Holding an overflowing amount of bowls and plates in my arms, I step into the kitchen and see Todd talking to my grandma as he washes the dishes. She’s holding up the peppers she put in the sauce, and then they talk about the variety of garlic. The conversation is cute, and it warms my heart, seeing how much my grandma likes him.
I grab the sponge out of his hands. “Go. I have this.”
I nudge him out of the way, and he eventually allows me to take over.
I’m halfway done with the dishes while Todd and my grandma have been taking turns drying, still conversing about different recipes. With her passion for cooking, my grandma should have been a chef.
Bruno barges in. “So, Grandma, have you shared your secret gravy recipe with Todd?” He turns to Todd. "Gravy is spaghetti sauce."
Todd cocks his eyebrow. "Yeah, I know." He looks annoyed that Bruno wouldn't think he knew that true Italians call spaghetti sauce gravy.
My whole body goes rigid. I know what he’s up to, and I hope my grandma sees through him.
“No, if he’s the chef I think he is, he should be able to figure it out.” She hands Bruno the pot to put away.
Bruno takes it from her hands and meanders over to the cabinet. “Yeah, but no one can make that killer gravy like you, Gram.” He swings his arm around her shoulders and pulls her closer.
She smacks his stomach. “I’m not senile. I know what you want, and it’s not happening.” She turns to Todd. “I like you a lot, boy, but no one outside of this family gets the recipe. Now, I have to add Bruno to the not-privileged side, as well.” She glares at Bruno from the corner of her eye.
“Oh, come on. Can’t you just see it?” His arms stretch out in front of her, as though he’s unfolding a piece of her future. “Your picture on jars of gravy filled in carts. No one able to get enough.”
Todd laughs, and I twist around to get a better view than the reflection from the window.
“Jeez, Bruno, she told you no last year,” I say.
Bruno tried to get Grandma to jar her gravy last year. He even brought over some slimy business guy.
His head quickly jerks my way. “Stay out of it, Lia.”
I turn around to the sink again.
“Bruno, is this why you asked me to come here?” Todd questions.
Yeah, Todd, beat his ass. Maybe it will knock some sense into him.
I’m waiting to see if Bruno spews his usual bullshit.
“I thought maybe you’d know someone. That boss of yours, Davis Morgan, might be interested. He’s always doing those reality shows with amateur cooks,” Bruno rambles.
Guilt resides in me for Todd having to deal with him.
Todd clasps Bruno’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, man.” He turns to my grandma. “Your sauce is great, Mrs. Mancini, the best I’ve ever tasted. But I have no intention of getting myself into the manufacturing of a spaghetti sauce line. As far as asking my boss, I’ll gladly suggest something if you’re interested, Mrs. Mancini, but you’d have better luck with Lia. She works there, too.”
Bruno abandons them and rushes over to my side. “You work there?”
“Yes. And no, I won’t bring it up to him.” I scrub the pot, trying not to let the rage from Bruno bringing this up again boil over.
“Come on. Please. You know how much we could make off this?” He leans in closer. “It would get Mom off your back.”
“I’ll only ask him if Grandma wants me to.” I point my eyes his way. “That’s final, Bruno.”
He backs up, his hands in the air. “You guys have no idea how successful this could be.”
When he disappears through the doorway, my grandma comes over and puts her hand on the small of my back. “Thank you, Amelia. That boy just can’t accept the answer no. You’d think he’d be married by now because some poor girl lost the battle of denying him.”
All three of us laugh.
I wipe my hands on the towel, staring down at an empty sink. “Done.” I fold the towel over and place it next to the sink. “Dinner was great, Grandma. Thank you.” I hug her.
For eighty, she’s in excellent shape, but the fear that something will happen to her one day is always in the back of my mind.
“You’re welcome. Are you staying?” she asks.
I peer over to Todd.
“Oh, me? I’m not sure, especially now that I know why I was asked to dinner,” he answers.
My grandma nestles her arm through his. “Nonsense. You are always welcome.” She winks to me. “It’s Bruno who isn’t invited.”
The three of us walk into the family room. The guys are screaming at baseball players over the blaring televisionTodd eagerly tries to grab a better view while I sit down on the floor to play Candy Land with my nieces.
As I wait for the girls to set up the game, I stare over at my relaxed family. My dad is in his recliner with a beer in his hand, and my brothers are lined up shoulder to shoulder in similar positions on the sofa. The best sight of all is Todd on the end. He’s chatting with Marco about something, and Enzio leans in to join.
Again, that thought about Todd being more than a friend lingers to the front of my mind. He might not be Italian or have enough money to take care of me, but he fits with us.
Todd’s eyes catch mine, and a slow smile creeps up his lips. For the briefest moment, our visions lock on one another, and all the chaos around us fades.
“Aunt Lia!” Gianna, my niece, smacks my forehead.
As soon as I blink, the moment between Todd and me vanishes, and I shake my head to come back to the now.
“Oh, let’s start.” I take her head in my hands and press my lips to her forehead. “Sorry.”
After my turn, I glance one more time to Todd and find his eyes glued on the game on the television. The moment is over.
CHAPTER SIX
Todd
I rub my palms together and peruse the refrigerator at CHOPs. Finally, a friend hooked me up with a possible investor. The guy wants to remain anonymous when he comes in, but he’s been looking for an up-and-coming chef to start a new restaurant. The excitement builds inside me, knowing Davis is out tonight and I can change up the special.
The note Davis left with Shawn in regard to what the special is supposed to be tonight burns a hole in my pocket. I’ve stayed clear of disobeying Davis’s wishes. Never have I gone against him or challenged him when it came to his decisions, but our work relationship has been evolving the longer I’ve been here. If I’m going to make a name for myself someday, I have to take a chance, and tonight is that time.
I bypass the scallops listed on Davis’s list and pull out the shrimp. My body fights every movement of disobeying. I’m not the guy who purposely does things that will warrant getting fired. Davis gave me an opportunity two years ago, and I haven’t forgotten it. But I’m against a brick wall now, and I need to free myself.
“What’s up, Todd?” Shawn bursts into the room with a beet-red face.
“I’m changing up the special. The scallops are bad.” I don’t look up because, frankly, I’m a terrible liar.
“Okay. Do you want me to bring the wait staff back in here?” His fingers tap on the steel counter.
I would never want his job. He’s always rushing here and there.
“I typed up new sheets. They’re over there.” My knife points to the stack by the door.
“Okay.” Shawn steps forward then rocks back my way. “Do you have a name?”
Fuck. He knows me too well, or I’m an even worse liar than I thought. I drop the knife and stare up at him. He’s about two seconds from losing it.
“I don’t have a name. Can we try to make sure everyone is on their game tonight?” I hate to ask other people to lie for me, but I’m relying on them.
“Yeah.” His palm pats the counter, and it pings from his ring hitting it. He rushes back out after grabbing the special menus in his hand.
I’m thankful for awesome bosses, Shawn especially.
My heart rate escalates as th
e minutes tick by. Five o’clock comes, and I hear the shuffle of guests arriving for their reservations. Did this guy have to pick a Saturday night?
We’re halfway between appetizer orders when the door opens. From the click of his shoes, I know who it is. My heart plummets to my stomach.
“Care to tell me what the fuck this is?” Davis places the menu on top of the scallion I’m cutting up.
“New special. The scallops were bad. Who did you get them from?”
If my hands weren’t in plain sight, I’d cross my fingers.
“Let me see them.” Davis rests all his weight against the counter, practically towering over me.
The joke is on him. I’m still two inches taller.
“I threw them out. They’re in the dumpster.”
Instead of standing there to continue this interrogation, I shuffle back to the stove.
Davis releases a huff, and I sense him behind me, his eyes boring into my back. But I can’t show any signs of weakness, so I continue to go about my business.
He figures out I’m not coming back over to the counter, so he breaks the distance, leaning over my shoulder. “Sous chefs aren’t hard to replace,” he whispers. Then, his heels click on the floor until he’s out the door.
My shoulders lower, and the breath that was stuck in my throat releases. He bought it.
“Hey, Todd,” Noodle says.
What a nice voice to hear instead of Davis’s.
I glance over my shoulder. “What’s up?”
“I have a guest at the bar who is asking for something not on the menu.”
She comes over to me and inches up on her toes to whisper in my ear. “It’s a guy, and he is very straight-faced.” She hands me a piece of paper where she’s written ‘New York strip, medium rare’. You choose the sauce and side.”
Shit, this guy is serious. I changed the whole special for nothing.
“Good luck.” Noodle pinches my arm and moves toward the door.
I make my way to the refrigerator to grab the best strip we have.
Noodle stops. “Todd?”
I come out of my fog to find her smiling face in the doorway.
“You’ve got this.”
The door swings closed, and I wish she could stand next to me the entire time I cook this meal. It’s one that could change my life, and I need her belief in me nearby.
I’ve got everything out and ready. The skillet is heating, and my sauce is simmering. It’s game time, and I’m the pitcher. There’s one last batter to strike out, and then the title will be mine.
Half an hour later, the perfectly prepared steak is alongside broccoli au gratin and shrimp pasta. I wish Noodle could take a picture of this, but my phone will have to do. I’ll want to remember the meal that got me the break. I’m fucking brilliant, I think after I snap a picture with my phone.
“Todd.” Noodle comes alongside me.
I move to hand her the plate, but she places her hand on it, pushing it back down.
“He left.” The smile from earlier has vanished. “Davis went over to say hello. I guess they know each other. They had words, and the guy threw a twenty on the table and left.”
The plate drops from my grip, and the steak slides out of place. I’m speechless. My only saving grace is that I won’t let Noodle see me lose it.
“I’m sorry, Todd.” Her arm reaches around me and she squeezes me to her shorter frame.
Shawn steps through the door. “Amelia, a customer needs you.”
She scurries off. We don’t need both our jobs on the line.
“Shit. That looks fucking awesome.” Shawn stares down at the dish.
Moments ago, that meal was going to be the one that gave me everything, making all those dreams from when I was younger come true, like my own damn fairy godmother.
“Thanks. Have at it.” I push the plate his way.
“If it makes you feel better, we’ve gotten rave reviews about the shrimp pasta.” He pats my shoulder and leaves.
Orders continue to stream in, and I have no choice but to finish the night. My stomach drops every time the door opens, as I’m waiting for Davis to interrogate me on the special change or the investor he knew was here.
My phone dings in my pocket, and my night goes from bad to worse with a voicemail from Jim.
“Hi, um, Todd. Can you come over tomorrow?” His words slur with long pauses.
Carol might as well have left the bottle of vodka next to the note.
“Sorry to bother you.”
Click.
Fuck, now I have to pick up the pieces after Carol. Maybe I’ll be forever destined to be a broke foster kid not worth his dreams.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Amelia
“Good night, Heather.” I wave to the cute redhead as she exits through the front door.
“All right, everyone.” Davis emerges from his office, venturing down the hall.
The five of us who are still cleaning up grace him with the attention he demands.
“We have a little competition tonight,” he says, rubbing his hands together and smiling widely at me.
“What’s up?” Todd asks from the barstool across from me.
“Amelia here thinks she can make a better hot chocolate than me.” He leans across the side of the bar top. “Come with me,” he instructs while nodding. Then, he disappears through the swinging kitchen door.
“When did this little bet happen?” Todd stands up and raises his eyebrows.
“At the dog park the other day,” I admit. I hope Todd can keep that information quiet.
He grips my upper arm and holds me back. “You’re seeing the boss after-hours?” he whispers as he narrows his eyes.
Isn’t this what he wanted?
I shrug out of his hold. “No, we ran into one another.” I should have kept my mouth shut.
“Amelia!” Davis hollers from the kitchen.
Todd follows me into the kitchen. The room instantly fills with tension, and I’m not sure if Todd is playing the protective brother role or what.
Davis points to Todd. “Just me and Amelia. You and the others will be the judges and can wait at the bar.”
Todd glares over to me one last time then plows through the door.
“So . . .” I place my hands in my pockets, perusing all the ingredients he’s placing on the stainless steel table.
“Ladies first.” He props himself up onto the counter.
I take my hands out of the shelter of my pockets and clench them to stop from shaking. “You can’t watch me. You might copy my method,” I joke.
“Don’t worry about that. I’m not a cheater.” He leans back on his hands, his eyes brimmed with enjoyment because I’m his entertainment for the next twenty minutes.
My trembling fingers grab the cocoa powder—probably the most expensive one I’ve ever used—the sugar, and other ingredients. Davis already has a pot for me to use on the state-of-the-art stove. I make my way to the refrigerator and pull out the milk.
“I like you in my kitchen,” he says.
I dig in his cabinets for vanilla.
You can do this, Amelia. Ignore the fact that he’s probably staring at your body—either appreciating it or judging it. Regardless, his eyes might even be fixated on your ass right now.
“Don’t get used to it. Other than hot chocolate, everything else I eat or drink comes from a box or a take-out bag.” I whisk the milk and cocoa before adding in hot water.
“Much like you with your art, I love to make people appreciate the beauty of my talent as a chef. I’m addicted to seeing the enjoyment people get when they bite into my dish.” He hops down from the counter after I pour my concoction into the mug he already placed nearby. “I’m guessing you feel the same when someone truly sees what your art means.”
“I’m pretty sure you’ve experienced that feeling much more than I have.” I occupy his spot on the counter, mimicking his former position. The scenery is nice up here.
Yes, he was
most likely staring at your ass, because your eyes won’t leave his.
He opens a drawer and takes out a bag of chocolate.
My mouth opens in disbelief. “Cheater.”
“I asked you if you needed any special ingredients.” He places his hands up in the air. “This is my special ingredient.”
I playfully narrow my eyes. “I’ll still win, even with your fancy chocolate.”
I shrug, and he laughs.
He moves around the space with the ease of someone at home. Never giving it thought, he just shuffles around, reaching and grabbing the items he needs to do his job. His body is nice to look at, especially his ass, which is so perfectly outlined in his slacks. But hearing him hum to himself as he whisks—the sound of someone truly in his element, so happy to be doing what he loves—is what I find the most appealing about Davis at the moment.
He brings the pot over to the mug placed next to mine. “Last thing, whipped cream.” He places the pot back on the stove then snakes his arm into the fridge, revealing the can of whipped cream.
“Please,” he says, handing me the can.
Our fingers brush as I release it from his grip, and our eyes meet again. He has a way with me no one has had in quite some time. I want to get to know him, screw him, and run from him all at the same time. When he gazes into my eyes, like he is now, I yearn to love him. That’s the scariest part of this. Screwing, I can handle. I’d probably lose my job, but one day, I’d forget about Davis Morgan. But love . . . that’s a whole other game, and I’m not ready to put my heart out there again.
I’m not familiar with the nozzle, but being the stubborn person I am, I’m not going to ask for help. When I press my finger down on the can, white foam sprays everywhere. Davis laughs, and I imagine my face is as red as the cherries he has in a bowl on the counter.
“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” I apologize, reaching over to grab a towel.
He stops me with his hand on my hip. My body stills, loving the firm grasp on me that’s heating my skin under his touch.
“We’ll clean it afterward,” he softly tells me. “We don’t want them to get cold.”
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