by Terri Osburn
“Pills first,” Nick said, nodding toward the bottle he’d moved to the island counter. “You can drink the smoothie on the way.” Next to the medicine was water and a tall, slim bottle with green liquid inside. She tried to sniff the concoction through the straw. “It tastes better than it looks,” he said.
Her stomach growled and she decided to take his word for it. The pills went down with ease and would hopefully kick in fast.
“I’m ready.”
Nick grabbed a set of keys from a bowl on the counter. “Then let’s go.”
12
Nick parked his truck beside Pilar’s at the entrance to the pier as dawn broke over the horizon. Muted orange and yellow streaks danced across the sky like a painting hanging over the water and signaling that the sun would rise from the salty depths any minute. With a deep breath he filled his lungs with fresh sea air, one of his favorite perks about living on the island.
Lauren had powered through the smoothie before they’d gotten halfway through the village, and as he’d expected, she’d guessed his secret ingredient for making the shakes more tolerable—date syrup. To her credit, she didn’t ask many questions once they arrived, content to follow as he took a right and headed toward a fishing boat at the far end of the docks.
“Morning, Wyatt,” he called as they grew closer.
“Morning, Nick. Who’s that you’ve got with ye?”
“This is Lauren Riley. She’s the new chef at Pilar’s here.” He pointed to the building behind them. “What used to be the Marina restaurant.”
The older man smiled to reveal the wide gap between his two front teeth. “Does that mean you’re bringing me new business?” he asked, his heavy Welsh accent cutting out several syllables.
Nick looked to Lauren and her eyes went wide. “Sure?” she said.
“Delivery will be easy.” Wyatt lifted a large bucket out of the boat and onto the dock as if it weighed no more than a sack of flour. “Got some good-sized mahi, along with both blackfin and yellowfin.” Another bucket came over the side. “And plenty of flounder.”
Lauren stepped closer to the second bucket. “Fresh flounder?”
“Yes, ma’am. Nothing better.”
Like a kid in a candy store, she examined the offerings with her nose nearly in the buckets. “You can supply these on a regular basis?” she asked.
“Year-round,” Wyatt replied. “We take Sundays and Mondays off, but we hit the water the rest of the week.”
“This is amazing,” she said to Nick. “I could make countless dishes with these.”
“We’re only making one this morning.” He joined her to examine the flounder. Drawing one out, he said, “We’ll take this and you can send the regular amount over to Dempsey’s.”
“Consider it done. And you can have that one on the house,” Wyatt added. “An introductory offer for the new chef.”
The fish was bagged in ice and after a brief goodbye, they headed back to Nick’s place. Lauren appeared more awake and walked into the house without hobbling, revealing a quick recovery from the day before. Nick tossed the packaged fish onto the counter and opened the pantry to gather what he needed. Turning, he found Lauren sitting at the kitchen table.
“What are you doing?” he asked, setting the salt, paprika, and black pepper on the counter.
“I assume you’re making breakfast so I’m staying out of your way.”
“We are making breakfast. Flounder and eggs to be exact.” He pulled an apron from a drawer and tossed it her way. “Suit up.”
Lauren leaned back in her chair. “You expect me to cook with you in that tiny kitchen?”
Though small, he’d long ago created a setup that was more than adequate for anything he wanted to make. The lack of space just meant they might bump into each other now and then, and he had no problem with that.
Nick pressed his hands to the island counter. “Are you insulting the size of my kitchen?”
Her attempt to hold in the laughter failed but she recovered quickly. “You have to admit. There isn’t much room in there.”
Holding her gaze, he said, “What’s the matter, Riley. You too intimidated to cook with me?”
Blue eyes narrowed and he knew he’d pushed the right button. Rising from the table and putting on the apron, she said, “Where are the knives?”
“Top right drawer.” He retrieved the remaining ingredients from the fridge and placed the scallions, parsley, and capers next to the butcher block. “You chop while I clean the fish.”
As if out of habit, she said, “Yes, Chef.”
She opened the drawer and Nick reached around her for the tools he needed. Leaning close to her ear, he said, “We’re just two people making breakfast, Lauren. Call me Nick.”
Her body pressed back against his. “I can do that.”
The temptation to delay the meal for other activities was hard to resist, but after his talk with Nota, Nick had decided to take this slow. Years of meaningless encounters had left him wanting more. Whether Lauren was the woman for him was yet to be seen, but he didn’t just desire her. He liked her. The confidence. The ambition. The vulnerability she fought so hard to hide. Accepting that she’d needed help with the staff had not come easy for her, but she’d come to his door, which said she was starting to trust him.
A development she likely didn’t even realize, and he wasn’t about to point out. Not yet.
Nick stepped away, ignoring the demands from his body to do otherwise. “I’ve got a cleaning station outside. If you need anything while I’m out there, feel free to search around.”
“Um…okay.” She picked a knife and reached for the scallions. “I’ll be fine.”
Fish in hand, he retreated through the sliding glass door, grateful for the cool breeze coming off the water. Lucky for him, cleaning a fish was the unsexiest thing Nick could think of, and by the time he returned inside, the urge to strip Lauren out of her hoodie was gone.
Mostly.
“This was better than I expected,” she said, eating the last bite of fish before shoving her plate away.
Nick’s mixed signals had kept Lauren in a state of confusion throughout the cooking. One minute he’d be reaching around her, their bodies making contact that lit tiny fires in her bloodstream whenever they touched. The next he’d dance away, acting as if nothing had happened. Lucky for him, the meal had been worth the frustration.
Lauren still felt like a live wire, but at least she’d been satisfied in one way.
“So what’s the plan for today?” Nick asked, dropping his napkin atop his empty plate.
“On the trip back from Nag’s Head, I let everyone know to come in at nine.” She checked the clock above his pantry door to see she had just over an hour. “We’ll begin working on the dishes I’d like to put on the menu.”
Crossing his arms on the table, he asked, “What have you come up with?”
She reached for her phone and pulled up her Notes app. “This is what I’m shooting for.”
Dark brows arched high. “That was easier than I expected.”
“What was easier?”
“You showing me your menu. I thought you might say it was none of my business.”
She would have at the start of the week, and that smirk on his face said he knew it. “Unless you plan to add pistachio crusted pork loin, a noodle bowl, or roasted vegetables with Pappardell to the Dempsey’s menu, I think I’m safe.”
Nick perused her list in silence. While making breakfast, he’d cooked with precision, skill, and efficiency, proving that he was much more than a bar food cook. The fish had been perfectly cleaned, and he’d tossed in the seasonings by eye, tasting as he went. He’d let her taste as well and listened when she shared her opinion.
A rare occurrence in her experience.
Lauren hovered on the edge of her seat, not entirely comfortable with how much she wanted his approval. When he pursed his lips but remained quiet, she forced herself to look away in an attempt to pretend that hi
s response didn’t matter.
“Looks good,” he finally said, allowing her to once again take a full breath. “You’re smart to go heavy on the seafood, for obvious reasons, and though at first glance the dishes seem simple, they’re actually quite complex. You said you’d offer a more refined dining experience, and based on this, you’ve found a way to do that without being pretentious.”
Unsure if the last bit was a compliment or not, she said, “You thought my food would be pretentious?”
“I think fine dining is pretentious,” he corrected. Returning her phone, he added, “This menu is not.”
Encouraged, she closed the app and set the cell back on the table. “What kind of food did your family restaurant serve?”
When they’d first met, he said he’d never attended culinary school, but instead he’d learned on the job. Finesse in the kitchen came with practice, but Nick’s technique was as good as any chef she’d ever worked with. Most of whom possessed hard-earned degrees.
“Dad served traditional Greek food.”
That explained his understanding of flavor. “I should have guessed.”
“Yeah, the name is a dead giveaway. I could make spanakopita before I could spell it.”
She longed for that kind of heritage. “Must be nice to know where you come from.”
“You don’t know your family’s history?”
Lauren wished. “I looked up the name Riley once. Most likely Mom’s ancestors worked to clear rye fields or something in the UK. Maybe they owned the fields, but I doubt it.” She shrugged. “I don’t know my biological father’s name.”
Brow furrowed, Nick leaned forward. “Your mom never told you?” When Lauren shook her head, he said, “Why don’t you ask her?”
Clearing the lump in her throat, she replied, “Mom died of cancer six months ago.”
He sat up straight again. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” she lied. “When I was young, she said my father wanted nothing to do with me, and by the time I was a teenager, I decided I wanted nothing to do with him.”
“You still deserve to know who he is. What about your grandparents? Are they still alive? Could they tell you?”
Lauren had let go of having any family connections a long time ago. “They weren’t in our lives either. Mom’s parents didn’t approve of her choice to have kids with having a husband. Mom said they were really strict and when she refused to get married just because she was pregnant, they cut her off.”
A warm hand caressed her joined ones. “You know that wasn’t your fault, right?”
She jerked her chin up, meeting his gaze. “What?”
“You think that if you hadn’t come along, your mother’s life would have been different.”
No one had ever guessed how she really felt. In the rare moments when she’d shared these details, the other person had always focused on her grandparents’ selfishness or her mother’s mistakes. But Nick saw her truth.
“How do you know that?” Lauren whispered.
“The way you talk about her with regret instead of judgment. I get the impression that you had a difficult childhood. Most people would blame the adult in charge for that, but you don’t seem to.”
Difficult was an understatement but she didn’t correct him. “She did the best she could with the hand she was dealt.”
“A hand she dealt herself, yet you haven’t blamed her for giving her parents a reason to toss her out, or for picking the wrong man to be your father.”
Lauren swiped at a tear she didn’t realize had fallen. “Mom picked a lot of wrong men, but she didn’t have a whole lot of options. With two kids to feed and no diploma, good jobs were hard to come by, and two incomes were better than one.” Eyes on her hands, she added, “She paid for her mistakes. Blaming her won’t change anything now.”
“You know none of that is your fault,” Nick assured her. “It sounds like she was a victim of circumstance and some really shitty parents. Neither of which you had anything to do with.”
Easy for him to say. If Lauren didn’t exist, maybe Mom would have finished college and had a normal life like everyone else. Instead she lived hand to mouth, endured abusive men to keep a roof over their heads, and died at a young age because she didn’t have access to the health care she so badly needed. Care that might have found the cancer early enough for her to beat it.
“I feel like I should be sitting on the couch for this.” She used her napkin to dry her cheeks, unable to recall the last time she’d cried in front of anyone. “Do you charge by the hour or is the first session free?”
Collecting the empty plates, he rose to his feet. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll tell you how I resent my mother for remarrying after Dad died.”
She laughed at the confession. “Do you really?”
“Yep,” he said, placing the dishes in the sink. “I was nineteen and I should have been happy for her, but all I could think was that she was cheating on Dad.”
Lauren carried their empty glasses into the kitchen. “Is he a good guy?”
“Gus? He’s all right. Sells insurance in Florida. Dull as a butter knife, but he takes good care of her and she seems to like it down there.”
Mom probably would have liked Florida. She always hated the New England winters.
“Hey,” Nick said, dragging Lauren out of her thoughts. “I have to work tonight, but I’m off tomorrow.”
Aware that he hadn’t actually asked to see her, Lauren said, “We open in a week so I’ll be working tomorrow.”
Nick pulled her into his arms. “All day?”
“Why?” she said, slipping her hands around his rib cage. “Is there something I need to make time for?”
After placing a kiss on her forehead, he said, “I’d like to see you again.”
He’d certainly waited long enough to make a move. “That could be arranged. Are you offering to cook for me again?”
Dark eyes cut to the ceiling as if he was pondering the question, and then he said, “Nope. It’s your turn to cook for me.”
That was a bold statement. “I’m cooking?”
“I’ve cooked twice already.”
“I helped with breakfast,” she pointed out.
“Yes, but in my kitchen on my dish. I want to see what you can cook up on your own.”
She was trying to cook up something that had nothing to do with the kitchen. Rising on her toes, she brushed her lips across his. “Any requests?”
He kissed her back and said, “Surprise me.”
That she could do.
Adding a purr to her voice, Lauren whispered, “Yes, Chef,” and kissed him once more, enjoying the way his arms tightened when their tongues met. He was warm and solid and exactly what she needed to end her sexual drought.
When her hands slid up his chest, Nick caught them and pulled away. “You have to go to work, remember?”
Lauren checked the clock to see they had nearly forty minutes. “We could be quick.”
Slowly shaking his head, he put more space between them. “When I get you into bed, I plan to take my time.”
How was she supposed to argue with that?
Accepting the rain check, she returned to the table to retrieve her phone. “Tomorrow then. How about seven?” She needed time to pick up the ingredients and have a meal ready before he got there. She would also need to shower and take care of other necessities if this dinner was ending the way she hoped.
“Seven works for me.”
Crossing the living room, she said, “Be prepared for an amazing meal.”
Nick followed her to the door. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Before leaving, she tried one more time. “Are you sure we don’t have time—”
“I’m sure. Go home before I change my mind and your cooks wonder where their fearless leader is.”
Why hadn’t she picked a noon start time?
“Fine, but this better be worth the wait.”
She was nearly o
ver the threshold when Nick pulled her back and kissed her senseless against his front door. By the time he broke contact, his hands still warm on her heated cheeks, Lauren was a wilting mess.
“I guarantee it,” he whispered against her temple.
Still dazed, she could do little more than nod as he stepped back and let her leave. Whatever she decided to cook needed to be good if it was going to be a warm-up for more of that.
13
Nick stood on the porch of Lauren’s cottage, feeling like a teenager picking up his crush for their first date. For him, it might as well have been exactly that. He hadn’t let himself even consider the idea of pursuing a relationship in fifteen years. Whenever he’d felt himself getting attached, he’d cut the other person loose. Not that he left a string of broken hearts in his wake.
He’d always been up front with women, and he gravitated toward the ones who felt the same way he did. No strings. Nothing serious. Lauren fell into that category so he was probably setting himself up for disappointment, but Nick wasn’t looking to walk down the aisle anytime soon.
Just entertaining the idea was giving him cold sweats, yet made him excited for the future in a way he hadn’t allowed himself in a long time. Would Lauren consider changing the stakes? Nick didn’t know her well enough to guess. But she had let him see her vulnerable, which was a start.
Lauren needed someone who could show her what she truly deserved, and Nick needed practice being needed. If nothing else, they might both come out of this with more than when they went in.
“Knock, knock,” he called through the old-fashioned screen door. Leaning close, he caught the smell of roasted garlic and his mouth watered. “Hello?”
“I’m here,” she said, shuffling into the living room and pushing the door open. “Come tell me if this puree needs more salt.”
Lauren strolled back into the kitchen, but Nick remained just inside the door, struck dumb by the gorgeous creature who’d just greeted him. The jeans hugged her curves like a second skin, and the loose white button-down was thin enough to reveal the black tank beneath. Her hair was down and…fluffier. Nick couldn’t think of another word to describe it. She looked as if she’d just rolled out of bed after doing more than sleeping.