AN: Okay guys, so here we go again. Please, let me know if you want me to continue seeing that this is just something I thought would be fun to try off. Does it roll or is it just dull? You want it completely from Callie's point of view or do you want it to vary between hers and Arizona's? Give me something to work with :-)

The bustling of my people doing what they always do is keeping me sane, is helping me focus, is creating the kind of balance I need. And right now I need to focus on the damped salmons before me, I need to push back the thoughts of what's happening at home this instant and I need to be the kickass, badass, 4 star head chef that I am. My personal life needs to be put aside and my people bustling around me helps a great deal.

"More bustling people, bustle. I need my kitchen to bustle," I shout as I expertly shake the pan.

"Yes, chef."

"Yes, boss."

"That's what I like to hear," I call over my shoulder, placing the salmons on the two plates on the counter. "Potatoes! Vegetables, please." Ask and I shall receive, the plates before me are being neatly tended to by two of my best protégés. Potatoes are being placed meticulously along with the fine cut carrots and asparagus. I've taught them everything I know about the beauty of a plate, about how it needs to look like we've placed love just before the very eyes. And it needs to taste just as well, if not even more. With Alex and Tara working there skilled butts off, I'm sure they someday are going to run their own kitchens. I just don't hope that day will come any day now, but in a couple of years maybe when I've got my own life under control.

"Sauce!" I call again, making the bustle sing in my ears. And I'll never get tired of that.

"Comin' right up, chef!"

I nod as I'm giving the last touch to my plates, making sure the salmons are placed in the perfect right angle. Adding a little dill on top, I take the offered casserole with my special, secret sauce and very carefully circle the plate's inner frame with a thin line of liquid love. The smell invades every fiber of my body, sending satisfied jerks of pleasure through every pore. And I know that this sauce is made perfectly. It falls easily from the spoon and the smug smile Alex is sending me, tells me that this sauce is just THAT good. I trust him and I trust his instincts, it is me who's trained him after all. Taking one last sniff, letting the beautiful smell sink into my nostrils, I press the bell. In two split seconds the swing doors are dancing and Meredith is standing on the other side of the counter, ready to bring the meals to two very lucky guests.

"Table 4 ready?" She asks, her sleepy smile adoring her face while her messy ponytail grazes her shoulders, as she sticks three small paper slips in the peg-tree.

"You know it," I smirk as I wipe the plates before letting the skinny waitress in charge of my work. "No dropping!"

"Like that's ever happened," she raises an eyebrow before placing the plates in her left hand and a small basket of still warm, homemade bread in the other. "I'm excellent, Torres!" smiling, she flies between the swing doors.

"Tell that to the plates in the dumpsters," I laugh and then turn to my stove, already throwing myself into my next work of art; 2 steaks and 1 swordfish. To say I love my job would be an understatement, because I love it more than I love…eating. Yes, that much. One would say that I would be the obsessing kind of chef, breathing everything work related, but that's just not the case with me. When I'm at work I'm that person, sure. In my kitchen I breathe, in my kitchen I experience. I create and I taste. I make people happy by doing the thing I love. And that has got to mean something. I bring people joy and pleasure by shaking some pans and cutting some victuals, that's something. Something to be proud of, I'd like to think. But when I toss my apron aside and take off the hat, I'm just like everybody else. A woman on her way home from work, a woman who's dedicated her life to serve others but only because I find that fascinating. I wouldn't give it up for anything except for the face greeting me when I finally get to go home. Now that is something to obsess about.

"Torres?" Meredith's voice is pulling me out of my thoughts and I turn around. "Table 4 isn't completely, um…satisfied with their salmons," the dirty blonde haired waitress tells me, a scrunched up look plastered to her slim face.

"Oh, is that so?" I ark one eyebrow. There's always those guests…those guests who always need to make a notice of themselves. And one of those guests happens to visit my restaurant today, or not really my restaurant but still…It's my food that's being served. And only excellent food leaves my kitchen. "What's 'wrong' with it?" I make situation marks with my index-and middle fingers.

"The lady says it's too done. And she's like…she wants her money back or whatever."

"That can't be right. I made it. It's good. It's as it should be; it is perfect!" My arms resting on the counter. "Bustle!" I call out, making Tara jump in her track and always drop the bowl of salad, and Alex's chopping knife hit the table. The new, young boy standing in the washing area quickly picks up the dirty dishes and pretends that he's not eavesdropping in on the conversation. So the bustling continues. "What does she want then? Other than her money back."

"She wants to speak with you," Meredith explains.

"Let her in," I smirk, ready to face the salmon-nagging knowing-better type of woman. If she finds faults in my dish, I'll let her try to explain. Not that there's actually any fault in it, she's just picky I guess. Casually leaning back on the edge of the counter, I cross my legs and arms, waiting for the unsatisfied guest.

As Meredith disappears through the swing doors one second and in the next brings in the too done salmon complaining person, I'm literally blown away. My casual and very smooth appearance is quickly vanishing and I feel my cheeks flush in an instant. That simply can't be the one Meredith was talking about, that woman can't be the nagging, unsatisfied and annoying fish expert. Nope, that just wouldn't fit anywhere. The woman slides perfectly in without being caught by the swinging doors, sending a smile Meredith's way only to lock eyes with me. I have to swallow. I'm completely lost in those eyes. How is it possible to have such blue eyes? They remind me of the deep blue water bottles we get from…from some catering company. Her lips are moving, the shiny, light lip balm glistening in the brightness from the kitchen lamps. And the blonde hair cascading perfectly around the beautiful face. I have to braze myself against the counter to make sure I'm not tumbling over. Because that woman is pure gorgeousness in a black dress and I'm totally checking out her cleavage because…well, because it's right there and it's screaming to be ogled at. Suddenly the cleavage move and a subtle cough brings me back to reality. Salmon reality.

"Head Chef Torres?" The blonde with the beautiful rack asks me as she shoots me a very sweet smile.

"Um," I clear my throat and stand up tall. "Yes, that's me. Pleasure," I say, stretching out my hand for her to shake. She looks confused for a moment but then takes it and shakes it politely. Her hand is smoother than a newly powdered baby butt and when she squeeze I feel like my knees are bending. What is the matter with me? I should be mad or smug or annoyed, arrogant even. But I'm just not. I can't be either of those things. Even though this woman is about to tell me why she dislikes me salmon.

"I was told that you're the one making us our salmon dishes? You know, the ones with asparagus and-"

"And the drizzling sauce, yes. I made those. And I was told that you weren't pleased with it?" I cut her off, finally finding the need to defend my dish because it IS that good. Everyone likes it. Loves it even. The blonde bites her lower lip before letting it pop out and then speak again.

"Oh my god, that sauce. It's just so amazing and I really love it. You know, every time I eat it, it's like taking a bite of…of…of a secret," she rambles on, a cute expression painted all over her glowing face, making her even more beautiful than when I first saw her minutes ago. Meredith just stands in the back with a grin on her mouth, watching this little scene evolve, while the rest of the kitchen continues to create heavenly plates and hands them to other waitresses actually doing their job.

"You liked my sauce?" The smile that has been itching in the corner of my mouth is now visible.

"No. I loved it, Chef Torres," she exclaims while brushing a hand through her wavy hair. "And I don't even eat sauce, I mean…usually. But I eat yours because…because…"

"Because it's like a secret," I chance a grin at her which makes the blonde before me giggle. A giggle I could've sworn I heard just some few hours before.

"Exactly!" The smile I get is a full out, dimple popping smile and I feel like the luckiest woman alive being the receiver of it. "Speaking of secrets…" she straightens her back. "My girlfriend wasn't too happy about her salmon, that's kinda why I'm here. That and the fact that I just had to praise your sauce," the blonde smirks.

"Oh," I shake my head and try to look all chef-like again, suddenly remembering why this beautiful creature is standing in all her glory in my kitchen. Salmon. And wait, did she say girlfriend? Nah, got to be a slip of the tongue. "Yeah," I drawl. "Why didn't she like it?"

"She says it's too done. Too dry, I guess. Well, I don't really know. I liked it. She's just the picky kinda girl, I guess. No, actually. I know that is a fact," the blonde chuckles and once again the dimples pop.

"I'm glad you like it," the smile on my face won't seem to falter and I am completely aware of how this whole situation must look like. And I don't care at all. "If your friend isn't happy about her meal, I'll make her a new one…not too done or dry or even steamed."

"You don't have to, she's almost eaten it all anyway. She just wanted me to make a statement," she shrugs, playing with the silver band on her thumb. "But thank you for taking the time to speak with me. I'll tell her that you'll make her another salmon another time," the blonde smiles and then reaches out for my hand. I bring our hands into another handshake and once again I feel like my knees could give in any moment now.

"You know it..?" I fish for the blonde's name while we slowly shake hands, wanting to know which beautiful name shaping this delicate human being.

"Arizona," she states and then lets go of my hand.

"Arizona," I let the name roll on my tongue, tasting every letter. It is delicious and it is mysterious. Just how I like it. "So, Arizona. Will I be seeing you again, I mean. Will you be dining here again?"

"Are you kidding me? I'm here every Thursday. Gotta have my sauce," Arizona grins before pushing the swing doors open. "I'll maybe see you again-"

"Cal-Callie," I softly call after the blonde, not really knowing if she heard my answer. All I know is that she likes my sauce and that she's been here every Thursday without me knowing it. Her name is strong and her body is luscious.

Collecting my thoughts and wildly shaking my shoulders and turn around to find something to do with my hands, something that doesn't require a complete focus. So I head for the food storage. Breathing in the fresh, cool air I let my body react to what just happened. I let it bounce and I let myself question why I all of a sudden want it to be Thursday again. Turning around on my heels I see I'm not the only one rejoicing over the situation. Alex's ugly, smug face is showing in the little window and he's clearly enjoying this a little too much. Picking up a tomato, I throw it at the window and jerk my head annoyed. I'm his boss, no mocking me. Crinkling my nose I breathe in the air once again and let a deep breath escape. I knew my sauce would give me something along the road. I just knew it!

Okay guys. Now is the time, let me know what you think.
Go rock my socks with killer reviews... Is this something you would like to continue?