Taste of Iron

Eighteen: May All Your Wishes Come True

Eighteen: May All Your Wishes Come True

It was the middle of the week, so the restaurant wasn't too busy. After lunch service was done, Atlas had some time to wind down. So he decided to head to Shawn's office and look at the applications they had received for the position of sous chef.

He walked in to find Emil laying on the couch and reading. Emil looked up from the magazine, smiling and sitting as his eyes landed on Atlas.

"Are you...reading Teen Vogue?" Atlas questioned.

"It's Shawn's! Not mine," Emil immediately defended himself. Atlas scoffed, as if saying 'yeah, right'.

"You do you," the head chef muttered. "Should we look at the applicants? I have some time to spare."

"Sure!" Emil stood up instantly, grabbing the laptop from the desk and sitting back down on the couch. He patted the spot next to him, looking at Atlas expectantly.

Atlas gulped slightly as he sat next to Emil. However, he couldn't see the screen, so he had to shift closer until their elbows were touching. He looked at Emil's inked arm, surprised to see that the man had goosebumps all over his skin.

He moved his eyes back to the laptop as Emil pulled up the resumés. Emil shifted the device so that it was still mostly on his lap, and placed his arm behind Atlas on top of the backrest. Atlas subconsciously shimmied closer to the crime boss to be able to read what was on the screen as he didn't have his reading glasses with him.

"What do you think of him?" Emil asked.

"Nah. He has mostly worked in Italian restaurants so I'm not sure if he'll be a good fit here," Atlas shook his head.

They moved to the next one, and then the next and so on, discussing each and every candidate and short listing the ones they thought would be suitable. They had about three people that they decided they would be getting back to and calling for an interview.

An hour passed by real quick as they were finally done. Emil shut the screen down, and turned his head towards the head chef. Atlas faced Emil too, both of them caught off-guard by the proximity between them. Atlas felt like his breath was stuck in his throat as he looked at Emil. Really looked at him.

His dark brown eyes were the same shade as his hair, which he was apparently growing ever since Atlas told him he'd look good with long hair. They reached his ears now, and seemed so goddamn soft that the chef had a very strong urge to run his fingers through the strands to check it for himself.

Emil was usually clean shaven, but he had a light stubble today. Atlas couldn't help but wonder if the gangster didn't get time to shave in the morning, after all, he was late. His eyelashes were also awfully long, making his eyes seem all the more exquisite. He had a sharp, slightly pointed nose, and high cheekbones. Overall, he had a really well defined face.

And then his lips... as Atlas thought of them, his eyes dropped down to look at them. They were a lighter shade of pink than Atlas's, but definitely fuller. They looked kissable. Very kissable.

"Atlas," Emil whispered, making the chef's eyes shoot up to meet Emil's. He couldn't believe what he was just thinking about. He was so caught up in the moment that he didn't even notice that he had been leaning closer and closer to the crime boss.

"Yeah?" Atlas's voice was equally low and soft.

Emil held Atlas's chin, his thumb tracing the chef's skin just below his lips. Atlas's heart was thumping so loudly in his chest that he could feel the beat like a drum in his ears. Emil cupped Atlas's cheek, smiling tenderly as he lightly pinched the top of it, confusing the chef.