a hand lands on my waist, every hair on my neck standing up in alarm. “You’ve got two more months here, Montgomery, and I know a good way to pass the time. A way to get the staff here to like you.” The line cook’s hot breath brushes the back of my neck. “Get your hand off me,” I say coolly. His fingertips dig into my waist, and they feel like my breaking point. I need to get away from this man and this kitchen. I need to get away from every kitchen. “You’ve got to be lonely, traveling around the country the way you do. I bet you find a friend to keep you warm in that little van of yours in
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