Iplier and Septiceye One-Shots and Imagines - Book 2

Recipe for Disaster (Chef Iplier)

Suggested by: missmeowstin.

Part two to "Recipe For Love", which is in the first book.

========================

It's been a lovely few months with your new boyfriend.  He's been a perfect person towards you, and you couldn't be happier.  Without the stress of your old boyfriend haunting you, you didn't need to worry about anything.

"I'll see you later," Mark smiled, pecking your lips.

"I can drop by the restaurant during lunch hours," you offered.

"I would like that," he smiled, "but we have a reservation.  Some business reserved almost the whole restaurant for some wedding or some sort."

"Oh, okay," you shrugged.

"I'll be back after lunch though," he smirked.

"Just to be gone for dinner hours again," you sighed.

"I'm sorry, honey.  It's going to be a busy week.  I'll make sure my sous chef takes over for me next week.  Then at least I'm only gone for dinner hours," he said.  You nodded.

"Alright.  Just have fun.  Don't burn anything.  Don't hurt yourself," you warned.

"Yes, mom." Mark rolled his eyes, smiling at your protectiveness.  He walked to the door and waved goodbye before he left.

You had been let off work a bit after you had broken up with your ex, but Mark made enough to support the both of you for a while.  That didn't mean you didn't need a job, though.  You didn't like sitting around for a whole day with nothing to do.

With a sigh, you opened your laptop and turned to your resumé, hoping to update it.

You opened your eyes as your phone buzzed madly beside you.  Your head was resting on your arms, which were on your laptop.  You had fallen asleep trying to do work.

"'Llo?" you grunted, picking up your phone and putting it beside your ear.

"Is this (Y/N) (L/N)?" a female voice asked.

"Yeah.  Who's asking?" you questioned, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"The hospital."

After a mad race to the hospital Mark had been placed at, you found out that the kitchen had caught on fire, and had burned down half the building.  Luckily, no one got killed, but some of the chefs were in the hospital for minor concussions.  Mark had to stay for a few hours to check his lungs for any smoke.

"He'll be fine.  We just need to run a few more tests, sign some stuff, and he's good to go," the doctor, a male man somewhere in his thirties, told you.

"Okay.  Thank you so much," you smiled, relieved at his good luck.  You walked into the room and saw Mark sitting on the bed with his chef outfit still on, staring out the window with a dull face.

"Hi," you said quietly.  He jumped, and when he noticed it was you, smiled a bit.

"Hey, (Y/N)," he greeted.

"Are you okay?  Do you feel anything?" you asked, immediately moving to his side.  He gently pushed you away, chuckling.

"You worry too much.  I'm fine." His face dropped. "But my restaurant."

You understood his pain; he loved his job, and even though he wasn't the owner of the restaurant, he took care of it and his staff like it was.  You knew it pained him to lose what he cared about.