The enamored girl in me couldn’t wait to spend more time with Killian. The curious professional couldn’t wait to see the kitchen in all its famed glory or the dining room with the house lights fully up. It was hard to say which side of me was more anxious for lunch.
Wyatt pushed through the side door, carrying boxes to the dumpster and I decided to let him lead me inside. I felt like an imposter walking into the restaurant by myself.
When he turned around, he shot me a friendly smile and a cocked eyebrow. “What are you doing here? I thought today was your day off.”
About thirty replies rolled around in my mouth, but I decided on the truth. So I just said it, with confidence as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Killian asked me to meet him for lunch.”
Wyatt’s bark of surprised laughter was the reason I had contemplated going with something other than the truth. “Did he now?”
“Don’t be weird,” I scolded. “He’s probably trying to steal more recipes.”
“Well, that explains why he pushed our meeting.”
“You can join us,” I suggested casually, trying to downplay the idea that this was a date. “I don’t mind.”
“Not that kind of meeting. There’s a critic from Gourmand stopping by tonight. He wants to make sure we don’t fuck everything up.” Before I could fully grasp how very cool that was, Wyatt swung the heavy steel door open and waved me inside. “But now we can just blame everything on you, so we’re good.”
I glared at him but only for a second because my attention was immediately diverted to the huge industrial kitchen that smelled like heaven and looked even cleaner. White subway tiles on all the walls made the gleaming stainless steel stand out in perfect lines and shiny surfaces.
A few employees in black coats and hats bustled around the kitchen, their hands busy with prep work and their gazes focused on their tasks. My heart kicked against my breastbone, jealous and happy and dreamy all at once.
The huge glass-doored refrigerators were stocked with fresh vegetables and cheeses, meats and more. A huge pot of broth simmered on one of the cooktops and the dishwasher was already buzzing from the morning’s work.
My tiny truck kitchen could fit inside the walk-in cooler.
It hit me harder than it ever had what I’d given up when I came home. At least when I’d been in Europe living hand to mouth, I’d gotten to work in a kitchen. Even if I’d only been a peon in the hierarchy of restaurant staff, I’d still gotten to be a part of the organized chaos.
Nothing could compare to that. Not even the privilege of owning my own business. There was nothing like running around during dinner service, chefs shouting orders and tickets flying through the window. There was nothing like the different smells that tangled together or tired hands after prepping for hours. There was nothing like sending plate after plate of perfect food to a room full of diners that couldn’t comprehend the amount of time, care and effort that went into each dish so they could have an experience instead of a meal.
Just when I thought I would burst from missing the rush so badly, my gaze fell on Killian. He hadn’t noticed me yet. His focus was wholly on the dish at his fingertips, plating it just right so that the visual precision could change your life if you let it.
I stood next to the door, enjoying him in all his glory. He commanded the attention of everyone in the room just by his presence, by the sheer strength of his dominating will. His fingers moved steadily over the dish, never shaking, never questioning what he was doing. He orchestrated the plate. Not the other way around.
My mouth went dry watching him. My blood hummed beneath my skin. And every dormant part of me woke up and started paying attention. I decided I had never seen anything so sexy before, so fully my fantasy in every way.
His forehead wrinkled in concentration. His body bent over the plate as he moved it gracefully in circles deciding the perfect angle and position to add the sauce. He dipped a spoon into a tomato-based cream and slashed lines of it over lush stalks of asparagus sitting on top of creamy golden polenta. Plump mushrooms adorned a perfectly seared piece of filet mignon on the other side of the plate.
Seeing Killian in his element stole my breath and replaced my rational thought with unapologetic lust.
I must have made a sound because he finally lifted that intent gaze to find me hovering like a creeper against the door. His eyes softened and his mouth quirked up on one side. I tried not to melt.
“Hey,” he said casually, like it wasn’t an invasion of his professional privacy for me to be watching every single thing he did. Probably because he couldn’t hear the very, very inappropriate thoughts running through my head.
“Hey.”
“Hungry?”
I suddenly felt very shy. I hadn’t done this with a guy in years. Flirt, I mean. I hadn’t even been interested in someone since Derrek first started to pursue me.
And Killian wasn’t just any guy. He was everything cool, strong and masculine. So very different than me—weird, weak and feminine.
We couldn’t have been bigger opposites.
He couldn’t have been more of what I was convinced I didn’t want.
And yet here I was, quivering and interested and tired of telling my heart what it should want instead of letting it chase after what it knew it wanted.
“Yes,” I answered succinctly.
Killian held my gaze, one hand shaping the side of his beard. “I have something for us out in the dining room. Is that okay?”
I pointed at the dish he’d been so focused on. “What’s that?”
He frowned down at the plate. “Practice.”
“For the guy from Gourmand?”
Killian’s frown deepened. “Heath Noble.”
“Yikes,” I hissed, feeling his anxiety ratchet through the room. “That’s not just any critic.”
“No kidding,” he sighed. “Plus, he already hates me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s showing up just to write a bad review.”
I moved closer so I could inspect his dish. Obviously, I hadn’t tasted it yet, but it looked perfect. It looked beyond perfect. It was everything good food should be. The steak was fat and juicy, sear lines making a plaid outline on the surface. The mushrooms had been sliced exactly evenly and the brown sauce coating them smelled robust and savory. The polenta was the right side dish, creamy, golden with tipped peaks and the right amount of substance without looking gluey. Despite everything on the plate, the asparagus refused to be ignored—a verdant green, pliable without being floppy, and crisp ends that would crunch in contrast to the soft polenta. It was flawless.
Immaculate.
My mouth watered just looking at it.
“It looks and smells amazing, Killian. You have nothing to worry about.”
“It’s not modern,” he countered. “It’s not interesting or pushy or anything but ordinary. I’m bored just looking at it.”
“So make something else,” I encouraged. I hadn’t seen anything but the technical precision he’d used on the dish. But now that he suggested some problems, I could see what he meant. This wasn’t a dish that was pushing the boundaries of the food industry. But not every dish had to be.
He glared at me. “This is what Ezra wants. This is what Ezra gets.”
I leaned in until our shoulders touched, linking my pinky with his. “It’s perfect. You know that it’s perfect. Stop stressing out.”
He let out a deep sigh and wrapped his arms around me, tugging me into a hug. I sucked in a breath, surprised by the intimacy in the middle of his kitchen. For a warm, delicious minute, he just held me against him, seeming to take as much pleasure in our innocent connection as I did. Finally, he dropped a kiss on the top of my head and stepped back. “Let’s go eat. I’ll worry about this later.”
“I didn’t take you for the nervous sort,” I teased him as we weaved through the kitchen and out to the dining room.
He shot me a glance over his shoulder and then stopped at a corner table set fo
r two. “It’s not me I’m worried about. I know I serve the best. But I can’t control him. You can’t make someone enjoy good food. You can’t convince them to appreciate the skill and taste and quality you put into every element. I learned very early on that food service is an art just as much as painting or storytelling. People either like it, or they don’t. You can’t argue with personal taste.”
I sat down in the chair he pulled out for me. “Every other review of you or Lilou has been glowing. I know because I’ve read them all. You seriously have nothing to worry about.”
He sat down across from me and pulled silver domes off the two platters waiting for us. One plate was the chocolate mousse I loved here. And the other was a conglomeration of meats and cheese, mustard, jelly, bread and nuts.
Killian grinned at me. “A charcuterie board.”
“You’re so full of it.”
He nodded, waggling his eyebrows. “And you’re impressed. It’s okay if you want to tell me how much.”
I just shook my head. Unbelievable.
“How was inventory? Do you know what you’re going to serve this week?” He rearranged the plates so the charcuterie was between us and tore off a hunk of bread and meat, dipping it in the mustard before taking a bite.
I followed suit, kind of loving that he hadn’t bothered to plate individually. “I was really inspired by those strawberries at Jo’s stand. I was thinking about doing a deconstructed chicken salad sandwich with a strawberry-rhubarb compote over greens and like a Caprese salad on a skewer. I don’t know. I’m just playing with the idea right now. I don’t want the chicken salad to be too sweet.”
His expression turned thoughtful. “Would you serve bread with it?”
“Maybe toast for texture? Or lavosh? Then layer it with butter lettuce, blackened chicken, the compote and a spicy-ish aioli to give it some heat.”
“And the salad?”
“Fresh mozzarella balls and cherry tomatoes marinated in balsamic vinegar and roasted briefly with a basil pesto to dip it in.”
He leaned forward, bringing us closer together. “Is that your style then? Fancy comfort food?”
I nearly choked on a curried pistachio. “What?”
“Your signature. You’re doing upscale comfort food out of a food truck. It’s clever, Vera. You should run with it.”
I popped another pistachio in my mouth and let his words settle inside me. That was exactly my style. It wasn’t a secret, but I hadn’t had to explain it to him. He’d simply gotten to know my food and figured it out himself. There was satisfying validation in that.
My pride soared, and I settled into the style all over again. I loved to take ordinary meals that we were all used to and make them interesting, different. I wanted to take the thing that your mom made you on your sick days or the meals that reminded you most of home and spin them until they felt completely different. And then I wanted to make you love them just as much.
I smiled instead, appreciating Killian all over again. “Yes. That is my style.”
“Are you ever going to expand beyond the truck?”
Was this his version of twenty questions? Geez. “Right now I’m about fifty thousand dollars in debt. First I’m going to pay off my student and business loans.”
His eyebrows lifted at my candidness. Swiping a piece of cheese through the red pepper jelly, he said, “Yeah, but if the food truck continues to grow you’ll need to capitalize on your success. I know you want a kitchen, Vera. And I know Foodie is taking off. A restaurant of your own seems like the next, most natural step.”
“Derrek will never let me have a kitchen. I gave up on that dream the second I left him.” I had doubts that I would be in the food truck business for another week now that Derrek knew where to find me.
His expression transformed from casual to furious in less than a second. He went from relaxed and fluid to angry, rigid lines, his fists clenched at his side, his jaw so hard it pushed his cheek muscles out. “Who cares what Derrek thinks? You’re not still considering going back to him, Vera. That would be a huge fucking mistake.”
“Geez.” I felt my stomach drop to my toes. “Obviously not. I would never go back to him. I’m talking sabotage. He’s been pretty clear on what would happen to me should I choose to work somewhere else besides his kitchen.”
And just like that Killian slumped back in his chair, relaxed once again. Well mostly relaxed. The topic of Derrek still put him on edge, but at least he wasn’t three seconds from turning into the Hulk. “Derrek doesn’t get to decide where you work. Or what you do. Only you decide that, Vera. He doesn’t get to control you anymore. And if he tries we’ll take legal action.”
I ignored his use of “we’ll.” I appreciated everything Killian had done for me, but I in no way expected him to help me fight Derrek all the way to court. I could never ask that of anyone, least of all Killian. But instead of explaining that, I changed the direction of the conversation. “I doubt he would do anything illegal. All he has to do is talk to the people he knows, get them to shun me and I’ll be completely alienated. Un-hirable.” Killian shook his head, refusing to agree. So, I repeated myself in simpler terms. “All he has to do is tell his friends in the industry whatever bad rumor he wants, and I won’t be able to find a job at any good restaurant in the entire state.”
“That’s not true,” Killian countered. “His circle of friends is smaller than you think. Most people can’t stand the useless prick.”
That made me smile. “Still, I’m a nobody. I haven’t even worked anywhere notable, and I graduated over four years ago.”
“Who cares,” Killian insisted. “You’re a hell of a chef. You can have my letter of recommendation any time you want it.”
I was speechless. Completely. Utterly. Speechless. It wasn’t like he’d offered another suggestion to my dishes, which I’d learned was both helpful and obnoxious. This was much bigger.
Killian freaking Quinn had just offered to give me a letter of recommendation. He’d called me a hell of a chef.
Obviously, I’d died last night. This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t my life.
I messed up. I always chose the wrong thing, the wrong path, the wrong boyfriend. I was the perpetual screw-up who had just learned to be okay with that.
What was happening?
“I wish you’d say something,” he coaxed. “I can’t tell if you’re pissed or happy.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “You’re so generous. I’m just, I’m trying to process all your support. If we’re honest, I’m still trying to process our friendship. So, this is like, I don’t know, incomprehensible.”
He snorted as he switched the charcuterie for the mousse and passed me a spoon. “We’re not friends, Vera. If you haven’t figured it out by now, I like you. And not in a way that’s appropriate for friends to like each other. Whether we explore our non-friendship or not, you have my support in your career no matter what. Your talent isn’t dependent upon me. You just kick ass in the kitchen. End of story.”
“Oh.”
“But if you want my honest advice, you’d be smothered in a kitchen that wasn’t your own. You might think you’d enjoy working under someone, but we’re all assholes. And you’d be stifled, pushed into a box that you don’t belong in. Sure, you could work your way up, but you have your truck, so I don’t know why you would.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
He leaned forward, taking my hand in his and playing with the tips of my fingers. “Say yes when I ask you to go out on another date with me.”
“Another?”
He waved his hand at the table. “I cooked for you. Don’t I get credit for that?”
I pressed my lips together to keep from grinning like an idiot. “Yes.”
“Yes, I get credit? Or yes to the date.”
“Yes, to both.”
And then he smiled at me again, soft, sweet, simmering with heat and affection and I thought my heart was going to blow up and kill me. He’d li
terally turned me into a Billy Ray Cyrus song—but like the happy version of Achy Breaky Heart.
I’d never felt like this with Derrek. Or any of the other guys I’d dated before him. I’d never been simultaneously this happy and this hopeful and this nervous. It was like my past was black and white, and Killian Quinn had finally given me color. He’d brought me back from a dead, lonely place and given me a reason to hope and smile and laugh again.
We finished the mousse, and he walked me outside, but only so he could press me against the cool side of the building and kiss me senseless. His lips moved against mine greedy with a different kind of hunger than I was used to feeding. He gripped my hips and held me against him, letting me feel all his hard, toned lines. My hands dove into his hair, kissing him just as relentlessly as he kissed me.
When he pulled away, my lips were swollen from his kisses, and my chin itched from the beard burn he’d left me with. We said goodbye, and I walked across the street to my truck, pressing my fingers against my mouth and trying to hold in the taste of him.
Was this really me swearing off men?
Maybe Killian Quinn was worth breaking a few of my own rules.
Twenty-One
…So for all these reasons, you need to stay away from me. I’m serious, Derrek. I will get a restraining order if I have to.
-Vera.
I read it over three more times before I hit send. I had tried to muster up the courage to call him several times over the last couple days, but I’d never been able to push the button. I had all these things to say to him, to yell at him. I wanted to eviscerate him with words and scar him with truth. For more than a year, I’d been mentally preparing the speech I’d give should I ever see him face-to-face again. And then when he’d inevitably shown up, I froze, paralyzed by fear and habit.
I had hoped disemboweling him over the phone would be easier. I’d sharpened my claws and practiced phrases like, “You made me fear, truly fear for the first time in my life. You were supposed to be the place I felt the safest, but you were my nightmare instead.” In the end, it was all for nothing. I couldn’t do it. Killian suggested I text him instead.
Opposites Attract: The complete box set Page 24