The Hidden Recipe

Chapter Five: A Night Off

Eddie sat on the back steps of the restaurant, staring at the crumpled cigarette butt someone had left behind. He didn’t smoke, but for the first time, he considered picking it up. Anything to distract himself from the heavy weight of failure sitting in his chest.

The kitchen was closed, the last of the lights flicking off inside. The team had left one by one, but Eddie hadn’t moved. The cold December air wrapped around him, but it wasn’t enough to numb his spiraling thoughts.

Footsteps approached from behind. “Brooding, are we?”

Eddie glanced up to see Tommy, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his trademark smirk firmly in place.

“Just enjoying the view,” Eddie muttered, gesturing vaguely at the alley strewn with garbage bags and flickering streetlights.

Tommy snorted. “Yeah, looks like paradise. Come on, Singapore, get up.”

Eddie groaned. “For the last time, it’s Eddie.”

“Fine, Eddie. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Anywhere but here,” Tommy said, already walking away.

Eddie hesitated, but the thought of his empty apartment wasn’t exactly appealing. With a sigh, he followed.

They ended up at a dive bar a few blocks away, the kind of place where the neon signs buzzed, the jukebox played outdated hits, and the drinks were cheap. Tommy ordered a couple of beers and a basket of fries, sliding into a booth near the back.

Eddie sipped his drink, the cold bitterness doing little to lift his mood. “I don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice low. “I work my a*s off, and I still blew it.”

Tommy shrugged, dunking a fry into ketchup. “You’re overthinking it. Dumplings aren’t life or death.”

“They are to Chef Zhang,” Eddie shot back. “And to me. If I mess this up, I’m done. No more chances.”

Tommy leaned back in his seat, studying him. “You ever think about why you’re so wound up? Like, maybe you’re putting too much pressure on yourself?”

Eddie frowned. “Of course I’m putting pressure on myself. I don’t have the luxury not to.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “What, you think the rest of us do? You’re not the only one with stuff on the line, man.”

The words stung, but Eddie didn’t argue. He took another sip of beer, his shoulders slumping. “It’s just… I don’t know. I feel like I don’t belong there. Like I’m faking my way through every second of this.”

Tommy’s smirk softened into something closer to understanding. “Let me tell you a secret: we’re all faking it. Some of us just do it better than others.”

Eddie glanced at him, skeptical. “You don’t seem like the type to fake anything.”

Tommy grinned. “That’s ‘cause I don’t let anyone see me sweat. Rule number one: act like you belong, and eventually, people believe you do.”

Eddie considered that, turning the words over in his mind.

As the night wore on, the drinks kept coming, and the conversation drifted into lighter territory. Tommy shared stories about growing up in Chinatown, where his grandmother taught him how to make perfect dumplings before he could even spell the word.

“What about you?” Tommy asked, leaning forward. “How’d you end up here?”

Eddie hesitated, the truth catching in his throat. But something about Tommy’s relaxed demeanor made it easier to let his guard down.

“Family stuff,” Eddie said vaguely. “Things got tight back home. I came here hoping for better opportunities, but…” He gestured at the table. “Here I am, barely scraping by.”

Tommy nodded, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Yeah, it’s rough out there. My buddy just got laid off last week. People losing their jobs left and right. Honestly, you’re lucky to have landed at Golden Dynasty, even if you did… uh… fudge your way in.”

Eddie froze. “You… you know?”

Tommy shrugged. “Figured it out. Your knife skills weren’t exactly Michelin-starred when you started. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna rat you out.”

Relief flooded Eddie, though it was tempered by embarrassment. “Why not?”

“Because you’re working your a*s off,” Tommy said simply. “And because I know what it’s like to need a break.”

Eddie stared at him, the tension in his chest loosening just a bit.

They stumbled out of the bar sometime after midnight, laughing at a joke Eddie couldn’t even remember. The cold air hit them like a slap, but it was invigorating.

“You’re not so bad, Singapore,” Tommy said, clapping him on the back.

“It’s Eddie,” he said with a laugh, finally giving up on correcting him.

As they walked back toward their neighborhood, Eddie felt lighter. For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t obsessing over dumplings or Zhang’s disapproval. He wasn’t thinking about failure or rent or the lies he’d told.

For now, he was just Eddie—flawed, broke, but not entirely alone.