in Paris"! He wasn't even French!

And she'd told him she was a chef. Now she just looked like a waitress. Did he think she was a liar? That she'd played him for some reason?

There was one thing she did know: she would never go out there again—she could never face Ethan Glenn.

She set to work doing the dishes, her nerves flowing through her vigorous scrubbing and fearlessness of the scalding water.

"This day has been the worst," she said, thrusting a plate into the rinsing station. "At least you got to cook at Gomer's..."

"Are you talking to yourself?"

Kelsey jumped, sending soap bubbles everywhere. Chef Romano was standing beside her and slipped a knife and cutting board into the sink warily.

"Sorry." Kelsey muttered.

~~~~

Kelsey finished shining the stainless steel refrigerator and turned toward the spotless kitchen.

The building had been silent for two hours now, but Kelsey still wasn't ready to go home.

The scent of garlic still hung in the air, and there was something so irresistible about a clean kitchen that she couldn't leave.

She pulled out her phone and told Sandy that she'd be home late, and told her mom that she'd had a great first day.

Chef Romano had told her that she was free to do or cook whatever she wanted between the hours of 9pm to 9am.

And to cook was exactly what she needed.

She pulled down a pot she'd just hung up a moment ago and melted two tablespoons of butter.

She watched as the butter spread and began crackling at the ends before adding garlic and stirring it around. The cream swirled in with the mixture as Kelsey slowly poured it in along with chicken broth.

As she chopped up broccoli florets and grated a block of cheddar cheese as large as her hand, she fought the urge to cry.

"What's there to cry about?" She told herself. "You're in California! Working for famous chefs and serving movie stars. Your boss is a raging Italian monster, Ethan Glenn probably thinks you're a lying egomaniac, and your hands are dried prunes from the hot dishwater, but it's Hollywood, so it's worth it."

She granted herself an exaggerated eye roll that she'd been holding back all day before twirling around and dashing the broccoli and cheddar into the pot.

It didn't take long for the aroma of seasonings and cheese and warmth to fill her lungs, and Kelsey exhaled contentedly.

Soon she was perched on the countertop, steaming mug of soup in her hands.

"Well, maybe it's worth it a little bit," she muttered.

She'd just taken her first bite when she heard something crash in the other room that nearly made her drop her mug.

Kelsey's heart stopped for a moment before rushing back a thousand beats per minute.

She hopped off the counter and listened.

There were no sounds for a moment before she heard footsteps. Were they coming her way?

Chef Romano had said that people were working on the second floor, but that no one was supposed to come into the kitchen.

For some reason, Kelsey thought that getting robbed would be just the thing to happen that day.

As the footsteps drew near, she quickly grabbed the item closest to her—a small frying pan.

The swinging door slowly pushed open and Kelsey slipped behind it.

She steeled her nerves and squeezed the handle of the pan.

Someone crept in and turned around just as Kelsey held the pan in front of her.

"Woah, hey! Kelsey!"

"Ethan?" Kelsey gasped, dropping the pan in front of her.

He blinked rapidly. "I...I was just..."

"You should try explaining yourself better than that!"

He held up a stack of papers. "My script. I forgot it. And then I heard something in here, so I came in to see what it was and I bumped into a metal rack."

Kelsey swallowed hard and set the pan down on the counter.

"What...what are you doing here?" He asked nervously.

Kelsey crossed her arms and sighed. "Making soup."

That familiar, amused smiled returned. "Soup? At eleven o'clock at night?"

Kelsey made her way around the counter back to her simmering pot and began filling up a second mug. "It's been quite a day. I needed to calm myself with some comfort food."

She instinctively handed the mug to him, but then hesitated. "Wait, do you want some? I guess I just assume that people want food, I don't know why."

"Are you kidding? Of course."

Ethan took the mug handed to him and took a bite. "This is amazing!"

Kelsey returned to her spot on the counter and sighed happily. "Yeah, I know."

An awkward silence filled the space between them before Ethan said, "I'm sorry about what happened at the terminal gate."

"What? Being engulfed by adoring fans, leaving me behind in a strange new place? I guess I'll forgive you," Kelsey snickered.

"Seriously. I was afraid, ah, nevermind. I was surprised to see you here."

Kelsey stared down into her almost-empty mug, heat creeping into her cheeks. "Yeah, about that... look, I swear I went to culinary school."

Ethan lifted his mug. "Dude, I believe you. Trust me."

"And I didn't come here to be a waitress—er, I didn't originally come here to be a waitress."

"You came to intern for a culinary position on a movie set," Ethan nodded. "Guess it didn't work out as expected?"

"Yeah," Kelsey muttered through a mouthful of broccoli. She waved her spoon in the air and said, "And to think I'd see you—the only person here who could possibly embarrass me!"

Ethan's jaw dropped dramatically. "Me? Embarrass you?"

Kelsey laughed. "Yes! No one would've known what happened today if it weren't for you."

"Wow, I'm offended,"

"So are you playing a Frenchman?"

"What?"

"In the movie."

Ethan laughed. "No way. It's the typical movie about an American in Paris. I'd be burned at the stake by French officials if they heard me butcher their accent."

"The set's beautiful,"

"You think so?" Ethan shrugged. "I don't know. I'm having a hard time getting into character. Maybe if I focus on the set, it'll sink in deeper."

"What got you into acting?" Kelsey asked.

"Theater," Ethan mused, an affectionate expression softening his features. "I grew up on stage—my mom was a singer, which started it all. I stayed in Iowa for a long time until I started traveling on a tour, which eventually brought me to L.A."

"I can't imagine you singing and dancing," Kelsey said.

"I haven't been on stage in probably seven years now."

"You should give it a shot again. Maybe—"

Ethan's phone buzzed and he pulled it out. "Oh, uh, my ride's here. I should probably..."

"Gotcha," Kelsey said, trying to hide the disappointment that unexpectedly reflected in her face.

He dropped his spoon into his mug and placed it in the sink. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"If the dishes don't pile up too high."

"Thanks for the soup."

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