by Hayleigh Sol
Now he was here and I’d been so certain Noah was flirting with another woman. Tracie would see it too, and I’d help her kick his ass to the curb. I wasn’t proud of it, but I’d been almost…smugly satisfied that my original suspicions about him were correct. Of course, that was when I’d thought Garrett was Noah.
Garrett, who somehow managed to move even closer to me.
Personal space, buddy. Get some.
That was probably another reason for my prickliness. My body’s reaction to him was super annoying. Inconvenient. Impossible to ignore.
“You know, you say I’m nothing special, but I seem to recall a much friendlier vibe when we met. Before you accused me of being a disgusting bottomfeeder, or whatever it was. Which I still think you should make up to me.”
“Dude, I said I was sorry—”
“Not really—”
“Fine. I’m sorry I called you names and hurt your precious feelings. But it was an honest mistake any decent person would forgive. A decent person wouldn’t insist I had anything to ‘make up’.”
I jerked my head away from his obnoxiously handsome face, glaring so hard Tracie flinched.
Goody, she’d extricated herself from whisper–snuggle time at the exact wrong moment.
“Yikes, you two okay?”
I nodded and relaxed my face but her attention—and Noah’s now—pinged back and forth between Garrett and me.
Stupid Garrett, getting me in trouble.
Aaand, now I was twelve.
Garrett sighed dramatically. “Not really. Bailey promised to help me with some new menu ideas”—I opened my mouth to object to this blatant lie, but he talked over my outraged gasp—“and now she’s trying to back out.”
Noah’s brow furrowed. “Bay, you should totally take him up on it. He’s an awesome chef.”
Slow your roll there, No. Who said we were friendly enough for you to call me “Bay”?
Tracie flashed an evil grin before she squelched it and gave me wide Bambi eyes. “You really should, hon. If you don’t, he’ll make me do it and I’m just so busy. You know, with wedding stuff and work. Plus, I want to make sure my team’s doing a great job on your app…”
Oh, that little devil. Tracie wasn’t one to guilt someone into doing something, but she was a clever operator and she’d obviously decided her brother and I needed to spend more time together. I one hundred percent disagreed, which I intended to tell her—
“You’d really be helping me out.” The wicked smile tipped the corner of her mouth, so slightly you’d almost miss it. I did not.
“Maybe you could think of it as one of your duties as maid of honor. You know, helping the bride in her time of need?”
Time of need, my ass. Freakin’ maid–of–honor duties.
Chapter 9
My reluctance notwithstanding, I found myself considering outfits like a woman excited about a first date. Which I refused to call this…whatever it was.
Twisted manipulation? Skillful maneuvering by my good friend, Tracie?
Once again, I found myself wondering if Garrett was more a breast man, or an ass man. Why I cared, I didn’t know. I was almost certain he’d turn out to be just another assclown once I got to know him better.
Already, he’d managed to bring out my prickliness better than most. Which was saying a lot, since plenty of people annoyed the crap out of me.
The sadistic part of me—and I’d deny it if anyone accused me of it—liked the way he riled me up. A little. Or, maybe it was more that he’d been on the receiving end of my sharp tongue—a couple of times now—and he hadn’t written me off as a bitch. Unlike countless lesser men before him. Hell, Garrett even seemed to enjoy poking the bear.
Weirdo.
I was meeting him at his restaurant so he could get started on food prep, but the fact that he was feeding me smacked of this being a date. I’d accused him of exactly that once or twice over the past week as we sent texts back and forth.
Alright, so we’d texted each other every day since Tracie had manipulated me into this situation. It didn’t mean—nope, I couldn’t even pretend to myself anymore that I didn’t want to jump his bones.
The dude was the unicorn of texting – a man who used proper punctuation and replied with more than monosyllabic words. He was clever, funny, asked about me, and wrote back in ways that showed he’d actually read my responses. And he hadn’t sent a dick pic or hit me up for a nude photo of myself.
A massive improvement over a disturbingly high percentage of the men I met through dating apps. Maybe the fact that I was so drawn to him, and his sister didn’t seem to have a problem with us hooking up—Tracie was an evolved modern gal, to be sure—were signs from the universe that Garrett would be ideal for taking a break from my dating break.
I wasn’t looking for more than some fun and laughs, never would go down that pothole–riddled road again, but he seemed ready, willing, and able to supply me with the fun and laughs. The best parts of any relationship, and the only ones worth keeping, in my opinion.
Bite Me, Garrett had explained, was the trendiest of his places. As such, he was frequently changing up the menu, experimenting with atypical flavor combinations, and offering the winners to his customers for limited amounts of time. After reading the reviews online—of course I’d looked him up and pored over everything I’d found—and a couple of foodie articles that practically swore fealty to the chef, I saw that his approach was really working for him.
I may have also drooled for a minute or ten over the photo of him alongside one of the articles. He was in what I instantly labeled a typical chef pose: wearing that white smock thing—I’d have to ask him if that had a name—sleeves rolled up to his elbows, one hand braced on the stainless steel counter in front of him, serious face on. The pop of forearm muscles and the rigid jaw unrelaxed by the smile I was used to seeing on him brought back flashbacks of us in Tracie’s office when he’d been pretty pissed at me. Justifiably. But the twinkle in his eyes told me he didn’t take himself too seriously, that he’d probably been laughing over the photographer’s instructions as he’d done with Tracie and Noah’s photographer, Jasmine. It was that, coupled with the intensity of the rest of the pose, that turned me on in a big way.
Located in the financial district of downtown San Francisco, the place was probably hopping through the work week. On a Sunday evening, it was relatively quiet. Reaching for one of the twin door handles, my hand halted and I leaned close to get a better look. The pull was a stylized shark, wearing a grin that showed all of its teeth and a cheeky wink. I loved it.
I didn’t love it so much that Sharky didn’t open the door when I tugged. Sharky’s partner didn’t budge, either.
An ugly feeling that maybe this was an elaborate joke to get back at me for the previous weekend oozed through me. Would Garrett have done something like to his beloved sister’s friend? Even one who’d been kind of a dick to him?
But why bother to be so engaged with the texting all week?
Unless he was really dedicated to the long con.
I tugged once more on both handles—because that’s what everyone does, just like we push the elevator call button or the crosswalk button more than once, even knowing the futility of the action. Nada.
Huffing out a breath, I opened up my text conversation with Garrett, confirming we’d made plans for this day and time. He’d even said he was looking forward to seeing me. Well, what he’d actually said was that he was looking forward to stuffing a bunch of food in my snarky mouth, but that was in response to something admittedly snarky I’d texted him about my expectations for the meal.
Me: Hey there, Chef. Did you set fire to something in the kitchen or chop off a pinky and have to be rushed to the ER? While I hope the loss of an important digit isn’t the explanation for the locked doors, how important is your p
inky, really?
Garrett: Your concern for my pinky’s well being is touching.
Aaand, that was it. Nothing about the doors or the fact that he’d stood me up. Dammit, had he seriously planned all this just to get revenge?
I lifted my phone, prepared to send him a strongly worded bite–me text—appropriate for the venue, I thought—when he appeared on the other side of the tinted glass. He was wearing that white double–breasted smock thing, head tilted, and a curious smile on his lips. One hand turned a locking mechanism I couldn’t see and he opened the door.
“You thought I’d stood you up, didn’t you?”
I stepped past him over the threshold. “Of course not, don’t be ridiculous.”
Garrett plied me with a delicious summer wine and an appetizer of olives and red grapes—already a unique pairing I hadn’t seen anywhere else—while he put finishing touches on the main course. The restaurant closed early on Sundays so it was just the two of us in the quiet space. He’d switched the music from what the restaurant obviously played normally—what sounded like funky classical renditions of contemporary pop songs—to a playlist of oldies, including several of my favorite Motown hits.
He’d remembered our This or That game. Not only had he remembered, but he’d thought ahead to cue up a playlist. For me.
Then, he brought out two plates and explained the main course as he joined me at the bistro table he’d set for us. “Alright, so we have a Thai–inspired dish with mandarin oranges and chili flakes…and some extras I’ll let you taste for yourself. It’s a little spicy, but I promise something sweet to follow.” The combination proud–hopeful look in his eyes told me he’d remembered another piece of our first meeting.
This guy was pulling out all the stops.
Either he was Smoothy McSmootherson, practiced at seducing women into bed with his good listening skills and follow–through—the best foreplay there was, as we all knew—or he was trying to get this particular woman there posthaste.
I’d certainly slept with my share of guys who didn’t put in nearly the time or care he was—or any, really—but I appreciated the effort from this one.
The meal was delicious, which didn’t surprise me after what I’d read online. We talked as easily as we had in the park, about how he’d gotten his start and how I’d gotten mine. About the different majors each of us had chosen in college before finding something we loved. Even when we hated certain aspects of our chosen professions.
We chatted a bit about Tracie and Noah, who, it turned out, was a good friend of Garrett’s. Good enough that he was Noah’s best man, I’d already learned. Something in Garrett’s demeanor told me there was a deeper backstory behind their friendship, maybe even a few life–changing moments like I shared with my own best friends, but he didn’t get into it.
He did clear up one facet of Noah’s seemingly aloof public persona. After an interview he’d given early in his career had led to a string of intellectual rights lawsuits, which Garrett insisted were baseless but Noah had settled to prevent even more media attention, Noah had learned to be standoffish with the press. Or, more accurately, to use them to his advantage as they used him. Garrett laughed as he told me his friend attended various events and allowed himself to be photographed with the popular kids in order to further his own agenda. It sounded pretty manipulative to me, until Garrett told me about the charities and renewable energy projects that were a big part of that agenda.
I did notice that Garrett glossed over the starlets and models Noah had actually dated, drawing my own conclusions there. The man was popular with the paparazzi for more than his innovations in the tech and energy industries.
When the music switched back to what had been playing when I first arrived, Garrett moved to change it, but I told him to leave it on, my tastes were eclectic. Bite Me seemed to be his baby, the restaurant he’d put the most of himself into. It was no surprise, then, that he’d chosen the music, in addition to the lighting scheme, the art on the walls, even the shark door pulls I’d gotten such a kick out of.
“Is this…Thunderstruck?”
He smiled widely. “Well done. You must have a great ear for music.”
I shouldn’t have been so pleased by his compliment, but my ex had never appreciated music much. It was nice to meet someone who did, like me. A laugh tumbled out of me when we both automatically double–tapped the table where “Thun–der” would’ve been if this version hadn’t been all instrumental.
Garrett laughed with me, then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Want to see a truly awesome music video?”
Naturally, I did. Who wouldn’t want to watch a truly awesome music video?
Aaron never did, my inner voice nudged.
Garrett pulled up the video on YouTube, the same cover of Thunderstruck played by the cello duet we’d just been listening to. He was right, it was badass. Especially as the horsehair split and frayed off the musicians’ bows. They were wearing Regency–era dress, cranking away on their cellos, fingers flying with lightning–speed, and headbanging. One of them even did a floor spin, still cradling and playing his cello.
So rock ‘n’ roll.
The song ended and I realized how close Garrett was sitting as he’d shared his phone’s screen with me. We were grinning at each other until the air shifted. Eyes flicked to lips, throats moved as we both swallowed, breaths shallowed.
Damn, did I want him to kiss me.
We both moved back, though I didn’t know why. He cleared his throat and asked if I was ready for dessert.
I exercised tremendous restraint and did not comment on what I really wanted for dessert. Instead, I told him how great dinner had been and asked when he might add it to the menu. He surprised me by saying he had a few things he might tweak; to me, the dish had been perfect.
When I questioned whether he ever made any duds, he admitted that he still had his fair share, even after years of cooking and creating.
“In fact, the dessert I had planned for us tonight didn’t quite work out. You get to sample my Plan B.”
His backup dessert ended up being a rich, raspberry–topped chocolate mousse in a tall shot glass. What impressed me the most, which I wasn’t shy about telling him, was that he’d made it with bananas. A sugar–free dessert that tasted far more sinful than it was.
“That’s one of my favorite challenges, actually. Making healthier foods taste better than their original recipes.”
I smiled as I dragged my spoon around the glass one last time, ensuring I hadn’t left a trace of mousse behind. “While I don’t make anything nearly as inventive as you, I look for the same kinds of recipes. Food that’s good for you doesn’t have to be gross.”
He chuckled. “I agree.”
His gaze flicked to the table, then back to me, a heat in his eyes now that had my core tightening. “In fact, I believe a lot of things that seem like a bad idea can turn out surprisingly well.”
My head tilted. I was well aware he was alluding to the chemistry between us. But I wasn’t going to make this too easy for him. Even though I already knew I wanted to sleep with him. At least once. “Like what, for example?”
His attention went back to the table and he smiled self–consciously, which I found downright delightful in a man who didn’t seem to struggle with confidence. “I don’t want to say the first thing that popped into my head because you’ll think it’s a line.”
I laughed and nodded once as he glanced at me. “Go ahead, tell me anyway.”
A sigh and a head shake before he met my eyes more fully. “Well, my pushy sister made me finally get a bedframe with a headboard last year. She said I was too old to keep using the frame the bed came with. I didn’t think I’d like having one, thought I’d be smacking my head or my hands on it all the time in my sleep. Then, I really didn’t like any of the ones she texted me pictures o
f. But I got crazy busy with opening my newest restaurant so I gave up and told her to do her worst.” Picturing all of this playing out with Tracie made me smile. “Turns out, I actually like what she picked out; it…completes the space. Or whatever she was always insisting it would do.”
“And do you end up hitting it in your sleep?”
He grinned wryly. “Occasionally. But not nearly as much as I expected.”
Watching him for a moment, I was struck by how darn handsome he was. He was more than a pretty face, though. His personality was every bit as charming as I’d thought the day we’d walked in the park.
“You were worried I’d think all of that was a line?”
His hand went to the back of his neck.
Sheepish? Nervous? I couldn’t have torn my eyes away from him.
“Yeah, you know, talking about my bed. As in, ‘hey, baby, you wanna come back to my place and see that headboard for yourself?’”
Laughter burst out of me, which teased out a smile from him. “Yeah, I guess that would definitely have seemed like a ploy.”
I took a breath and made my decision. “What if I would like to see it for myself?”
Chapter 10
Garrett’s place was at once exactly what I might’ve imagined for him if I’d given it much thought and also surprisingly revealing of parts of him I hadn’t yet been introduced to. His one–bedroom apartment wasn’t huge, but it was in Russian Hill and had a view of the bay. Either he was a trust–fund kid, which I doubted, having met both his sister and him, or he was doing better than I’d realized with his restaurants.
The kitchen was the size one would expect for a one–bedroom, not for the home of a professional chef.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said as he stood back and let me wander around the main living area.