Spooning Leads to Forking (Hot in the Kitchen Book 2)

by Kilby Blades

  He didn’t hesitate. “Pinot Noir.”

  It was a perfectly good answer, but specific, and not what she was expecting. This was Colorado—most men seemed to drink neat liquor or beer. Her surprise must have showed, because he shrugged and elaborated.

  “Pinot has the highest levels of resveratrol of any other wine.”

  “You mean, the antioxidant?” Shea was perturbed. “That’s how you choose your wine?”

  Dev smiled that shiny, healthy smile and didn’t break her gaze. “You know I own a health food store, right? Most things I eat, I eat because they’re good for you. I have a glass of Pinot every night with my dinner because experts recommend one glass a day.”

  “But what if your food doesn’t pair with the Pinot?” she asked rather loudly.

  Dev chuckled before he answered. “I care more about the benefits it creates for my body than how it tastes.”

  Shea tried not to become so ensorcelled by his sexy smile, his emerald gaze and his truly delicious fragrance, that his witchcraft caused her to forget his culinary crime.

  “What’s your favorite thing to eat here?” Shea quizzed.

  “Chopped salad,” he answered easily. “Substitute the bleu cheese for the balsamic.”

  “And you pair that with Pinot Noir?” she practically shouted.

  “I do when I’m here for dinner,” he explained. “I have it with unsweetened tea whenever I order it at lunch.”

  I knew there had to be something wrong with him, Shea’s internal voice thought even as the teeth in his healthy white smile gleamed like pearls.

  “You said earlier you appreciated the coffee cake,” he remarked, unaware of her distress. “Are there any savory dishes you like?”

  This was the other reason why Shea couldn’t do whatever Dev was asking. Her unfiltered opinions about the food might insult his sister.

  “It’s hard to say. They’re a little inconsistent,” she confessed. “I like the pot pie, but some days it’s better than others. What I’m gonna get depends on what day I come in.”

  He nodded thoughtfully, seeming to accept the answer. “Has the variation in the food ever stopped you from coming?”

  Trudy was just walking up to the table.

  “Trudy, what days do I always come in?” Shea asked as Trudy set down a glass of red and a bourbon drink neither of them had ordered.

  “Like clockwork,” Trudy looked at Dev. “Every Tuesday.”

  Trudy walked back off as quickly as she had come, expressing no surprise to see the two of them together. She also hadn’t bothered to take their order.

  “My sister works on Tuesdays,” Dev supplied.

  Oh, thank God.

  “I think you might’ve met her already.” Something fun seeped into his features. “I hear you highly approve of her morning buns.”

  Shea was glad she’d held off on taking a first sip of her drink. The surprise might have caused her to spit it out.

  “Seriously? Delilah’s your sister?”

  Dev let out a hearty laugh. It had a richness to it and there was something nice about his lips when he smiled so widely. He was open in that moment—free in a way he hadn’t witnessed any of the other times when she’d run into him at the store.

  “Don’t worry—that’s the usual reaction. I know we look nothing alike. Blonde hair and gray eyes versus dark hair and green.”

  “Older or younger?” Shea wanted to know. Delilah was so short, it was hard to tell. Both of them were incredibly well preserved.

  “She’s younger, by two years.” Dev fingered the stem of his glass, spinning it slowly in place. He had yet to take a sip.

  “So, wait, she’s head chef here and her other job is to run her bakery? Why not just hire a full-time chef?”

  “Believe me—she’s tried. It’s not enough money for the hassle.”

  Shea threw him a look that begged explanation. “The hassle of what? Doing your job?”

  “I told you…” Dev shook his head. “When Jenkins ran the place, the food was really, really good. He did all the cooking himself ’til the day he died. It was an impossible act to follow.”

  “Then why stay open?” Shea wanted to know. “You said it’s a magical place, but it sounds near-impossible to recreate the magic.”

  “There are other reasons,” Dev conceded. “This is the only full-service restaurant left in town. This kitchen is for more than just people who come in to eat. It services the Meals on Wheels for seniors. If The Big Spoon disappeared, it would destabilize the town.”

  It certainly sounded serious, but Shea still didn’t see the issue with finding a chef. So she asked Dev again.

  “When the food wasn’t the same, a lot of customers started complaining,” he explained. “The chefs didn’t like so many things getting sent back. That first round of new chefs all quit. Now that so many people have stopped coming, we can’t afford to attract someone good.”

  Shea nodded in understanding. “Restaurants are a tough business. There’s a lot of risk. A lot that can go wrong.”

  “You sound like you speak from experience,” Dev observed.

  “My dad owned a chain of restaurants,” Shea explained. “The franchise nearly went under at least twice.”

  “Does he still own it?” Dev asked.

  She shook her head. “It’s been gone for years. I don’t think I ever heard my mom as relieved as she was the day they finally sold.”

  “And your dad?” he asked, leaning in a little and lowering his voice, pulling her in as if it were she who should hang on to his every word.

  Shea looked down into the icy bourbon of her drink as she continued stirring, repeating what her mother had told her about that day. “He cried like a baby. Said it was one of the saddest days of his life.”

  Trudy chose that moment to descend upon them again, this time with an astonishing number of plates. She made return trips with armfuls of more for several long minutes.

  “You really want me to do this?” Shea cast Dev one final, skeptical look.

  “Be brutal…” he said with a note of desperation in his voice. “Delilah needs the help. You’ve met her. And you know she can take it.”

  Nodding her acquiescence, Shea took a long look at what was around the table.

  “Let’s start with the meatloaf,” she proclaimed, cutting off little pieces for both her and Dev. After taking a bite, she had the same thought as she had the first time she’d tasted it. She wanted to guide Dev through her thinking so she told him to take his bite.

  “What’s the first thing you notice?”

  “It’s a bit salty,” he observed. “And I guess it’s kind of tough—like, dry or something going down.”

  She tried not to cringe when he washed a sip of his meat down with his Pinot. This particular meatloaf was doused in a vinegary barbecue sauce. Even imagining the melding of those flavors caused her to want to make a face.

  Instead, she nodded in agreement. “That’s because it doesn’t have enough fat. I’m pretty sure the ground beef she’s using is 90/10. Not only that, it seems to be all beef instead of a mixture of beef and pork.”

  “90/10?” he asked.

  It had taken effort not to be entrenched in food for so many weeks. Shea got a little thrill from being in a position to explain.

  “It’s a number describing the fat content in the meat. For something like meatloaf, more fat will give it better texture.”

  “Wow.” Dev looked impressed. “I feel like I should be writing this down.”

  Shea smiled. “What did you think I was going to say?”

  “I don’t know…maybe to add oregano or something? I don’t really cook that much.”

  Shea tried not to laugh. “That much is obvious, if you’re trying to add oregano to meatloaf.”

  “Hey, make fun of me all you want.” Dev didn’t look the least bit offended. “Just keep the advice coming.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Dev had, indeed, gone to get that piece of paper, an
d taken diligent notes on all of Shea’s advice. She’d only had a few bites of each meal, a rhythm that came with its own déjà vu. This was how research for restaurant reviews worked: tasting from a smorgasbord of selections. Even for such a bizarre purpose, going through the motions made her miss being Kent—a lot.

  Dev was just jotting down notes on the final dish they’d covered—skirt steak with peppercorn cream sauce—when Shea caught sight of unicorn hair working its way through the crowd. Delilah was dressed much like she was in the morning at the bakery, only here, she wore a toke and houndstooth pants.

  “Hey, lady,” she greeted, squeezing Shea’s shoulder amicably. She started to slide into the booth where Dev sat and nudged him to move over in a sisterly way. “I tried the sumac in the aioli this week.” She continued, zeroing her gaze in on Shea. “It was a killer suggestion. The compliments are already rolling in”

  “I can’t take credit,” Shea replied. “A friend of mine from home puts sumac in everything—I’ve developed a taste for the stuff.”

  Dev turned to Delilah and made a face. “She’s being modest.”

  He pushed the notes he’d been taking over to his sister and Shea watched as Delilah’s eyes went wide. Then, something totally unexpected happened: her eyes began to shine.

  Oh, no.

  “This is—” Delilah began, then cut herself off. “This is what I’ve been waiting for.”

  Delilah set down the papers abruptly and grasped both of Shea’s hands. Shea was busy being relieved that her notes hadn’t hurt Delilah’s feelings.

  “Shea.” Delilah started. “I will give you free morning buns every day for the rest of your life if you’re willing to come back and help.”

  Delilah turned to Dev then. “Can we hire her? Like, today?”

  We? The way she said it made it sound like she and Dev were the owners. But that couldn’t be the case.

  “It wouldn’t pay much…” Dev trailed off, his eyes suddenly affixed on Shea, something hopeful in his warm gaze.

  “I don’t need the money,” she blurted before thinking.

  “If you helped us,” he continued slowly, “I’d never let you pay to eat or drink again at The Big Spoon. I might not even charge you for groceries at the store.”

  “Come on!” Delilah was bouncing in her seat now. “Do it for the morning buns!”

  But it wouldn’t just be for the morning buns, would it? Shea had had fun this past hour, and not just because of Dev.

  I can’t believe I’m gonna do this.

  “Alright, when do I report to work?”

  Delilah let out a little scream and rose to her feet, but Shea’s eyes remained on Dev. That half-smile graced his lips and he kept his gaze on her.

  Shea was still busy being bounced and her hands were being clasped, and Delilah began asking her about logistics: what time could she come? How long she could stay, and the like.

  Just after Shea had turned her sticky gaze away from Dev and confirmed that she would show up after lunch on Monday, a breathless Deputy Brody barreled in, brushed clean past Delilah, ignored Shea altogether and spoke directly to Dev.

  “Sheriff…” Brody said. “There’s been another accident.”

  Part II

  The Sheriff

  11

  The One, Two Punch

  Shea

  “Tell me what just happened.”

  Shea reached out to grab a passing Trudy by her arm. Dev had said his thanks, made his apologies and hastened after the deputy. Delilah had returned to the kitchen. The other patrons, who had paused for Brody’s dramatic entrance and seen the whole exchange, had resumed their chatter; only, now their faces were drawn with worry and they talked in hushed tones.

  “Another accident at the mills,” Trudy reported distractedly, surveying the room herself.

  “What does it have to do with Dev?” Shea’s voice sounded panicked, even to her own ears.

  “Duff—you know, Sheriff Kate Duffy—she’s out on medical leave. Got hurt in the first accident down at Number Ten. She’d already deputized Dev by then, but after her injury, she made him acting Sheriff.”

  By the time Trudy got to the end of her explanation, she had sat down in the opposite seat at the table, where Delilah had been just a minute before. Trudy seemed rattled. Everyone did. Under other circumstances, Shea would not have pried for information. But she was rattled for reasons of her own and needed to know more.

  “Who would deputize a grocer?” Shea practically exclaimed.

  Shea didn’t know whether it was the content of her question or her dramatic tone that relaxed the tense set of Trudy’s lips, causing them to melt into a wan smile.

  “The Freshery is just his baby. But that’s not his only business. Dev has projects all over town. He buys up shops that are struggling, works with the owners to turn them around, then sells them back at a fair price.”

  Something dawned on Shea and she asked the question slowly. “Does Dev own The Big Spoon?”

  Trudy nodded. “Bought it from Mr. Jenkins’s kids. Neither of them live here anymore. Neither one of ‘em wanted it. If Dev hadn’t bought this place, it would’ve closed. And he knows what he’s doing, too. Back in San Francisco, he’s some sort of big-shot investor. I’ve never met a man with his finger in so many pies.”

  Dev owns The Big Spoon.

  Dev’s a big-shot investor, just like Keenan.

  Dev’s an officer of the law.

  “I’m sorry—I still don’t understand. If Dev’s an investor, and a grocer…how is he the sheriff? What about Deputy Brody?”

  “Brody’s getting the hang of things, but he’s new. Takes things real serious. A little wet behind the ears. Dev never went to the academy, but he knows policing. He practically grew up in the Sheriff’s Office.”

  Shea felt like she’d been punched in the gut, hard enough that she might lose the buffet of a dinner she’d just eaten, two bites of every dish at a time.

  The date-like dinner you enjoyed with the town sheriff, her inner voice mocked. And every word of it was true. Some parts of it had felt like a date. She had enjoyed it. And Dev Kingston was the law, which meant that spending any more time with him than absolutely necessary was flirting with disaster.

  And not just Dev—Shea had just agreed to spend hours each week helping Delilah, the sister of said sheriff and the person who knew tiny pieces of her story, albeit sanitized ones. Short of turning herself in, she’d just placed herself in the worst possible position she could be in in the town.

  You shouldn’t have agreed to helping Delilah, just like you shouldn’t have agreed to the date.

  But now that she knew Dev owned the place, it seemed even less like that’s what it was. It brought up another thing that scared her: when he’d pled for her help, she’d felt powerless against his charm.

  “Sorry to pepper you with questions,” Shea recovered. “How much do I owe you for dinner?”

  “Not a thing.” Trudy got up and made to resume her work. “Your food went on the house account and Dev took care of me before you even sat down.”

  “Hullo?”

  Shea managed to pick up on the very last ring before the call went to voicemail. Her voice was scratchy and rough, and carried the exact hoarseness and fatigue she might have anticipated the night before. It served her right for drinking bourbon at the restaurant then coming home, wallowing, and downing half a bottle of wine.

  “Sorry. I know it’s early there. And I do know today is Saturday. Keenan is being difficult and none of this can wait.”

  Tasha hadn’t bothered to identify herself. Her style was one of the things Shea liked most about her. If she was going to call you at 7:30 AM on a Saturday, she was going to get to the damned point.

  “When has Keenan not been a colossal dick in all of this?” Shea sat up in bed a little and rubbed eyes that felt dry. She remained blessedly insulated from the light, thanks to blackout curtains that were still drawn. Patting around for her glasses on her nig
htstand, she slipped them on and gave her eyes a few seconds to adjust. Once she did, she located the glass of water she had wisely placed on the nightstand and took a long drink.

  “They’re all Dr. Jekyll until you say the D-word and threaten to take their money. That’s when they turn into Mr. Hyde.”

  “What’d he do this time?” Shea didn’t really want to know. But Tasha wouldn’t have brought it to her if it wasn’t something big.

  “His attorney says they’re still considering mediation. That’s just what they want us to think. Something came in overnight that made me sure he’s stalling.”

  “We always knew he was going to stall…” Shea pointed out. “He’s trying to wait me out.”

  “Not this time. Keenan’s changed his strategy. He’s gearing up to argue emotional abuse.”

  Shea nearly spit out her water. “As in, he’s going to try to claim that I emotionally abused him?”

  Tasha’s news got Shea’s attention—more than that, it got her out of bed—easier said than done given Shea’s massive hangover headache.

  “My guess is, he’ll build a narrative around how you abandoned him even when you were living together, despite his attempts to reconcile. He’ll say you abandoned the marriage, for Kent.”

  Suddenly, Shea was livid. Upon reflection, she didn’t know why. A victim story like that sounded exactly like the sort of thing Keenan might try to pull. Only, it was never supposed to come to this. Keenan was supposed to wake up now that he knew she was serious; he was supposed to get over her; he was supposed to listen to his attorney, who should tell him to take his money and run.

  “What are you basing this on?” Shea remembered Tasha’s initial claim that something had come in overnight.

  “Three things hit all at once: someone tried to hack into the fan email and social media accounts you used for Kent, Keenan wrote you a cryptic letter and my eyes confirmed red flags.”

  Tasha’s “eyes” were her own private detectives hired to keep an eye on Keenan. Apart from a hacking attempt on Shea’s personal email they were sure his people were behind, Keenan himself had been squeaky clean. They hadn’t found a shred of evidence that he was hiding assets, a mistress or pulling any other shenanigans that people tended to pull in a divorce. But Tasha had warned her early on they were also monitoring for perfectly legal red flags.