An Acquired Taste

by Kelly Cain

When he walks away, I scan the room for Knox, but all the Everheart men have packed up and are nowhere in sight.

  I meet Mama and Wyatt by the elevators so they can drop me off at the hotel and head to the airport. I’m dreading finding Knox on my own, but I also don’t like feeling indebted to him, so the sooner I can return his knives, the better.

  *

  When I arrive at the hotel, I pick up the house phone and ask for Knox’s room. I pray he hasn’t checked out yet although the odds are against me. Mama and Wyatt had to check out before we left this morning and kept their bags in the town car. If Knox and crew did the same, I’m screwed.

  When the phone is transferred to his room, I’m surprised. When he answers, my heart falls. Maybe I didn’t want him to still be here after all. Now I’ll have to be thankful.

  “Well, hello there, Amber. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you this fine evening.”

  I grind my teeth. He did me a favor so I’m going to let the use of that name slide. “How did you know it was me?”

  “Who else would it be on the hotel phone?”

  He has a point so I guess I’ll state the obvious. “I need to return your knives.”

  “I’m in room 1025.”

  “I’m not coming to your room, Knox. You can meet me in the lobby.”

  I wait for the snarky comeback. “I’ll be right down.” Weird.

  To pass my time, because I’m not sure how long he’ll keep me waiting, I order a vodka and Sprite with lime at the bar then stand by the restaurant entrance with the elevators in my line of site.

  Knox comes up behind me and taps me on the shoulder, and I jump a country mile, spilling my drink.

  “For fuck’s sake, Knox. Where’d you come from?”

  “You must not be living right.”

  I roll my eyes because I haven’t heard that saying in forever. Well, since college.

  I still have on my comfortable pants and shoes splattered with food from the competition, but Knox has changed into dark jeans, a rich green sweater, and black Doc Marten boots. The jeans were a staple of his during school, but the jewel-tone sweater and boots are new.

  “You okay there, Amber?”

  Shit. I pull my wagging jaw up and grit my teeth. “Can you please stop calling me that?”

  “Why does it bother you?”

  “You know why. Listen, I only wanted to return your knives.” I bend down and dig the knife roll out of my backpack. When I hand them to him, I stare expectantly into the depths of his aqua eyes.

  He doesn’t say anything but takes the case and looks equally anticipatory at me. Oh. “Also, I wanted to thank you, but you really didn’t need to do that.”

  “No, I didn’t, but I wanted to be nice.”

  “Why are you trying to be nice? You never thought about being nice to me before.”

  “Well that’s just not true, is it?”

  What’s that supposed to mean? Knox never even pretended to be nice.

  He doesn’t wait for a response but pushes up the sleeve of his sweater to look at his watch. A real gold watch. When did he get that? “Let me buy you another drink since I spilled yours. I could sure use one after the day we had today.”

  An unfortunate side effect of Knox looking at his watch is that he’s exposed a sizable portion of his muscular forearm and my jaw has unhinged again.

  “Rowan?” He looks at me with concern etched in his drawn brows.

  God, what’s wrong with me? I’ve never cared about his arms or any other part of him before. “Um, yeah, okay.”

  I follow him over to the bar and order another vodka, lifting myself up on one of the barstools, setting my backpack at my feet. Knox orders a beer flight and sits next to me.

  “So, Mike Smith?”

  I raise a brow, momentarily lost.

  “The Smith family? We competed against them.”

  Oh, that Mike Smith. What? It’s a common name. Average, one might say. “They made some great smelling comfort food.”

  “Is that what you were talking about for so long?”

  The bartender sets our drinks in front of us and lingers a bit. She’s a pretty redhead with emerald-green eyes which are currently locked onto Knox. He thanks her and turns back to me, waiting for my response.

  “We were making small talk. Expressing congrats. Where we’re from. You know? Normal people stuff. Why?”

  He shrugs and lifts one of his beers.

  Um, okaaay. I take a good gulp of my own drink and stare into it. To say this is a surreal situation would be an understatement. I hate Knox Asshat Everheart. But for some reason, I don’t get up from the bar now that I’ve given him his knives and a thank you. Instead, I ask, “Where are your brothers?”

  “They flew back to Austin. Where’s your family?”

  “Same.”

  “And yet here we both are. Kind of surreal, isn’t it? That we’d both stay behind and watch the next round of competition.”

  I just said that. “Not really. You said you want your own restaurant. I said I want a bigger restaurant. We’re the most invested of our family members. Unless Declan has a desire to break off from your dad.”

  Knox barks a bitter laugh and picks up his third glass. I guess I missed him drinking the second one. He turns those baby blues back on me. “Declan lives for Dad. The last thing he would want is to leave him. Weston’s comfortable.”

  “Why do you? I thought Declan was next in line, but Mama says you’re the heir apparent.”

  He sets his glass down and sighs, slumping in his seat a bit. “Reasons.”

  “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it sounded like an intense conversation earlier.”

  He looks up from under his thick lashes and flashes me a smile, a set of beautiful teeth framed by perfect bow lips. Have I never seen Knox smile before? Smirk, sure. Plenty. But a real smile?

  “You still have the most beautiful amber eyes.”

  Blush, call me by thy name. “You’re drunk. Don’t try to change the subject.”

  “I’m not drunk. And he’s only stressed. He didn’t want us to do this competition but agreed once we were selected. To me the timing was great, a week after the Easter rush. He’s still coming down from the anxiety of it combined with Tax Day a couple days later. He hasn’t had enough time to decompress, but everything’s fine.”

  “He didn’t seem fine.”

  “He’ll be fine. Declan and Weston report back in service tomorrow.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  There’s so much I want to ask, but I shouldn’t. Knox and I are not friends, but obviously he’s going through something. “Why do you want your own restaurant?”

  “Why don’t you want yours?”

  Ouch. Just slap me why don’t you. I take another gulp of my drink and stare at the glass. There’s barely any left, but I don’t feel the effects yet.

  Knox waves at the bartender for another round.

  I really shouldn’t. “Maybe someday. I can’t abandon my mother, especially now.”

  “I get that. Would it be abandoning her though? She doesn’t need a classically trained chef if she still calls all the shots. She only needs a competent one. You’re too talented not to have your own place.”

  I gape at Knox, unsure what to do or say. I fumble with the ice in my glass.

  The waitress brings us more drinks along with a couple bottles of water.

  Knox takes one and drinks half the contents. He unravels pieces of the label, waiting on me to say something.

  “You think I’m talented.” It’s not a question. He just said as much. It’s a declaration. An understanding between us that hasn’t existed before. It’s always been Knox, the superior. The pasta prince. And Rowan, the usurper. The waitlisted. The nobody from Round Rock.

  He gazes at me, a small grin playing at his lips. “I don’t know if I want my own restaurant, Rowan. I’m not sure if that’s something I’ve ever wanted. I enjoy cooking—cooking was b
oth of my parents’ passion—and I love working with my brothers, but I don’t enjoy the long hours, the not having a life, being tired all the time.” He sighs and puts his face in his hands. “Working for my father.”

  I’m stunned. No one goes into cooking if you care about the hours. In school, we trained ourselves to survive on an average of four hours sleep. It’s brutal unless you absolutely love everything about it. “Then why?”

  “I’m good at it. I could run my own restaurant and it wouldn’t be as taxing. We’d make fresh pasta and baked goods and seasonal salads. It would be fine. And relaxing. It wouldn’t have a Michelin star and I’d be absolutely fine with that. Do you see what I mean? I have to get out from under my father’s thumb or I’ll wither away.”

  I lift my drink then put it down. I’m unsure what to do with this much honesty laid bare before me. Especially coming from a surprising source. This is not our relationship, and being in uncharted territory is confusing me too much.

  “We better get going. I need to take a long bath and be ready to go over early tomorrow morning to see the newbies.”

  He stares as me for a long moment, then nods. “Sure, you’re right.”

  He closes the tab and we walk over to the elevators together. This time the ride is slow and I’m left to my thoughts. Knox steals glances every so often but stays on his side. His lids are low, and I’m just hoping he doesn’t regret everything he said when he wakes up in the morning completely sober.

  When the doors open, I remember something. “Hey, do you still have my knives?”

  “Sure. They’re in my room. Do you want them now?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  I follow him down the hallway, away from my own room. We turn two corners before getting there and on the way, I do more thinking. I can’t help but wonder about his relationship with his dad. How that affected his getting into school. Did he even know how his dad got him in so easily? Probably not because Knox deserved to be there. That thought practically stops me in my path. Knox didn’t need his dad to bribe his way into culinary school.

  When we get to his door, I wait outside while he goes in to get my case. My head is spinning from this new revelation. When he comes back into the hallway where I’m standing, I take the knives from him and hold the case close to my chest.

  I look up at him and step closer, breathing him in. While inside, he must have stuck a mint in his mouth because I inhale and take the slightly eucalyptus scent deep into my lungs. I stare at his lips, and he’s perfectly still, watching me. Knox inches toward me, slowly bending his head, his gaze intently focused on mine. My breath catches, and my thoughts whirl so fast I can’t keep up.

  I close my eyes to gather my thoughts because watching Knox’s mouth get closer to mine messes with my head.

  The door across from Knox’s room clicks open, and an older woman steps into the hallway. I pop my eyes open and step back, wiping the imaginary kiss from my mouth.

  The woman must evaluate the situation quickly since she bites back a smirk, shaking her head as she retreats into her room, then closes the door.

  I blink. I almost shared a kiss…with fucking Knox Everheart.

  I turn and sprint down the hall. He calls after me once, but I keep running as fast as I can. He doesn’t follow. I’m grateful for that… I think.

  Salmon Croquettes

  1/4 cup butter

  1/2 cup onion, chopped

  1/4 cup celery, minced

  1/4 cup bell pepper, minced

  2 pounds cooked salmon, deboned, skinned, and cooled

  1 cup dried bread crumbs

  Salt and pepper to taste

  1 cup heavy cream

  Enough flour for dusting

  Enough oil for frying (we use safflower)

  In a cast iron skillet, sauté onions, celery, and bell pepper on medium high heat. Allow to cool. In a bowl, combine salmon, vegetable mixture, dried bread crumbs, and salt and pepper. Stir in heavy cream until combined. Add bread crumbs or heavy cream as needed depending if mixture is too wet or too dry.

  Form patties and dust with flour.

  Heat oil on medium high heat and cook patties in batches about 8 to 9 minutes on each side, until browned. Change oil if needed.

  Yield: 6 to 8 patties

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A beautiful distraction.

  Soaking in the tub is the best remedy for what just happened. The clear liquid is as hot as I can stand with the jets pounding water onto my sore muscles and steam clearing my foggy head. I need to think. Because so far tonight I’ve been gliding along on emotions and feelings. Almost kissing him was shocking enough, but the electric jolt flying through my body was numbing.

  I can’t afford to be numb right now.

  The tile walls cry condensation, and I sink lower into the rushing water, thinking about what’s best for my family. What’s best for me.

  I had to spend my whole summer after high school in Napa vying for a spot in culinary school because Knox sailed in on his father’s money. Knox has never shown any interest in me other than hate. Than competition and winning.

  Then there’s the matter of what I overheard years ago at school. I think back to right after the yeast incident. I’d snuck down the hall to listen at Knox’s door, to hear the fallout from my excellently laid prank.

  Instead of Knox’s fury coming through the door, it was Blake. His roommate’s normally quiet voice was booming, shouting at Knox. “This is already out of hand. You need to report her and get her kicked out of school.”

  Knox is reserved. Not at all what I expected. “It’s not that simple.”

  “It’s pretty damn simple to me. She destroyed school property. It’s in the handbook. Expel her ass.”

  I gulped and pressed my ear closer to the door. Blake’s part was plenty loud enough for me to hear without the extra effort, but I needed to hear what Knox had to say.

  “My dad has history with her mother. They grew up together. He said he’s helping her, and she wouldn’t even have her little hole-in-the-wall diner if it weren’t for him. He also said Rowan got in with some sort of financial affirmative action or something. Reporting her for this would be like kicking a defenseless puppy. I feel sorry for her actually. Besides, we’ve already made Dean Ellerson’s office a second home. Obviously for less actionable offenses, but still.”

  I ran back to my room with tears streaming down my face. How could any of that be true? I would’ve known if Flynn had been helping with the restaurant, wouldn’t I? I definitely knew how I got into school, and it was with hard work even with the odds stacked against me. For fuck’s sake, I would have been in straightaway if Flynn hadn’t pulled strings to get Knox in. He had a lot of nerve even thinking something like that. When I was able to get myself together, I called Mama and she set the record straight. Flynn had probably lied to Knox to puff himself up at our expense. Mama never lied to me before so this was easy to accept.

  I sit up in the tub, and reach for my towel, wiping away the unpleasant memory. Why would I think anything has changed now? Because he said I’m a great chef? He doesn’t believe that in the least. If he did, he wouldn’t have been there with the knives—so quick to think I’d fail. He was just blowing smoke up my ass. And then softening me with his sob story about not really wanting to cook. About how Daddy is so mean. And I fell for the whole pity pie. Like some sort of sucker. Why?

  With renewed strength, I turn in for a good night’s sleep.

  When morning comes and I step out onto the sidewalk, somehow Knox has timed his exit right behind mine. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he had a tracker on me.

  He sidles up, wearing another pair of dark jeans, but this time with a white button-down and leather motorcycle jacket. Leisure Knox is affecting me more than I could ever imagine possible. A far cry from our school chef smocks and splattered pants. “Good morning, Am—uh, Rowan.”

  I nod stiffly. “Morning.”

  “Do you want to share
a cab?”

  “Sure.” I cast a sideways glance at him, trying to gauge his easy demeanor. What does it mean that we’re both pretending last night didn’t happen? I touch my lips, tingling from a phantom kiss.

  The doorman hails one for us and Knox opens the door, beckoning me in. I go around the car and hop in the other side. Amber is the new petty.

  I’ve left all my belongings back in the room and only brought my purse today. I want to be in the moment and absorb my surroundings, the studio, the competition. My phone has my music so I didn’t leave that behind. I pull it out of my purse and prepare to put the earbuds in.

  Knox reaches over but doesn’t quite touch my hands. “Can we talk a moment before we get there?”

  The exact opposite of what I want to do, but at the same time, I’m anxious to know what he’s thinking. We have traffic this morning so I hope this moment doesn’t last too long. “Okay.”

  “About last night. When you almost kissed me—”

  I turn on him and clearly the look on my face gives him pause. “Pick your next words very carefully, Everheart.”

  “Listen. When we almost kissed, I don’t want you to think that I’m playing some game with you. I’ve always thought of you as—”

  “Look, let’s just ignore that happened, okay? We’d both had some drinks on top of a couple of really stressful days. It’s not a big deal. Let’s just go back to how we were?”

  “What if I don’t want to go back?”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot. You want to be friends.” I put my earbuds in, essentially shutting down the conversation. We’re only feet from the front of the studio anyway. When I press play, Jakob Dylan sings to me about losing his friend, and I swear, right then and there, I want to kill somebody. Why did I almost kiss him? Why? Why? Why?

  I let Knox go into the studio without me and stew on the sidewalk for a bit. I cannot believe I was so stupid. And over Knox Everheart of all people. He bested me nearly every day for four years, but at least I fought back. I studied and mastered and gave him as good as I could. But now what? He bats his stupid eyes at me and wears some sexy clothes and I completely lose all my good sense. He hasn’t gotten any prettier in the last ten years I’ve known him—that would be impossible—yet I’m ready to throw it all to the wind because he gave me a compliment. Dafuq?