The Opposite of You

by Rachel Higginson

  Shane smiled, appeased by my compliment. “It really is. I could drink that sauce by itself.”

  Molly tilted her head curiously, but waited to try anything until Shane had walked away again.

  “That’s my sauce,” I told her. “The one he stopped by to improve.”

  Her voice dropped, and she immediately plated one of the kabobs to try it. “He stole it?”

  I wished. “No, not really,” I admitted. “Mine was good. His is from a different planet of good. But it’s definitely similar to mine.”

  “Could we call it ‘inspired’ by yours?”

  I ignored her sly grin and shook my head. “Only in the general sense of he realized how awesome he could make it and how not awesome I had made it. Besides, I keep changing up my menu, so it’s not a huge deal. Those meatballs were so last month.”

  “You’re not mad? Really?”

  Honestly, I was flattered, but I didn’t want to admit it. “I’m always mad at him. The man is obnoxious.” Although I hadn’t expected him to ever steal something from me. Killian Quinn was a complete original. I got the vibe that he loathed doing the popular thing. He wanted to be the first, set the tone, create the trend. Not follow in someone else’s footsteps.

  We were going over the rest of the menu, trying to narrow our main courses to a couple of options we could share, when Wyatt stepped out of the kitchen. He walked over to Shane, who pointed in our direction.

  “Oh, no! Molly, we’ve been made!”

  She ducked down, holding the menu to the side of her face. “I told you we should have worn disguises!”

  “Well, well, well,” Wyatt crooned, stepping up to our table. “If it isn’t our nosy neighbors.”

  I peeled the menu from the front of my face and braved looking at him. “I would have had you bring me something, but I felt sorry for you and didn’t want to get you fired.”

  The high planes of his sharp cheekbones turned pink. “Thanks for that.”

  Offering him a genuine smile, I made a show of glancing around. “I mean, I don’t personally understand why anyone would want to work here, but I guess if you need to pay your bills or whatever.”

  He laughed and held out the tray I hadn’t noticed yet. “Yeah, I just need the basics really. Like electricity, water, cat food.”

  Molly and I shared a look. Cat food?

  “I think you need better priorities, but hey, I’m not one to judge.” I leaned toward the tray, pulled in by the interesting bites of food he’d brought with him. “What do you have there?”

  He grinned at me. “A little amuse bouche, compliments of the chef.”

  “How generous,” I mumbled.

  “He wanted to thank you for stopping in. He always loves another chef’s opinion.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “We were hungry,” I explained. “We didn’t have anything else going on tonight.” Lie. “We’re not here to spy.” Another lie. “Besides, if anyone has been spying lately…” I pointed to the remnants of the tzatziki sauce that hadn’t yet been licked off the plate. “I think I’m the one with the right to complain.”

  Wyatt chuckled, not taking me seriously. “You know the entire kitchen blames you for the new menu.”

  “What? Why?” Panic jumped around inside me. My insides became a mosh pit of confused emotion. The very notion seemed too absurd even to consider, and yet the sauce sat there glaring at me, proving that it wasn’t entirely impossible.

  “The last time Killian changed the menu in the middle of a season, was after a Jarod Campbell review. Killian had all but lit the menu on fire and started from scratch. It was terrifying.”

  Jarod Campbell was one of the toughest critics in the country. He never gave glowing reviews. He preferred scathing criticisms with a few positive notes sprinkled throughout. But I was surprised even Killian had suffered Jarod’s harsh opinion.

  My eyebrows jumped to my hairline. “So you’re saying he hates me as much as Jarod Campbell?”

  Wyatt gave me a goofy look. “That is not what I’m saying at all.”

  I didn’t know what he was saying. Nor did I want to know. “You better get back in there before he realizes how much he doesn’t need you.”

  Wyatt chuckled again and turned to Molly, setting down the fancy little bites of food on a fresh plate. “Enjoy.” To me, he said, “He’ll be out when he can catch a break.”

  “He doesn’t need to bother! I swear we didn’t come here to visit.”

  Wyatt backed up a step. “But you did come all this way. It’s only polite.”

  Before I could embarrass myself further, Wyatt was swept away in the current of bustling servers and trays of food. He disappeared into the kitchen with his now empty tray, and we were left with our amuse bouches that suddenly felt like less of a friendly gesture and more of a deal with the devil.

  “Well, this was nice of him,” commented Molly—poor, sweet, naïve Molly.

  “Killian Quinn isn’t capable of being nice. He’s just rubbing his superior skill in my face.”

  She picked one up; it had a small toast on the bottom with a thin piece of prosciutto and maybe mascarpone on it? There was a brown drizzle that I suspected was balsamic based. “Oh, my God,” she groaned after consuming it in one bite—like it was intended. “He’s such an asshole. I hate him.”

  “Liar.”

  She grinned at me. “I’m sorry, but a man that makes that cannot possibly be entirely evil.”

  “That’s the whole point, Molly! He’s tricking you with his good looks and delicious food. Meanwhile, your soul is damned to hell.”

  “Stop being difficult, Vere, and try the damn food before I eat yours.”

  I gasped, immediately picking up a flakey piece of white fish with a perfectly peppered crust on a lavosh-like cracker. I couldn’t stand the man, but there was no way I was giving away my food. “Fine,” I huffed. “It’s more ammunition for the Yelp review anyway.”

  Molly just shook her head at me, her mouth too full for her to verbally respond.

  Shane didn’t return to take our order. A bus boy cleared our plates, but nobody checked on us until Shane reappeared with a tray full of plates, the bartender at his side replacing our drinks with new ones.

  “We didn’t order this,” I pointed out.

  Shane smiled politely, his eyes darting around the table afraid to meet mine. “The chef wanted you to enjoy a variety of dishes.” He stepped back so the server with him could start setting the plates down. “And drinks,” he added.

  “That’s unnecessary—”

  Shane held up a hand. “He insisted. He also said that you should stop arguing with him.”

  “I didn’t—” But at Shane’s look of complete helplessness I backed off. It wasn’t Shane’s fault that Killian was so heavy-handed. “Alright, fine.”

  Shane watched me for another minute, probably trying to figure out why we were getting such special treatment.

  Honestly, I wanted to know too.

  Finally, after every plate had been squeezed onto our tiny table, he asked, “Would you like me to thank the chef for you?”

  “No.” I tore my eyes from the feast in front of me and smiled apologetically at Shane. “Thank you, but no. I don’t want you to thank him for me.”

  “You’d like to do it yourself?” he guessed.

  “I’d like to punch him in the throat, but I’ll have to settle for icy silence.”

  Molly snickered, already plating for both of us, while Shane floundered for a response. “I, uh, well, if you need anything else, please don’t hesitate.”

  “We won’t,” Molly answered for me. “Thank you so much.”

  “The nerve of that man,” I grumbled while I consulted my menu and matched the dishes with the plates in front of me.

  “Should we send it back?” Molly had already started eating from the plate in front of her, not even bothering to disguise her blissed-out reactions.

  “Are you kidding? I’m irritated, not crazy!
”

  She waggled her eyebrows at me, and we dove in. I tried to explain the dishes to her so she knew what she was eating, but she didn’t care about the individual components of each plate. She just wanted to eat in peace.

  So, I let her. Meanwhile, I dissected every single thing in front of me, studying it, examining it… enjoying it. Killian wasn’t just a good chef, he was a phenomenal one. I couldn’t help but picture those strong fingers of his, carefully crafting each dish, putting it together with all that dynamic focus, refusing to let even one peppercorn fall out of place.

  The meal wasn’t simply sustenance. It wasn’t even as simple as a memorable experience. This was a work of art, the masterpiece in front of me reaching all five senses and even further than that, down into my soul where I would remember this meal for the rest of my life.

  Everything was perfectly cooked, perfectly crispy, perfectly moist, perfectly whatever it needed to be to make the flavors explode in my mouth and burrow deep down in my bones. Braised rabbit legs, creamy truffle risotto, slow-cooked bone-in duck breast with fig sauce, succulent filet with duck fat fries, golden trout with leeks and pineapple and heirloom tomatoes.

  This wasn’t just a meal, it was a religious experience. I would never be the same after this, unequivocally altered by the sheer genius of each bite.

  I tried to ignore the warmth blooming inside my chest. Killian wasn’t trying to rub his food in my face; he had given me a gift. Only I didn’t understand why.

  When we were halfway through our meal, the table looked more like a massacre than an elegant evening out. A tingle of awareness prickled the back of my neck. I suppressed the urge to run. I wouldn’t be able to hide my admiration or trick him into believing I was anything but completely enamored. With his food.

  Only his food.

  He pushed through the kitchen door, striding through the dining room with domineering steps. His gaze went straight to our table. Straight to me. His mouth was all but hidden behind his full beard, but there was a satisfied smile sitting in his eyes. He didn’t have to see my reaction to know how I felt.

  He already knew it. Before he’d even stepped foot outside of his kitchen.

  And I just sat there staring at him, shivery and impressed and awestruck.

  He owned this restaurant. Maybe not literally, he had a boss after all. But he commanded it. He was the captain, and this was his ship.

  This was his empire, and he was the king.

  Patrons swiveled to watch him move through the narrow aisles. Everyone recognized him, if not because they already knew who he was than because of his presence—because you couldn’t mistake him for anyone besides the man in charge.

  He walked directly over to us and by the time he reached our table, my mouth was dry, and all the delicious food I’d inhaled had been turned to dust in my stomach.

  I was nervous. And slightly turned on. It was so out of place and ridiculous that I wanted to face plant in my risotto. Instead, I pasted on a charming smile and said, “You stole my tzatziki sauce.”

  His green eyes flashed with surprise. He gestured at the half empty plates on the table. “So what are you going to steal from me?”

  I had already decided on about a half dozen things, but to him I said, “I don’t need to steal anything from you. I’m good.” His gaze narrowed and I knew he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t call me on it. “Have you met Molly?” I asked him.

  “Not formally.” He turned to her. “Hi.”

  She took his hand, eying him warily. “Hi.”

  “Molly this is Killian. He’s the chef I keep telling you to call the cops on. The one that keeps stealing all of my dishes.”

  He turned back to me, fire in his gaze. “Inspired.”

  “What?”

  “My sauce is inspired by your cute little meatballs. It’s plenty different, and you know it.”

  His admission of truth was such a surprise that I momentarily lost the ability to speak. When I finally found my voice again, I said the first stupid thing that came to mind. “Where’s your charcuterie board?”

  Killian’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Excuse me?”

  “They’re all the rage,” I pointed out. “Doesn’t Lilou want to be on trend?”

  His lip curled back in disgust. “Lilou likes to go against the grain, not with the masses. Risks get you noticed, Delane. Or were you planning on cooking chili dogs for every meal?”

  Before I could argue with him, another man called his name from a short distance away. “Killian.”

  We all turned and watched the most gorgeous man I had ever seen approach the table. Black, wavy hair, perfectly tanned, flawless skin, tall, lean, muscular—he was perfect. Completely perfect. And the absolute opposite of Killian.

  Clean cut where Killian was basically a lumbersexual. Business sleek where Killian was tattooed and wild. Sophisticated and reserved where Killian was… upfront and unapologetic.

  I preferred Killian in every way.

  Still, I couldn’t stop staring at the newcomer. He was the kind of beautiful that demanded attention.

  “Ezra,” Killian greeted. “I thought you were spending the night at Bianca?”

  Not to be confused with spending the night with Bianca.

  Ezra Baptiste- that’s who this was. Lilou’s owner. Killian’s boss. Restaurateur, businessman, model.

  Okay, I made the model thing up.

  “I had to get out of there before I did something impetuous,” Ezra explained. “That little shit is begging to be fired.”

  Killian murmured his agreement, glancing at me, gauging my reaction. “Do you want a plate?” he asked Ezra, and if I didn’t know any better, I would have thought it was his attempt to get rid of his boss.

  “Yeah, later.” Ezra turned to the table, his smile transforming his entire face from handsome, to devastatingly so. I heard Molly’s audible intake of breath and felt the urge to pat my forehead with the clean side of my napkin. “What’s brought you out of the kitchen? I hope there’s not a problem?”

  Because only a problem would pull Killian from his kingdom?

  “No,” Killian denied immediately. “Well, not in the traditional sense.”

  What was that supposed to mean? Before I could ask, Killian introduced me to one of the most important people in the restaurant industry. “This is our new neighbor, Ezra. Vera Delane meet Ezra Baptiste."

  I stuck my trembling hand in Ezra’s and gripped firmly, attempting professionalism. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” he smiled. “Which property is yours?”

  Embarrassment swept over me from head to toe. “The truck,” I replied weakly. “Foodie.”

  Ezra’s expression lit with recognition. “Ah, now I see. You’re the chef my chef can’t stop talking about.”

  For the second time tonight I wondered if coming here was a big mistake. “Oh, no. I’m definitely not that chef. I just run a food truck.”

  Ezra’s smile widened. “I’ve heard.”

  I forced myself to hold his gaze when all I wanted to do was stare at my shoes. “This is my friend Molly,” I told him, finally diverting his gaze elsewhere. “She’s an artist.”

  Ezra’s eyes lit up when he took her in. “Really? An artist of what variety?”

  If I would have been standing next to her, she would have pinched me. “Graphic designer by trade,” she explained taking his hand when he offered it to her.

  He seemed disappointed in her answer. I was too. But I couldn’t force her to acknowledge her talent.

  Leaning toward her, Ezra asked her opinion on something design oriented. She answered, and he immediately pulled out his phone. Just like that, they were talking shop.

  Ezra walked around Killian so he could show Molly his screen and she started pointing at it, explaining nervously.

  Knowing Killian would have to get back to the kitchen soon, I stood up and turned to face him again. He still towered over me, even though I’d worn my slutty heels tonigh
t. The red stilettos gave me four inches of height but I still only reached the middle of his beard. “Thank you for dinner. You didn’t have to—”

  He shrugged, cutting me off. “I figured you should have the most information at your disposal.”

  “I didn’t come here to spy on you.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Then why did you come?”

  “I needed to see what the fuss was about.”

  “And?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those guys that needs his ego coddled?”

  He leaned in, brushing his shoulder against mine. “Every guy is that guy. Don’t single me out.”

  I tried not to smile. Really. I gave it my best effort. “Honestly?”

  He pulled back, holding my gaze and nodding. “Why do you think women always hold the power?”

  If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he looked nervous. His eyes moved over me tentatively, and his hands were tucked into his pockets.

  “Honestly, I think everything needs a little more salt.”

  Shock hit his entire body at once, rocking him back on his heels. He’d expected me to fawn over him, to fall to my knees and praise him for being a god in the kitchen.

  But I was done kissing ass to great chefs who didn’t need to be told they were great.

  Before Killian could respond, Molly’s sharp voice captured my attention. “I suppose it’s up to you,” she snapped at Ezra. “It’s your website. Your logo. You should do what you want to do.”

  “Even if it looks like shit?” Ezra snarled.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  The two of them glowered at each other, and it was so shocking that I couldn’t even figure out a way to rescue the conversation. Molly didn’t snap at people. Molly didn’t glower at them. Molly was sweet and shy and always professional.

  Always.

  Ezra stepped back, disentangling himself from conflict. “I’ll let you get back to your meal. Thank you for your advice.” To Killian, he said, “I’ll be at my usual table.”

  Killian nodded. “I’ll find you later. We can talk about Bianca.”

  Bianca was one of Ezra’s other restaurants, closer to the suburbs. And it sounded like they were having chef problems. I immediately wondered who they would hire.