“About what?”
“Sour. Bitter. Extremely persnickety.”
Leaning away from him, I grabbed my drink and brought it back to his lips. “Try it again.” He gave me an adorably stubborn look, pressing his lips together in refusal. “Sip it this time.” When he still didn’t move, I pulled out the big guns. Don’t be a chicken was sitting on the tip of my tongue, but at the last second, I heard myself say, “Please?”
It worked. However, he took the glass from me so he could do it himself. After he had taken the most careful sip of all time, he handed the glass back to me. I took a sip myself, making sure this wasn’t a terrible brand in general. The taste hit my tongue with the force of ten lemons, opening up my palate and making me pucker my lips in the best way.
“Hmm?” I asked, bugging him for an answer.
“It’s definitely better in small doses,” he admitted.
“Like our friendship,” I teased.
He looked up at me and his eyes were crystal clear. Gray sea glass. The ocean at dawn. “Is that what we are? Friends?”
Nuzzling closer, I slid back to my butt, finding that I was now nearly tucked into his side. “I figure three life-saving events bridged the gap between strangers and friends.”
He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his body. I had the strangest urge to mess up his hair. It seemed too tightly maintained, too perfectly quaffed. He wasn’t this clean cut, preppy guy he pretended to be. He was dominant, in charge, fierce. He wasn’t docile and restrained. He wasn’t only sharp angles and pressed pants. He was in your face with his opinion and bossy and… hiding a serious sense of humor.
“No wonder I have so little friends. I haven’t saved nearly enough lives.”
I found myself laughing again. Had I ever laughed this much with a guy before? “I think you could just hang out at coffee shops and interrupt bad dates if you’re in the market for more friends.”
He nodded seriously. “Especially if that last douche of yours is involved. Did you hear from him again?”
“He texted to tell me how rude I was to leave him there. I tried to explain that I had a kitchen emergency, but he saw through me. Our mutual friend, Benny, texted later to scold me on my bad manners.”
Vann snorted. “Did you tell Benny his friend was a total asshole?”
“I did, actually. In those exact words.”
He smiled at me and I nearly lost my breath. It surprised me, full and wide and nothing I had ever seen before. This man that usually scowled and glowered and pondered and considered, but rarely ever smiled at anything. At least not in the short time I’d known him.
I found myself staring at his lips, taking in the happy expression as I tried to wrestle my pounding heart into neutral attraction.
He was a good-looking guy. Naturally, I would be enticed by his smile. He had these perfectly masculine features and tanned skin, topped off with pearly whites that only appeared when his full lips lifted in this sigh-inducing expression.
It was the logistics of being female that had me feeling like all the alcohol tonight had very suddenly caught up to me. My anatomy couldn’t help but be totally smitten with his anatomy.
Plus, there were all those times he’d saved me stacking up in favor that this guy was hot.
But he was also Vera’s brother. He was also a mostly, total stranger. He was also not right for me.
Okay, Dillon, my inner future-cat-lady asked impatiently, if he’s not right for you, who is?
Someone who worked similar hours to me, I told the desperation. Someone who didn’t think I was a total moron. Someone who…
Oh, who was I kidding? Fear curled around my lungs, tightening, choking, suffocating. Memories from six years ago threatened the happiness of the night. I didn’t want a relationship.
I didn’t even want male attention. Not really. Kind of, but not really.
The freshness of those early wounds had faded. The sharpness of the hurt and pain and fear had dulled. The fogginess of that night had never lifted. But still. Still…. Still…
Still. That damn smile.
It made me want to try again. It made me not want to give up on the male species as a whole.
It faltered when I had stared at his face for so long I’d made it awkward between us. He leaned forward, apparently a prisoner to the same pull that I was.
“Good,” he murmured, but I’d forgotten what we were talking about. “You should be careful meeting up with assholes like that. I can’t be at every bad date to rescue you.”
I had to slightly shake my head to get back in the conversation game. “It’s not a bad idea though,” I told him, hardly recognizing the sultry tone to my voice. “Usually, I have to fake texts from my mom.”
His smile returned. “What do you say?”
“That she was rushed to the emergency room,” I admitted. “I’m a terrible person.”
That sexy as hell smile reappeared. “At least you don’t have to stick it out because you’re the one paying for the meal.”
“Damn, that sounds almost like reverse-sexism.”
His gaze dropped to my lips again. “This is serious, Dillon. You can fake a bad text at any point during the date. It’s my chivalrous duty to stick it out till the end of the night and pick up the tab. No matter how bad the night is going, I can’t exactly run off in the middle of dinner and leave her with the check.”
He had a point. “I’ve never thought about it like that before. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to abandon coffee just because my date insults me and basically tells me I’m a horrible person.”
This time his smile was accompanied by a deep laugh. My body came alive at the sound, tingles rushing through me, heat flooding my core. I wanted more and more and more of that sound and that amused look on his face.
And the best part? He agreed with me. “On second thought, he deserved to get stuck with the check.”
I slapped my hand to my forehead and groaned. “Actually, I paid for my coffee that morning. He was running late and I was impatient for caffeine.”
“That guy was the worst.”
“You’re saying you wouldn’t have made me pay for my coffee?”
“Or made you wait,” he added.
Just when I’d decided to kiss him—because honestly, could he be any more adorable?—our friends decided to ruin my entire life by returning to the table. Their laughter and the scraping of chairs had us jumping apart like we’d been caught in something too tawdry for public.
Glancing at Vera nervously, I was thankful to see she was draped over Killian, engaged in a private conversation. Ezra hadn’t seemed to notice either. Or if he had, he didn’t realize what he’d noticed. My poor, oblivious big brother.
I had just started to breathe easier when I caught Kaya’s shrewd eye. She raised her eyebrows when our gazes clashed, tipping her head toward Vann.
I waved her away and grabbed for my limoncello glass.
She wasn’t deterred. “What did we miss?” she asked loudly.
“Oh nothing,” I laughed loudly—too loudly. “Vann and I were just swapping bad date stories.”
Vera laughed and leaned forward, “He has plenty!”
“So does Dillon,” Ezra added.
Kaya’s eyes narrowed with a wicked challenge. “Why don’t you share your most recent one.”
She meant the one Vann and I were just talking about. She was being a brat. And nosey. And pushy! I kicked her under the table and said, “How about a toast instead?” I raised my glass to Killian and Vera. “To the happy couple. May every day be a reminder of why you fell in love.”
“Aww!” Vera swooned, leaning her head on Killian’s shoulder. He handed over his glass so she could have a sip of his limoncello, kissing her on the head in the sweetest way and basically making all my insides go gooey for them and love and things I was just realizing I might want after all.
I struggled to swallow my own drink, finding it difficult with the giant lump that had taken up resi
dence there. God, why was it so hard to watch happy, lovesick people? They messed with my head in the worst way. I didn’t even want a relationship. Or a permanent significant other. Or anything but to figure out how to run Bianca and not totally drown in all the responsibilities in my life I was wholly unqualified for.
Warm fingers touched my hand that was wrapped around the liqueur glass. Vann gently, slowly nudged my grip away from the liqueur. “May I?” he asked softly so the rest of the table didn’t hear him. “That seemed like a toast I should participate in.”
I let the glass go, turning my head so I could watch him take a drink. Just as the glass touched his lips, I leaned forward and murmured in his ear, “I know you love it, but remember… small sips.”
It was more than half gone when he returned it to me. He leaned closer, his lips brushing my temple, his breath moving my hair around. “I have a feeling you’re going to sell me on persnickety before this is over.”
I shivered at the sound of his deep voice, at the feel of his lips against my skin, at this surprising feeling that something was happening between us. But what was that something?
Other than a terrible idea…
Eleven
I hurried into Bianca’s kitchen, knowing it was going to set me back by a half hour, but unable to help myself. I couldn’t just let her go unchecked for an entire weekend. That was crazy.
And I wasn’t crazy.
Most days, I wasn’t crazy.
Even though I felt like it this morning. After a night of no-debauchery, but plenty of drinking, I woke up two hours late! I didn’t even remember hearing my alarm go off. Or hitting the snooze button. Or turning it off completely.
On any other day I’d woken up late, I could have skipped the shower, grabbed the dry shampoo and called it good. But, today was rehearsal dinner day. That’s right. Nearly the entire day was designated to Vera and Killian and their wedding festivities.
We had a bridal luncheon planned in approximately fifteen minutes, then we were joining the men again at Salt, Vera and Killian’s restaurant, where we were going to be making appetizers, desserts and some of the special items for tomorrow. Vera had wanted her big day to coincide with Salt’s big day—which meant wedding prep would be their kitchen’s inaugural firing up of all engines.
Luckily for the happy couple, they had so many handy friends who could help them semi-cater their own wedding.
Benny and a team of misfits they’d gathered from around the city were doing the heavy cooking for tomorrow’s reception, but the future Mr. and Mrs. Quinn couldn’t help but put their own culinary spin on their union.
It was adorable and a sweet gift for their guests. And I was looking forward to an afternoon of fun, cooking with the people I loved.
Then this evening, we would practice the walk through of the ceremony—held at the same restaurant. Concluding the night with more cooking as we prepared the supper for the rest of the wedding party, family, and the officiating pastor.
Just like last night, I had been looking forward to this day for a long time. I adored all the special touches the bride and groom had woven throughout their weekend. And I couldn’t wait for the festivities today to start.
But first, I needed to sort my shit out. Part of me wished Ezra had waited with the whole forcing me into my dream job thing until after this weekend. That way I could have focused completely on Vera and the celebration without the stress and dread of knowing things could be totally blowing up at Bianca in my absence.
Although, after firing Ashlynn and struggling through the last couple weeks, barely surviving dinner service every night, I got it.
Ezra couldn’t have waited.
Which only made me more nervous for how Blaze and the gang were holding up.
I was extremely happy to see the kitchen bustling with life and that prep work was in full swing when I stepped inside. At least they’d kept to my earlier schedule and were learning to be more meticulous about cleaning, maintaining, and prepping. Part of me had feared opening the door and finding the entire place empty.
Blaze jerked his chin in acknowledgment, his hands busy julienning onions. “Chef, I thought you had the weekend off.”
“Just wanted to check on y’all.” I walked over to where he was working, the prominent position in the kitchen. Did Blaze want this job too? Was he waiting for me to fail hard enough so he could swoop in and take it?
I didn’t really know anything about him—only that he’d handled the transition better then his superior sous chef. But that didn’t mean he had kinder feelings for me. It just meant he was better at playing this game… biding his time.
Picking up an onion, I started to peel away the papery outer layers, even though I knew he would prefer to use his knife and chop off the ends. He continued to slice, intently focusing on the root vegetable at his fingertips.
“We’ve done this a time or two without an EC. Feel free to enjoy the weekend without worrying about us.” His tone was carefully masked with neutrality, but I sensed the frustration of feeling like I was micromanaging him.
I wondered about his motives for a second time since stepping inside the kitchen. Not that anyone enjoyed being micromanaged. That was a universally frustrating feeling.
“I realize,” I told him. “It’s more about me than you.” He glanced up at me, an unspoken question flashing in his dark green gaze. Shrugging, I let him know more than I intended to tell him. “My first EC job… I’m not sure what all it entails yet, you know? I just needed to know that the building hadn’t been hit by a wayward meteor in the middle of the night.”
“You could have called,” he added. “Or texted.”
I shrugged again. “Seeing is believing.” He fell quiet for a minute as another chef walked over to ask my opinion on how I wanted the beef bourguignon prepared tonight. I tried not to wrinkle my nose at the reminder of how outdated the menu was.
I made a groaning sound and stretched my arms behind my back. “God, this place needs an update.”
Blaze snorted next to me. I couldn’t tell if he agreed with me or not. “Good luck with that. We’ve tried. Ezra—Er, Mr. Baptiste—is resistant to change.”
I smiled at him, showing my teeth. “That’s why we won’t ask.” The idea grew wings inside my chest, jumping out of the nest of thought into a full-on game plan that could be the change that saved this ship. “On Monday, when I get back, be ready to brainstorm ideas.”
He stopped chopping to give me a look. “You think he’s going to let you mix up his menu? He credits the damn thing as the reason Bianca hasn’t gone bankrupt yet.”
“We’re not going to ask his opinion,” I told him conspiratorially. “When it comes to my brother, it’s better to employ the whole ‘it’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission’ game plan.” I realized I’d just tipped my hand. If Blaze wanted me out, he could absolutely use this against me.
Not that it would do him a whole lot of good.
But if Ezra came back to me today or tomorrow forbidding me to change his menu, I would know where Blaze and I stood.
Blaze chuckled at my approach to getting what I want and said, “You’re the boss.”
That was true. I was the boss.
I stood there for several more minutes, watching the staff scurry back and forth, preparing for tonight’s service. Aside from Ashlynn, they seemed to be a great group. They all knew what they were doing, and they didn’t need a lot of instruction—or maybe that was my lack of experience, not knowing how to instruct them.
Letting out a slow breath, I decided not to worry about all the things I didn’t know for today. I had plenty of time to worry about it on Monday when we revamped the menu and I had to help them transition.
After a few minutes, the tense silence from my sous chef got to me. “What kind of name is Blaze? It sounds like you should have been a stunt double or spy or something.”
He smiled at the thin strips of onion on the cutting board in front of him. “My pa
rents thought they were clever. My younger sister’s name is Ember.”
“I kind of like it actually,” I told him. “Blaze and Ember. It’s clever.”
“Thank you.”
He grabbed another onion and had the skin off for quick chopping in seconds. Cutting onions wasn’t a job he needed to concern himself with. He was the boss while I was gone. He could have easily delegated this to anyone else.
“On second thought, it’s a perfect name for a chef.” I rolled it around in my mouth again before admitting, “Blaze Ferrand. You’ll be Michelin starred before you know it.”
He smiled without looking at me. “Maybe one day.”
Now that the onions were out of the way, I took advantage, turning around and hopping up on the counter to sit so I could look at him.
“Loyalty.” The word was out of my mouth before I knew what I was going to say. My voice had just enough edge to catch his attention. He set his knife to the side and looked up at me.
“What about it?”
“I want it,” I explained. “Yours.” He leaned forward on his hands, dropping his head and hunching his shoulders. I continued before he could deny me the one thing, the only thing, I wanted from him. “I know I haven’t earned it. I realize you’re looking at me like I got lucky, like I got the job because my brother is the owner, like I don’t deserve to be where I am. And honestly, you might be right. But I would like the opportunity to prove myself before you totally write me off. I won’t even get a chance to get this right if you’re just waiting for me to quit. Or fail. Or worse. So, either I need your loyalty, or I need you to leave.”
I knew both of us were surprised at the way I’d delivered my speech. I hadn’t been tough or stern since I fired Ashlynn. If anything, I’d been overly nice and polite to make up for my egomaniac moment.
“I don’t trust you.” His honest admission was even more shocking than my ultimatum. “You haven’t earned it yet.”
Was that true? What was a reasonable expectation of this staff? Weighing his words, I realized he was right. I couldn’t expect, after only a little while of working together and in a position that for all intents and purposes looked and felt and smelled like nepotism, for him to blindly trust me.
Opposites Attract: The complete box set Page 104