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

by Kilby Blades

  “I take it they didn’t get along?”

  Dev threw her a pointed look. “Understatement. They didn’t approve of Evie. Told him, if he married her, they’d cut him off. It wasn’t an empty threat.”

  Dev began walking, prompting Shea to do the same.

  “What’d Pete say when he found out they left it to him?”

  “That’s just it—they didn’t. His dad went first. Then his mom a few years later. No one ever found a will. He was an only child and next of kin. Everyone in town knew they were estranged. But, legally speaking, the place was his.”

  Shea pushed away thoughts of her own father—of what would happen when he passed—of who and how anyone would find her since she was his next of kin. She gave a small shake of her head, as if to shake those notions out. She’d looked too far forward to this night to let thoughts like that creep in. Instead, she fell into perfect step with Dev.

  He took her on a slow stroll. “I guess that’s always how it is,” she said, trying to sound light. “Parents trying to control their kids. Husbands trying to control their wives. Money always pulling the marionette strings.”

  “Don’t forget companies trying to control their workers…” Dev said in a way Shea could tell had to do with the mills.

  “It’s a good ending to Pete’s story at least.” Shea tried to sound hopeful.

  Dev smiled a bit wickedly. “Pete always said, if his father knew he ended up with the house, he’d be turning over in his grave.”

  “I like it when the underdog wins,” Shea murmured as they began their slow ascent of the steps, beautiful meandering stonework that wended its way to grand double doors. “But it still doesn’t erase the struggle.”

  “No… it doesn’t,” Dev agreed at the same moment they reached the landing, angling his body so that he faced her, coming close in a way she liked. “I wish you had gotten a chance to know Pete. He didn’t take shit from anyone. And he sure as hell would’ve liked you.”

  When he leaned in to reach past her, it was to open the door, and she didn’t at all mind taking a breath filled with his scent. With a press of the handle, he unlatched the door. It swung open easily on his its hinges, inviting both of them to come in.

  “After you,” he trailed off, allowing her to walk ahead.

  Shea hadn’t known what to expect from the interior of Dev’s house—maybe a bit of a man cave like Kendrick’s, hopefully with fewer dead animals on the walls. She’d imagined his kitchen to be teeming with vegetables and his countertops to be crowded with juicers and blenders. She’d also imagined that any bachelor as well-maintained as Dev was hiding a Soloflex in a spare bedroom or a garage.

  But this…this was no tricked-out bachelor pad. Dev’s house looked like a home—and a well-thought out one at that. Not some place an interior designer had gotten his hooks into, like Kendrick’s Hamren house—a place with unique, individual style.

  Past a long foyer with a cozy leather bench for sitting and pulling off muddy boots, a staircase veered off to the left before the modest entryway opened into something truly grand: a courtyard-style great room with double-high ceilings that rose all the way to the roof. Adjoining the room on the left side was an enormous open kitchen that didn’t look like a place for amateurs at all. A wall of patio doors on the right side looked out at Dev’s own gorgeous view. Only, Dev’s place didn’t look down on the valley—it was situated next to a beautiful stretch of creek.

  “Wow,” Shea couldn’t stop herself from saying after taking a few steps inside. She also couldn’t stop herself from spinning on her heel, a motion that revealed at least six second-floor doors that lined the open hallway that looked over the great room. The room itself was a masterpiece of comfort and space: sofas and chairs that looked chic and functional all at once in styles that felt both modern and rustic. It was so large, that—even with its open design—each area felt like separate space. A stylish mix of soft rugs beneath the sitting furniture sustained it as a cozy island in an ocean of rustic dark wood floor. Inlaid shelves that lined the wall leading back to the front door had dozens of large, asymmetric spaces that were filled from end-to-end with vinyl records.

  “I love this place,” she murmured, because, apparently, she couldn’t shut up, stop gaping or control herself in any way. “That fireplace—”

  Dev finally spoke. “I know. It’s the pièce de résistance.”

  It had a rather standard—if not large—cube space to hold the actual fire, but the stonework around the mantle was something to behold. Gray stone formed a design that looked like a tall, narrow-based asymmetrical teepee. It only accentuated the height of the ceilings and the shape of the roof.

  “You should’ve seen it before,” Dev continued. “Fifty years after it was built, it still had some of the original fixtures. Good, classic bones but on the inside, it was exactly as outmoded as you’d expect. It took me and Pete years to fix it up.”

  “How’d you even do that, without you living here?”

  “We’d chip away at it when I came home for holidays and long weekends. The year after I finished grad school, we spent the whole summer at it. I’m glad for those times. They were the best thing I ever did with Pete.”

  “But now that it’s done, you’re not gonna sell, are you?” Shea didn’t even want to finish the sentence. The idea of Dev selling a place like this would break her heart.

  Dev chuckled and got a bit of a pained look on his face as he brought his hand to rest at the back of his neck, looking up toward the second floor as he did. “Oh, it’s not done. Presentable is what it is. You don’t even want to see what a mess it is upstairs. And, no, I’ll never sell this place. “I’ll put it on Air BnB for some of the time…stay in it whenever I want to come back.”

  Shea didn’t think she mistook the pride and admiration in his eyes as he answered, carried away with admiring the place himself.

  “Here, let me take that,” Dev said, lifting the grocery bag from her hand. It was one of the reusable ones she’d gotten from The Freshery. “Does it need to be refrigerated or anything?”

  “No…” she trailed off. “But some of what’s in here does. I brought wine,” Shea motioned to the bag on her shoulder—her purse. “Figured you might be willing to break your Pinot streak.”

  Dev smirked. “How do you know what I’m serving doesn’t pair with Pinot?”

  “It might…” she admitted, walking toward the kitchen, glad for an excuse to check it out. “Just in case it didn’t, I brought a selection.”

  The kitchen had one large island with stools for sitting at countertops the color of dappled sand. Setting down and opening her large purse, Shea pulled out the first of five bottles. It earned her his signature smile. By the time she set the last one on the table, Dev wasn’t even trying not to laugh.

  “I figured whatever we didn’t drink tonight, I’d donate to the cause,” Shea declared with an indignant eyebrow arch.

  Dev crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the counter. “The cause?”

  She smirked. “Obviously, you.”

  “Maybe tonight I’ll redeem myself.” Dev came back. “I know I committed a cardinal sin when I drank Pinot that first night at The Big Spoon.”

  “Letting me redo the wine list and pair up the menu was your penance.”

  “That was just good business,” Dev conceded before lowering his voice a little. “But I’m thinking maybe you’ll let me all the way into your good graces when you find out—I am a master of the outdoor kitchen.”

  “The outdoor kitchen…” Shea repeated.

  “That’s right. Smoking. Grilling. Pit cooking and the like. Can’t have you running around thinking I’ve got no skills.”

  Dev gave her that look he sometimes did—the one Shea knew would be inevitable that night. Only, what would happen now that there was no one else around to make them break the spell? When he looked at her like that, not a single innocent thought came to her mind. Shea felt wanton, being there alone with him and
wishing he was up to no good.

  “Alright, hot shot. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  25

  The Dance

  Dev

  “I’ll clean up,” Dev offered, rising from the table reluctantly. They’d been outside for nearly two hours and the air was getting cool. Even the heat lamp next to the table and the warmth from the grill were no match for the cool air coming off of the creek. Dev had another outdoor space on the other side of the house—one with a fire pit and a different view—but he preferred the creekside. The hammock strung up closer to the water was his absolute favorite spot.

  “Why don’t you put something else on?” he commanded gently.

  The music had stopped half an hour before. He didn’t know whether Shea had noticed. It was one of those things that he was always tuned in to. With anyone else, he’d have excused himself for a minute to put on a new record. But he’d been too content outside, spending time with Shea.

  He had, indeed, impressed her with this steak. He knew it from the way she closed her eyes and sighed contentedly when she chewed—and not just on the first bite. On a scale of “one” to “morning buns,” Dev estimated his steak had ranked somewhere around eight or nine.

  Dev hadn’t minded when she’d called bullshit on him eating just for sustenance, either. The Malbec she’d paired with his steak had, indeed, brought him joy. His favorite part of the evening so far was the moment when she’d moved over to his side of the table and taught him how to taste wine. She’d come right into his space, soft hand had covering his as she’d guided him on how to swirl.

  “You got any Stevie Wonder?” she called behind her shoulder as she walked back into his house and toward his record collection. She gave him a little wink without bothering to wait for an answer. It was more validation that she approved of his little quirks as much as he approved of hers. She’d been dropping small flirtations like that all night. He didn’t want to be rude and blow off the dessert she’d made in the name of doing what he wanted with her. But, seriously…when did he get to kiss this woman?

  It was all Dev had been able to think about since she’d walked into his house. Ten times already, he’d wanted to and nearly had. Now she was just baiting him. Even more so when she put on Songs in the Key of Life. Any woman who didn’t appreciate the talent of Stevie Wonder was not the woman for him.

  “You’re killing me,” Dev murmured around the first bite of her dessert—pound cake like he’d never had before. Dev rarely went farther than was necessary to taste in the name of social politesse. But Shea’s pound cake was so good—so sweet and rich with a hint of something amazing—he wanted to devour the whole slice.

  She’d served it with whipped cream that she’d whisked by hand when she found out that he didn’t own a mixer. Watching the juiciest parts of her jiggle as she beat the cream until it was stiff was one of the best things Dev had ever seen. Every house he’d grown up in had been filled with women who loved food. But watching Shea cook ignited something in him.

  For dessert, they’d opted to eat in the great room, where they lounged on the sofa, facing one another, side-saddle. His arm that rested on the top of a pillow ached to reach out and touch her mirrored hand.

  “Tell me something,” Shea began as her fork worked at her own serving. “What’s the deal with you and food? It would be one thing if you didn’t have any taste. But I saw the way you ate at Evie’s and I saw the way you ate tonight. You fight loving to eat. But why?”

  Dev smiled for a moment and considered feeding her the line he’d fed to every other person who had asked, then thought better of it. He wanted to be honest with Shea.

  “My mother,” he said, then paused for seconds, not knowing where to start. “My mother overate. Not only that, she died of a heart attack when she was thirty-five.”

  Shea nodded, listening intently.

  “I turned thirty-five in June,” he said.

  Understanding dawned in Shea’s eyes. “So you’re paranoid,” she concluded.

  He nodded and portioned out another forkful of cake. “Yeah.”

  He took another large bite, because the cake really was amazing and he didn’t mind eating with Shea, even if his morbid thoughts had infiltrated their conversation. Something about being with her made him feel everything would be alright. At least if he had a heart attack right then in that moment, he’d die happy.

  “I grew up overeating,” he continued between bites. “Delilah and I were fat kids and we didn’t need to be. Learning how to eat right wasn’t something I figured out ‘til I was an adult.”

  Shea nodded and chewed around her own bite, something she tended to do rather slowly, which gave her an air of deep thinking.

  “I grew up overeating too.” Shea revealed after a minute. “My family was all, “food is love,” which it is, but that’s not a license to go crazy. The only reason why I wasn’t heavy was because of how much I worked. I was up and down stairs and waiting tables on my feet. Same thing when I moved to New York—that first year, I walked a lot.”

  Dev got that, too. Becoming athletic as an adult had a lot to do with controlling his weight.

  “I think once my birthday comes and goes and I don’t drop dead…” Dev smiled at his own choice of words. “I think it’ll stop messing me up. Delilah says I’m going through a phase.”

  “Food is complicated,” she said, as if somebody had to.

  Both of their voices had gone soft.

  “So if you don’t get your love from food, where do you get it from?” she asked a minute later with a little smile.

  “Music. It pretty much saved my life. My mom loved Stevie Wonder. My mom also loved James Taylor and Lou Reed, but after she died, I needed something that reminded me of her that didn’t’ make it worse. You can’t listen to Overjoyed or Isn’t She Lovely and want to kill yourself. Music is where I get my love.”

  She smiled in a way that told him she liked the idea. “Have you ever seen him in concert?” she asked.

  Dev scoffed. “Like, twenty times. That’s one thing I miss about the city.”

  There was something he’d been wondering.

  “Do you miss it? The city, I mean.”

  She threw him a sad smile. “I miss the food. Where else can you get a bagel for breakfast, borscht for lunch and doro wat for dinner?”

  Dev chose that moment to bridge the gap between them. When he reached his hand out across the back of the sofa, she took it. They threaded fingers and there was something familiar about the gesture, as if holding one another was where their hands belonged.

  “I miss the smell of food—all the street vendors and holes in the wall and kiosks in the park…it’s all about the sensual pleasures, you know?”

  Dev raised an eyebrow. “Is it, now?”

  She didn’t break his gaze. “It is.”

  “Music comes with sensual pleasures, you know.” He mentioned. “Not just the auditory ones.”

  Dancing was an underrated art, and one that Dev was good at—yet another thing he had learned in his mother’s house. They’d danced to everything from Elvis Presley to Elvis Costello. He remembered spinning around the living room with her as a child small enough to be carried on her hip, then her teaching him how to dance with girls when he was older.

  Dev stood and held his hand out, waiting for her to accept. Something stirred inside him when she did. Coming in half next to her, half behind her, he slid an arm around her waist. He guided them behind where they’d sat on the sofa to the wide-open area of the floor and collected her in his arms.

  And, there it was: the feeling of rightness that defied all sanity and logic. Except, this time it was stronger than ever before. Dev had been on dates. He had danced with women. He’d come out of dry spells and known what it felt like to wet his whistle. But this…this, he had never done.

  The music was just right. The first song was mellow—all piano and soft percussion—with a little bit of rhythm to step to and lyrics that were full of roman
ce. Despite this being their first embrace, they moved with a sweet, joyful familiarity of lovers who had been dancing together for a very long time. It felt disorienting and addictive and gratifying all at once and—like everything else with Shea—it felt amplified.

  When they finally kissed it was luscious. Her lips were soft and sinful and sweet and her body begged to be touched. Not ravaged—though he hoped the day her body wanted ravaging would come soon—it asked to be caressed and cherished and loved.

  The kiss confirmed certain suspicions. Dev could now be sure she liked his hair from the way she threaded her fingers through it as they touched. Untold wants and needs awakened within Dev as she nipped at his lips, stroked his neck, and ran her cool hands up his arms.

  He didn’t know what he did—it must have been something—to cause her to moan a half-desperate, “Dev…” But something in the tone of her voice and the shuddering of her breath twisted his world. When he pulled back long enough to look into her eyes and she said it like that again, Dev knew he was fucking gone.

  “So what is it that you actually do?”

  An hour later, they lounged together on the sofa, a new bottle of wine opened and their make out session on pause. He liked their casual position and the newly-earned privilege of making sure they always touched.

  Dev cocked his head. “Sorry…was it unclear? The whole sheriff-slash-grocery-store-slash-restaurant owner doesn’t make sense?”

  “Seriously,” Shea said with amused impatience. “I still don’t understand the endgame with your investing. Some people talk like you’re staying here and other people make it sound like you’re going back to California.”

  Dev took a sip of his wine.

  “My goal is to buy the mills from Packard and turn them into agile manufacturing operations. That’s the only way to get out of the cycle we’re in. If you bring in a single industry—especially a natural resources industry—you’re setting yourself up for boom and bust. The reason why we’re in trouble now is because lumber markets have shrunk.”