Bleach Proof Apron Novels & Stories

I exclaim remembering something important “What?” Omoh asks. I can see her eye brows furrowing together in curiosity. “I forgot to carry my Apron, I plan to wash and iron it when I get home. Please, give me a sec, I’ll be right back.” I beg Omoh to wait for me while I go get it. She replies with a nod and I hurry to my department and into the hall use for our practical. Standing at the door, I could see my Apron on my table through the window.

“I only have this one. You can wear it.” After all, he was the chef. She was merely playing second fiddle here. Elijah turned and frowned when he saw the apron Sally was holding. It was pink and had bunny ears sewn onto it. “That’s fine too.” He laughed helplessly. Seems like he would have to prepare his own apron as well the next time. At this moment, he looked at his hands, which were covered in barbeque sauce and flour. “Can you help?” Sally nodded.

“That’s what you said the time you dropped the shampoo bottle and it broke open all over the kitchen floor. We were skidding across the tile every day for the next three months.” “Shoddy craftsmanship,” she retorted, but caught the bottle deftly and studied the cloudy liquid. “What is this stuff, anyway?” She looked up and saw their instructors approaching. Both were dressed for action in the black uniform and buckled leather vests of the Haunt guard, but with the addition of red embroidered patches on their left breasts, possibly an indication of rank. The patches looked like Celtic knot work. Jayems also wore a torque around his neck.

She looked defeated, like someone who had lost all hope. “We need to clean up the blood,” Tony told me, not even sparing Britney a glance. “I’ll be right back,” I replied, rushing upstairs to grab my clothes. Once I was dressed, I returned with a gallon of bleach, towels, a mop, and a bucket among other cleaning supplies.

Gavin switched off the cooker and poured tea into a cup. "Tea or coffee?" I pointed to the tea pot. "Okay, dokey," Gavin replied, his eyes sparkling with amusement. My eyes roamed over Gavin, and he was shirtless, with only an apron around him. The soft fabric hugged his hips, emphasizing his narrow waist. The ties dangled tantalizingly, begging to be secured. With a sly smile, he tightened the apron, the movement accentuating the muscles in his back. The apron's playful design – a subtle pattern of utensils with balloons and spices – seemed to mock the intensity of his gaze. Yet, it only added to the allure.

A group of men and women in aprons were currently chopping and peeling veggies. A big, serious-looking lady was stirring a huge pot on the stove. Her apron was different from everyone else's. Hers was a pink ruffled item with an image of a bloody knife. Her hair was bunched up, and she was barking orders at everyone. The rest of them were busy peeling and chopping to satisfy her needs. There's a bottle of seasonings, some carrots cut up over there, a dash of salt, and some egg whites being whisked in a pan.

"Are you going to stare at that apron until it can talk back?" Julian’s deep voice pulled Claire out of her daydream. She jumped, nearly dropping the phone she had been clutching tightly on the bed. She turned toward the slightly open bedroom door, seeing Julian standing there in a black shirt with the sleeves neatly rolled up. Claire let out a long breath, her eyes returning to the brown apron with the Central Café logo hanging behind the door. "I was just thinking. Should I wash it and return it, or keep it as a memento of my own foolishness?"

An hour later, the three of us had filled our stomachs to the brim. Several footsteps ran to where the three of us were walking. “Ms. Alvarez, please wait up!” I turned around fast and saw the Cleaning Supervisor lose her breath. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” She glanced at us nervously before finally speaking up. “It’s–It’s the table linens!” Something about the tone of her voice sent my mind into a frenzy. “What about it?” I asked in a hurry. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Alvarez! Someone mistakenly used bleach on them instead of fabric softener. Now, the linens are ruined,” she almost sobbed at her last sentence.

"You're disgusting." "Proud of it. Now get moving before I drag you up there myself." I roll my eyes and trudge back. The white backdrop has been swapped out for a lemon green one, which I guess must be to match the color and flavor of the new products. "Hailey!" The photographer calls. Here we go again. Suppressing a groan, I drag my feet over to him. "Take this." He shoves a soft, white silk cloth into my arms. I peer down at it, my brows furrowing. "What's this?"

Oliver The kitchen smells like bleach. Kir cleaned the table this morning before he'd even made coffee. Vinegar first, then bleach, then a final rinse with saline. He laid down a fresh cotton sheet, tucked the corners and smoothed it with his palms. Over that, a wide sterile field cut from a paper pack he bought at the pharmacy. The tools are laid out in a row. It looks like a war crime in a kitchen magazine photoshoot. "This is not helping," I tell the ceiling.