See? I had a social life. Sometimes I worked. But sometimes I went shopping for house plants. Take that, Nolan. You big, dumb idiot.
I changed my high-waisted cotton skirt and chambray cropped tank top for a pair of wide-leg black linen pants and a yellow cami with wide-straps that had a little ruffle along the seam. In another hour I would throw my chef coat over it and be work appropriate, but for now I would fit in with the real world.
Grabbing my crossbody purse, I glanced around my sparse but trendy apartment and noted places that could use a little green. There were a lot of spaces.
I had been wanting to get plants for a while. It was either a house full of plants or a puppy. But I worked too much to take care of something that needed to be fed and walked and required human interaction every day. And I hated cats.
Also, I hated fish tanks. I’d had one break in my bedroom when I was thirteen. I’d thrown a baseball at Claire and she ducked instead of catching it. The ball crashed into the tank and water dumped everywhere. Water and those tiny rocks and itty, bitty, shattered pieces of glass. I had sworn that day I would never own another fish and face a potential twenty-five-gallon catastrophe ever again.
Plants. I could handle plants.
Maybe I’d even make an herb garden behind my kitchen sink where the natural light could reach it.
Liking the idea more and more, I headed out the door to meet my friends. Er, my friend and the drill sergeant I knew.
The nursery felt like a breath of fresh air when I stepped into the cool building. Deep greens and light greens and every color of flower stretched in all directions, carefully designed to draw the eye and jumpstart the gardener in each of us.
It worked on me. This was like some kind of textile therapy. And after my morning, I drank in every second of the calming atmosphere and aromatic air.
“Kaya!” Dillon called from where she stood by a pallet of succulents.
Ooh. Yes, please. I grabbed a basket near the door and headed toward them. “Hey.” I smiled brightly, feeling more like myself than I had five minutes ago.
Vera and Dillon smiled back. “Hey.”
“You look cute.” Vera grinned. “It’s nice to see you not covered in Coke from head to toe.”
I laughed. “Yeah, it’s amazing how comfortable I am in a kitchen, but ask me to carry dirty dishes around for a few hours and I lose all sense of balance and coordination.”
“I can’t wait to see how you do with reservations.”
“No,” I groaned. “You’re not putting me on the phones, are you?”
She waggled her eyebrows and held her thumb and pinky up to her face, mimicking my future. “Hi, this is Kaya at Sarita, how can I service you this evening?”
“Oh my God,” Dillon laughed. “You sound like a phone sex operator.” She looked at me. “Please don’t ask strangers how you can service them!”
“That could be an interesting career change. My mom would love that.” Smacking my hand to my forehead, I made an angry sound in the back of my throat. “I forgot, I can’t come in this Sunday. My parents are coming to town and I promised to spend time with them.”
Vera pouted. “That’s no fun. I’ll have to find someone else to torture this week.”
Dillon gave her a look. “You look so nice from the outside. Nobody would ever know you’re psychotic if you didn’t go around announcing it.”
Vera flexed her tiny bicep. “Wait till I have a staff of my own.” She added some succulent arrangements to her massive cart. “By the way, we’re going to start hiring next week if either of you ladies are interested. I can’t promise a sane working environment, but we’re going to have fun!”
Dillon leaned on me, both of our shoulders deflating. Because… that sounded amazing. I had loved working for Killian. Even if he had been a dictator ninety-nine percent of the time. And even though I didn’t think Vera would be any different to work for, I liked her a lot.
“I wish,” Dillon grumbled before I could give my answer. “But I’m fairly confident if I quit Lilou to work at Killian’s restaurant, Ezra would cut me out of the will and mail me to Siberia.”
“He wouldn’t do either of those things,” Vera assured her. “At least he wouldn’t mail you to Siberia.” She paused and added, “The cost of postage would likely stop him. He’s a real cheapskate about those things.”
“He would. He’d take it out of my inheritance,” Dillon assured her. “And he would never forgive me, which would be worse.”
“Ah, sibling love,” I groaned. “It’s adorable.” Both Vera and Dillon had brothers they loved. Which made me want a brother. Clearly, I’d been give the short straw with two sisters. We didn’t love each other in that hero-worship kind of way. We loved each other out of obligation, but we didn’t like each other much at all.
“What about you, Kaya? Care to apprentice full-time?”
I bobbled my head back and forth. “Maybe? I want to see how Sarita goes first and I don’t feel like I should abandon Ezra before I try that. Besides, Wyatt would kill me if I left him right now.”
Dillon and Vera shared a look before Dillon asked, “So you guys are official?”
“Official?” My heart jumped to my throat and I started coughing dramatically in an attempt to dislodge it. “God, no. I meant… I meant in the kitchen. If I left him alone at Lilou, he would murder me. And then bring my corpse back to life and make me his sous-chef zombie slave.”
Vera snickered. “Sounds kinky.”
My face was now the same color as the nearby mini rose trees. “Dillon, I can’t trust you with anything!”
She held her hands up. “What? That was juicy! I can’t be expected to keep information like that a secret forever.”
“It’s been one week.” I turned to Vera. “How long have you known?”
She pressed her lips together to hide a smile. “Oh, not long. Maybe like a week?”
I glared at the greenhouse-style ceiling and decided these two chatty Cathy’s could remain my friends. For now. Until someone better came along. And by better, I meant anyone with the ability to keep a secret.
“You didn’t tell Killian, did you?”
Vera’s expression turned guilty. “It’s just that he’s been worried about Wyatt lately. He’s been stressed out because of the promotion. We want to see him happy.” She cleared her throat. “Also, Killian was pissed I didn’t let him in on training you. I needed something juicy to even things out! And you guys as a couple is about as entertaining as it gets.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get any ideas. There’s nothing juicy happening between Wyatt and me.” Except for when we made out this morning. In public. In front of his foster mom.
“Why not?” Vera asked, her eyes darkening with worry. “You’re so good for each other.”
The comfort and freshness of the nursery faded with the intrusion of cold, hard reality. “Not in the long-term sense of the word.” At Vera’s completely fallen face, I quickly added. “We’re having fun. It’s nothing serious. It won’t ever be something serious.”
“Oh, sure.” Vera turned back to add more succulent arrangements to her cart. “Yeah, I only meant we want to see him less stressed out. Jo said he was better this morning when she saw you two.”
I blinked at Vera. “How has word spread this quickly?”
She gave me a side glance. “We’re all on Wyatt watch. We want to see him settled into Lilou and in life. It’s nothing against you, Kaya.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s not.”
Dillon nudged me with her elbow. “Meeting Jo though… That’s kind of a big deal?”
My shoulders lifted in a casual shrug out of instinct. “I already know Jo. And this morning wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like… an official meet the parents moment or anything. It was—”
“She said she caught you kissing!” Vera practically shouted.
Desperately trying to keep my voice softer than shrill, I said, “Oh my God.”
“And Wyatt
confirmed,” Vera confessed, nervous for the first time ever. “They both had unrelated questions, but the conversation naturally kind of… veered to you.”
I tried not to fidget as the burning in my cheeks reached an all new level of volcanic hot. “Is this why we’re here? You want to interrogate me about Wyatt?”
“We’re here to pick out low maintenance centerpieces for Vera’s tables,” Dillon said nonchalantly, like they hadn’t lured me into their trap to confirm all the scandalous details of my not-so-private morning. “Aren’t they pretty?”
“Yes,” I mumbled, picking up one for myself. There were three different varieties in a kind of rock garden settled into a stone pot. Very pretty. It would look super cute on my island, next to my giant wood cutting board.
“He’s a great guy,” Vera said gently. “Maybe you should give him a chance.”
“It’s bad timing,” I confessed. “With my attempt at Sarita. And being his sous chef. And, both of our insane, chaotic lives. It’s not meant to be.”
The eternal optimist, Dillon’s eyes lit with hope and she started to say, “Maybe—”
“Look at those mossy things,” I said, cutting her off. “I’m going to check those out.”
They let me have my space and graciously didn’t bring up the subject of Wyatt again all morning. I left with another backseat filled with purchases and a rapidly beating heart.
I could handle ninety-hour weeks like a pro. I worked in one of the most stressful, sweatiest kitchens out there, my boss was a total tyrant and I had to consistently produce perfection to keep my position. Those things didn’t bother me. I didn’t get anxiety. I was a badass chef and comfortable in my role in the kitchen.
But a harmless conversation about Wyatt? Entirely based on facts? Too much for me. My palms were sweaty, and my stomach had decided to grow an ulcer. I would have called in sick tonight if I would have thought I’d still have a job in the morning.
What was it about Wyatt that turned me into a complete mess? I was so much better when he was yelling at me than dealing with the sweeter, softer, surprise version of him I didn’t even know existed until recently.
Steeling my nerves, I said goodbye to my friends with promises to see Dillon very soon and Vera as soon as my parents headed back to Hamilton. Then I went to work. Because that was what I did. No matter what happened with Wyatt or my personal life, work was my center, my cure. I would throw myself into it tonight and forget everything else. And at the end of the night, I’d slip out before Wyatt could get me alone and trick me into more of his delicious kisses.
Or maybe I’d stick around for them. As long as he swore on his kitchen knives that he wouldn’t tell anyone this time.
Chapter Sixteen
Holy shit! I caught sight of my reflection in the small mirror above the hand-washing sink and held back a laugh.
My short hair shot out from behind my damp bandana every which way, frizzy loose curls, frizzier and curlier now that I’d been working almost fifteen hours. My mascara had smudged beneath my lower lashes and my cheeks were rosy from running around like a chicken with its head cut off for the last several hours.
I undid the top three buttons of my jacket, hoping to cool down a little. The kitchen was extra hot tonight. And we were extra busy.
There were rumors that Lilou, and by default Wyatt, was up for another James Beard award. There was talk that Ezra had entered the two of them into several categories, like he always did in October. The results would be announced soon, like they always were in May, which meant judging was well underway.
Of course, there was no way to know if that rumor was true or what awards we had to strive our best to receive because Ezra wasn’t here to ask. Besides, he wouldn’t tell us anyway. We had gone through this every year while Killian was in charge. I thought Ezra would give us a couple years to calibrate to new leadership, but apparently, he didn’t want to waste time making Wyatt a chef to contend with.
I had expected the rumors to wind Wyatt up, make kitchen life intolerable. Instead, he was in rare form. Completely unaffected by the pressure and operating as efficiently and effectively as possible. At a speed that I quite frankly didn’t even know existed.
There was something oddly more relaxed about him, but at the same time his perfectionism had reached a whole new level of demand. I’d gotten through tonight with only one redo, but I’d been stressed out the whole evening making sure every single element of my dishes were without reproach.
I should hate him all over again for what he’d put me through tonight. But these were the aspects about his personality I respected. These were the things I appreciated about him. I had only known head chefs to be totally, intolerably obsessive about their kitchens.
From cleanliness, to the quality of ingredients they cooked with, to the level of finesse at which their dishes left the kitchen, most chefs at this level were control freaks times one thousand. And I gave every single one of them grace.
Their name was on the line. Their reputation at risk. They weren’t selling food to hungry diners, they were creating an evening that was memorialized by smells and touch and taste. They were developing moments of excellence that would follow these people to the end of their lives. They were facilitating experiences that would change and mark people.
Think back to your favorite meal. It wasn’t only the food. The memory encapuslated the people you were with, the ambiance, the aesthetic of the food, the drinks you ordered, the smile on your server’s face, the temperature of the restaurant, the smell, the lighting… every single aspect played a part in creating the most perfect dining experience of your life.
And while the back of house might not have a say in décor and dimness, we controlled the main event of the evening. Wyatt, like Killian before him, wanted every single customer to leave tonight declaring that they had eaten the best meal of their entire lives—the meal every other piece of food would be compared to for all of eternity.
I could get on board with that.
One day, I would run my own kitchen and the same would be true about me. My staff would mumble, “That persnickety bitch,” under their breath and I would smile and pat them on the head, because a meticulous shrew was exactly what I would have to be.
Dillon sidled up to me, wrapping her arm around my waist in a quick side hug. She’d already stripped off her chef’s coat and we’d only been closed for five minutes.
“Hey, I’m taking off,” she said, clearly rushed to get out the door.
“Already?”
“Molly and Ezra asked me to pick them up from the airport,” she explained.
I glanced at a nearby clock. It was just after eleven. My heart sank for two reasons. One, that Ezra was back. And two, that Dillon was abandoning me to close without her.
Still, I was a good friend, so I asked, “Do you need me to shut down your station?”
She grinned at me, backing up toward the side entrance. “Wyatt already volunteered you. I think his exact words were, ‘Kaya will do it for you. She loves to clean up your shit.’”
My eyes bugged. “That asshole.”
Winking at me, she put her hand on the door.
“Can’t they get an Uber?” I called after her, but she was already racing to her car.
“They’re engaged!” she shouted over her shoulder. “He asked her while they were on the beach!”
My shoulders deflated as the heavy steel door slammed shut. Okay, so that was a no?
Smiling at how loyal my friend was to her family, I turned around and got back to work. If I wanted any shot at six hours of sleep tonight, I needed to get my ass in gear. My parents were coming tomorrow night and I could not, in any way, be running on fumes while they were here. It would get my big mouth into more trouble and I seriously didn’t want to fight with them their entire stay.
“Swift,” Wyatt called from across the kitchen. “You good with sauté?” He was referring to Dillon’s station where she sautéed veggies and made the sauces fo
r dinner service.
“It’s my favorite,” I told him. It was my least favorite. And Dillon had been especially messy tonight. Probably because of the extra layer of mayhem and her excitement over her brother’s engagement. But dang, no wonder she was in a hurry to get out of here.
I would be too if my station looked like she left hers.
Wyatt made a noise that from across the kitchen almost sounded like a laugh. It couldn’t have been though, because Wyatt didn’t laugh in his kitchen.
Benny shot me a funny look, roughly rubbing his closely shaved head. “Was that a joke, Kaya?”
“Shut it,” I growled at him.
He grinned at me. Benny was a gigantic man that seemed too large for a kitchen setting. And even though his fingers were as big as sausages, he did amazing things with meat. As the butcher, he carved the proteins and made them look fabulous. Besides me, he was Wyatt’s most trusted chef on staff.
“I wasn’t prepared for you to be funny. You should warn me next time.”
“I’ve always been funny,” I shot back. “You just haven’t had a sense of humor until tonight.”
“I don’t think it’s me that needed to find their sense of humor.” His gaze darted back to Wyatt and I fought the urge to slap my palm over my eyes and curse.
“Maybe he’s finally settling into the role.” I shrugged, pretending it was no big deal.
“Maybe,” Benny agreed.
We separated, getting back to our work. He finished way before me and disappeared to find Wyatt.
I was left alone in the now empty kitchen space since I had double the workload. Benny and Endo had offered to help me finish, but I’d declined their help. It was late enough. They didn’t need to stick around for me. We all wanted to get to bed.
Benny and Wyatt had left twenty minutes ago to drop the nightly deposit off at the bank. I’d watched them walk out the door and breathed a sigh of relief when they’d gone.