Dirty Chef

by Cara Dee

  Since it was just the two of us, I’d gone with Isla’s advice again. Too-short pajama bottoms and a top I normally wore underneath button-downs and blouses. I wasn’t usually a spaghetti-strap type of girl, but…

  I wanted Adam, all right? Maybe he would like it.

  The memory of how his previous girlfriends had looked crossed my mind, and I forced it out again. I had to jump.

  My mouth watered on the way to the kitchen, and my heart melted too. He’d dimmed the lights and lit candles on the kitchen island, and he’d set a corner for us to sit at. Buying the kitchen island had been a bigger priority than having an actual table, because he needed the space to work. He’d cleared it now, though. And treated the heavy oak top with oil, I noticed.

  One of his country rock playlists was on in the background.

  He’d always loved to cook to music.

  “I have no words.” I truly didn’t. He was still working on the plates on the counter next to the sink, but what I saw was enough.

  Homemade burger buns, smoked brisket falling out over the sides, crisp lettuce…shit, he was using Brie. Oh my God, I was going to fall into a food coma after this.

  He’d placed four bottles of wine and three types of beer on the island, so I figured we were going to put together a wine and beer list for the menu too. Always in marketing mode, I snapped a couple photos of the cozy setup.

  “Have a seat and pour us some wine, lo…” His voice trailed off when he faced me, carrying two plates. And I didn’t know where to look. At him watching me or those plates. My gaze flittered all over, and my cheeks heated up. Adam cleared his throat. “I didn’t know the dress code was dirty lingerie.”

  I coughed and blushed furiously. “This—isn’t dirty.” Mannaggia, I’d gone too far, hadn’t I? My clothes weren’t dirty. Far from it. It wasn’t even lingerie! It only proved how plain my wardrobe was when it came to comfy clothes. “Your jeans are probably dirtier.”

  “Hey, I wasn’t complaining.” He lifted his brows as his eyes took me in again. “Is flash photography allowed?”

  I spluttered and slapped my hands to my face.

  Kill me.

  He laughed.

  I slumped down in my seat and winced at the cold. The stools were metal, and had I mentioned my bottoms were short?

  Wine. I need wine.

  I poured a big glass of a Tempranillo I knew I liked, and I guzzled half of it like a champ.

  “Too fucking cute,” Adam said, taking a seat next to me. “Upsetting to anyone who appreciates good wine, but cute.”

  “I appreciate good wine and a buzz,” I replied and wiped my mouth. So sexy. “Okay, work. Tell me what we’re eating. Don’t miss a single ingredient.”

  I took another few pictures.

  He humored me. Somewhat. The mirth remained in his eyes, but he took pity on me and slid a plate my way. “All right. The main course. Beer battered fries, as you can see. Parmesan and roasted garlic on top.” And it looked delicious. “The bread is brioche with thyme, sesame, and butter.”

  I nodded and opened my notebook to write it all down.

  A piece of brisket was about to fall off the bun, so I pinched it between my fingers and stuck it in my mouth. And holy mother of briskets, the meat melted in my mouth, and I couldn’t stop the moan. The sticky-sweet barbecue sauce was perfect too. Christ, so tender. With the crispy burnt ends—I was speechless again.

  While I did my best to describe the sensations for my Instagram post, Adam poured himself a big glass of wine and followed my lead, chugging half the glass. Then he continued telling me what he’d made. On top of the meat were two slices of mild Brie. After that, a sweet and spicy mix of caramelized onion and cloudberry chutney. Crisp romaine lettuce, grilled tomatoes, and a Carolina Reaper chili and chive aioli.

  “We’re going to be fully booked that entire week,” I said.

  He offered a ghost of a smile and fidgeted with the stem of his wineglass. “You seem confident.”

  “In your work? Yes. We’ve dined at Michelin restaurants together, and you mop the floor with them. Your following grows every day.”

  “Our following,” he murmured. “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

  I smiled and raised my glass, beyond ready to dig in. “To Coho’s bright future.”

  “To us.” He clinked his glass with mine, and I swallowed the butterflies that threatened to escape.

  To us.

  When my phone dinged with a message, I apologized and was about to turn off the sound, but then I saw the preview. It was from Isla, and there was a picture attached. I knew that ball cap. I couldn’t resist. As Adam tucked in to his sandwich, I opened the message and gasped at the photo.

  “Did you go see the twins today?” I asked, surprised.

  It was a picture of Adam holding the little girl. He was sitting on their couch, one leg pulled up casually, though I could tell he wasn’t super comfortable. Still, the soft smile on his lips…

  “Briefly,” Adam said. “Jack called me over. Mom wouldn’t leave.”

  I giggled.

  “Soon as Isla yawns, Mom’s there fussing,” he chuckled. “She calls all hours of the day. Jack had to put his foot down. He’s told her now that she has to text him before—and he’ll let her know if it’s okay to call. Mom got upset, but Christ. They haven’t been home from the hospital a week yet.” He cleared his throat and took a sip of his wine. “Anyway. When Isla couldn’t relax ’cause Mom was all over the place, Jack asked if I could assist.”

  I could understand Jack not wanting to break the bad news to their mother twice in a short period of time.

  “Well, you and the bambina look adorable together.” I showed him the photo. “I’m gonna frame it.”

  He flashed a crooked smile and took a bite of his sandwich.

  How he could eat that thing without utensils, I’d never understand. I’d spill everywhere.

  After firing off a quick response to Isla, thanking her for the photo, it was finally time to eat. And I couldn’t really form any words for a long time. The food was fucking divine. The sweetness of the barbecue and cloudberry chutney flowed through my senses, followed by little spikes of the very hot chili.

  “That good, huh?” Adam grinned.

  “No words,” I said around a mouthful.

  I’d died and gone to heaven. The grilled tomato was a genius move, and the Brie was mild enough that it didn’t take away the flavor from everything else, while still being cheesy goodness.

  “This is better than sex,” I whispered and stuck another forkful into my mouth.

  Adam coughed.

  “Spicy?” I guessed.

  “Or something.” He went for a beer next. “You wanna try?”

  I shook my head. Beer wasn’t my thing. On a summer night, I could enjoy lighter types, but he’d brought out dark lagers for this meal.

  “How long do you think it takes before Jack and Isla buy a proper house?” he asked.

  I knitted my brows and chewed slower, confused by the question. “Why would they find a house? I think they’re happy where they are. Unless they mentioned anything…?”

  Adam shrugged and sat back for a bit. “It’s what parents do, innit? My folks did as soon as Alex was born.”

  It was common, sure. “I don’t see them moving. They have plenty of space, and it’s in a good school district.” If I wasn’t mistaken, they owned the little lot behind their three-story townhouse. It would make a cute yard. Right now, it was empty, aside from their trash bins and sometimes Isla’s car. “I wouldn’t want to leave the Valley either,” I said honestly. “I love it here. The other districts don’t really have a central section.” Downtown would be the exception; they had a tiny town center and the marina, both of which were idyllic and filled with little shops and restaurants. And yet, Cedar Valley won, because we had it better. This district was newer. More life. There was a buzz, an energy, that reminded one of a larger city. It wasn’t weird that people called our area Lit
tle Seattle.

  Adam cocked his head. “You saying you don’t want a house for your army of future kids?”

  I snorted and rolled my eyes. “I don’t know where you got army from—or gaggle.” It was what he’d said at the hospital. “I want one or two, and I want them running around in the restaurant while Mama does inventory and samples the wine list.”

  Okay, the last part was a joke, but it was a vision of mine. One I felt an increasing loss for. I couldn’t see it as clearly anymore.

  “Really.” Adam appeared to struggle processing. Don’t ask me why.

  “Really,” I confirmed. “Is that weird?”

  “I don’t know.” He frowned to himself and picked up his sandwich again. “I guess I figured your career would take a back seat and you’d want a picket fence and shit.”

  What on earth? “Since when did that ever appeal to me?” Was he worried I’d stop working? Did he not know me at all? “Adam, our business is more than work to me. I remember back in the day when we first started out—you warned me that working in the restaurant business was a lifestyle. And it is. And it’s one I love.” I shrugged. “Obviously, I’d be on maternity leave for a bit—or as much as you can as a business owner. But Coho will always be my firstborn.”

  I hoped that settled his worry.

  As if I’d ever leave what we’d created. Or stop working, for that matter.

  Adam ate in silence for a while, and I could tell the wheels were turning. Was this something he’d been genuinely concerned about? I wished he would’ve come to me sooner in that case.

  There was no high horse for me to sit on when it came to being forthcoming, but this was work-related. We needed to be open.

  “We’re on the same page, aren’t we?” I put my hand on his.

  He offered a rueful little smile and flipped his hand to give mine a squeeze. “I think I just joined yours.”

  I tilted my head. “What do you mean?”

  He exhaled a chuckle and shook his head. “You make me want things I never in a million years would’ve otherwise.”

  “With work?”

  A smirk slid into place. “Yeah. Work. You make me aim higher, I guess.”

  I beamed at him. “Good. That’s my job. And to eat your amazing food. The best perk in the world.” I cut into my sandwich with gusto, and it seemed his mood had improved now.

  “I thought the best perk was working alongside me.”

  I weighed my response and tipped my hand from side to side. “Eh. Top twenty, though.”

  He laughed. “You keep me humble.”

  “Someone has to!” I grinned and filled my pie hole with all the goodness that was this brisket. Even the fries were on another level.

  Adam had picked a great size for the main meal. I was full but not overly so. Considering the Valentine’s guests would have four meals to enjoy, anything larger would be unnecessary and force us to jack up the price for the event.

  While I cleared away the dishes and Adam’s recipe for the sandwich, he wiped down the kitchen island, prepared for our dessert experiment, and picked a new playlist. It didn’t stray from his country rock love, though the songs were slower.

  I glanced at him. He had his back to me where he stood by the entertainment center in the living room. Was he even aware of how romantic he was? Probably not. With the lights dimmed low, the love songs playing, the candles…how could he not see?

  “Okay, I’m ready to experiment,” I said lightly and dried my hands. The kitchen was spotless again.

  “Awesome.” For some reason, Adam headed for the walk-in closet next to the front door. We only had coats and bags and outdoor gear in there. “You can hop up on the island,” he told me from the closet. “I’m gonna run this show.”

  All right… Hmpf. I’d been hoping to play with the pipettes.

  I went back to my seat. No need to plant my big butt on the counter. Countless bottles of alcohol—mostly smaller ones for sampling—all the treats from Elise, and some other stuff took up half the work surface.

  Adam returned and threw his ball cap on the couch, and he was holding something in his hand. I couldn’t see what it was. Looked like fabric.

  “I said the island for a reason, love.” He nodded at the counter, then opened a cupboard over the sink. “Do you want a drink?”

  I furrowed my brow and slid off my stool. “Sure…” Why did I have to sit up there? Thinking ahead, I jumped up while he still had his back to me. He didn’t need to see everything fucking jiggle. Then I tugged down my top and peered around me. I noticed one of the bottles was his favorite whiskey, Black Barrel by Jameson. He’d bought four bottles when we’d visited their distillery in Ireland.

  There was no way he was going to waste the last two bottles on a dessert for guests at Coho.

  Adam gave me a glass with ice and lime inside. He’d taken two glasses for himself, a lowball and a tall glass of water.

  “Why can’t I sit on the stool?” I asked.

  His mouth twitched as he poured himself a whiskey. “Because I say so.” Next, he retrieved something from a pocket in his jeans. It was the scrap of black fabric he’d grabbed from the closet, only it wasn’t just a scrap of fabric. It was the sleep mask I had in my carry-on when we traveled.

  It dawned on me what he was up to, and nerves tightened my stomach.

  “You’re not going to blindfold yourself with that, are you?”

  He chuckled. “Correct.”

  Well, shit.

  Adam turned around and opened the freezer, fetching someth—ah, my bottle of Cîroc. My favorite vodka. He poured it over the ice and lime in my glass.

  “All right, what’s missing…?” Adam surveyed his workstation and took a slow sip of his whiskey. “Palate cleansers—gotta have that.” Which he produced a few seconds later: a plate with plain crackers and two bottles of water. “I think we’re ready.” He held up his glass. “You ready to guess flavors?”

  I laughed shakily and clinked my drink with his. “Since I’m not competing against you, I’ll give it a shot.”

  I remembered once when we were in Italy to visit my parents. He’d wanted a recipe from this local restaurant, but he never asked for it. Instead, we went in there for lunch every day for a week straight, and he ordered the same dish each time.

  When we came home, he recreated it to a freaking tee.

  I took a small sip of my vodka and let the smooth, ice-cold burn flow through me.

  Adam handed me the sleep mask, and I slid it on, the black, silky fabric turning everything dark. I may or may not have stolen it from my one and only experience in first class because it was shaped after my face. I couldn’t see a damn thing.

  “Remember when I stole this?” I grinned impishly.

  Adam laughed quietly. “Can’t steal what’s complimentary.”

  Oh, whatever.

  “That was a good flight, though.” He did something; I heard him opening the boxes with the treats, and there was rustling and clinking. “Good food festival, too.”

  Definitely. I loved traveling with Adam. He made it so easy to pretend there was more between us. He could be incredibly focused on the task, usually when we traveled for food festivals and restaurants he wanted to try, and still make sure I was right there next to him. He was very attentive.

  We had two trips this year to look forward to. A work thing in Vegas in April, and then we were flying to Italy to see my family again. And we tried to make something of our connections. The time we’d connected in Dublin, we’d spent four days traveling the south-east coast. Once when we’d middle-landed in Frankfurt, we’d spent the weekend stuffing our faces with cheese, sausage, and chocolate. We’d held an Oktoberfest at the restaurant that year.

  “Here’s some water.” Adam gently grabbed my hand and gave me a bottle of water to remove the taste of vodka. “Let’s start out easy.”

  And that was what he did. He’d cut up several of the treats, so as not to overwhelm me, and the bastard fed me little
morsels of sweetness infused with various types of alcohol. Vanilla bean with bourbon, caramel with an apple liqueur, dark chocolate with Limoncello… Songs about desperate lovemaking and pining became my dizzying soundtrack, and the only thing that distracted me from my guessing was Adam’s close proximity.

  A liquid heat was spreading its warmth through me and powering down my brain.

  I heard Adam take a big swallow of his drink.

  He told me it was time to crank it up a bit.

  I hummed and swayed to the song playing.

  “You ready?” His voice moved. Or he moved, rather. He’d come to stand before me, and his hand slid onto my leg.

  I suppressed a shiver and nodded, then parted my lips.

  He brushed the treat to my bottom lip, and I closed my mouth around it. An explosion of tropical flavors took over, and I chewed slowly. “Pineapple,” I moaned. God, it was good. It was one of Elise’s cake pops, or a piece of one. “White chocolate shell. The cake is pineapple. Rum.”

  His hand remained on my leg, his thumb ghosting back and forth over my skin.

  I shuddered. “Lime?”

  “Yeah,” he responded quietly. “Anything else?”

  I nodded. There was something… “Something tangy,” I murmured. I swallowed the treat and licked my lips. “I can’t place it. It’s got a tart twist to it.”

  “Ginger beer.”

  Oh. “It tastes really good.”

  “Good enough to be a finalist?”

  “Hmm. I’ll have to think about it. There’s the risk with the cake varieties—they become soggy.”

  “Agreed.” He took his heat with him as he prepared the next morsel. In the meantime, I took a swig of water and let the music lull me into this unusual state of hypersensitivity and intoxication. It was like being seduced by danger. You knew it wasn’t safe, and yet…everything felt so good.

  “I think you’ll like this one,” he murmured. He was back, and he stepped in between my legs. His hand returned to my thigh, just a few inches higher up, and that was all it took for me to grab danger by the hand and walk willingly wherever it wanted. “Open your mouth, baby.”