Love’s Gamble

Chapter 5

Freema got off work early that day, and she was hoping that she might be able to get to the restaurant before Ken was free and urge him to spend some time with her. She knew that if she went there he would put aside whatever he was doing and pay attention to her. He was just that kind of person. However, her boss was an utter asshole who did not care about anything that his employees wanted, and he forced Freema to stay behind until her work day was officially over. It irked her to no end that she had to stay at work even though she had nothing to do, but she was powerless. She assuaged her anger by thinking of how satisfying it would be to just not turn up for work one day. She thought of how angry it would make her boss, of how he would dream of firing her for her transgression, and then she thought about how angry he would be when he would finally realize that he could not fire Freema because she was not going to come into work anymore.

When her work day was officially over, she headed home, took a quick shower and then headed to the Totoya. She had dressed well, better than she had dressed in a long time. She was not quite sure what she was doing here, she was not quite sure what her endgame was, all she knew was that she really wanted Ken to think that she looked good when he met her.

She entered the restaurant and looked around for Ken. She saw the manager of the place and he smiled at her and motioned to the kitchen. Apparently he knew that she was here to see Ken, and was telling her that his boss was in the kitchen at the moment. Freema entered the steamy room and took in all of the delicious aromas.

She had always loved to cook. People were always surprised when they found this out about her, and their surprise never failed to annoy her. She didn’t understand the cause of their surprise, and she stopped talking about how much she loved to cook after realizing that she couldn’t stand that reaction anymore.

“Freema!” said Ken with his gloriously warm smile. “Come in, come in. I am so sorry, I’m such a mess. We got a huge order right now, and I had to help the cook here in the kitchen so that we are not late. Oh my, you look so wonderful! I feel even worse about my appearance than I did before now!”

Freema looked Ken up and down. She saw the thin film of sweat on his face and arms, she saw his messy hair, she saw his warm and earnest smile, his expression truly apologetic about the fact that he did not look good for her, and she felt something stir in her heart. “You look pretty great to me,” said Freema. She meant it. She was not the type of person that paid false compliments. She never really saw the point of that. People would always know the truth of your intentions no matter how hard you tried to mask them, so the best thing to do was to make sure that they knew that you were being genuine with them.

“Oh thank you,” said Ken with a stutter. He was so utterly genuine. Not a hint of pretense in any of his mannerisms. Was he even real? She had never met anyone like that before.

“Let me just finish up here,” said Ken, “I just need five minutes to make sure that the cook has everything in order. Why don’t you wait in my office? The air conditioner is on so you won’t be sweating yourself into a state. It’s so uncomfortable in here, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Freema. “This is fine. I actually really like being in a hot kitchen. I used to cook for my dad all the time. My mom died when I was really young, and my dad worked so hard that I learned how to cook pretty early so that he wouldn’t have to after a long day at the office. And I tried to learn how to cook well so that he would have something yummy to come home to. He always seemed so sad after my mom died. It affected him more than me, and I do not blame him for that. So being in this kitchen… it reminds me of cooking for my dad. It reminds me of that time in my life when I had something to do that would make me happy. It reminds me of making my dad happy whenever he got home.”

“That is so lovely,” said Ken. “I love cooking too. My wife was a terrible cook, and she was the breadwinner in our house because I didn’t earn as much as her from my job, so I was the one that usually did the cooking.”

“Your wife?” said Freema, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh,” said Ken, “ex wife I should say. We are not together anymore.”

“What happened?” asked Freema.

“Nothing,” said Ken. “Nothing I want to talk about right now, anyway.”

“Of course,” said Freema. “I understand completely.”

“Thank you,” said Ken with a small smile. It was the same sad, small smile that he had given her before, and she was surprised to see it right now. “People generally tend to force me to talk about it and that makes me really uncomfortable. I do not think they realize what a personal topic it is. I guess they just do not have the ability to empathize the way you do.”

“I have the ability to empathize?” asked Freema, a look of surprise settling upon her face.

“Yeah,” said Ken with a laugh. “Has no one ever told you that before?”

“No,” said Freema. “I have never been called empathetic before. I guess people just assume that because I am aggressive and assertive that I do not think about other people’s feelings.”

“You do not have to consider other people’s feelings when you are interacting with them to be called empathetic,” said Ken. “All you have to do is understand people’s feelings, and I really think that you do. I think you have an innate ability to understand what other people are feeling. I think that is what makes you a really good poker player.”

Freema laughed and said, “Wow, way to psychoanalyze me.”

Ken gave her an embarrassed smile and said, “In my defense, it’s not exactly difficult to read you. You are an open book, at least as far as my skills of psychoanalysis are concerned.”