My dad’s hand clamped down on my knee under the table and squeezed supportively. “He doesn’t deserve you,” he rumbled sternly.
Mom huffed and tossed her napkin on the table. “You haven’t even given him a chance, Kaya. You left him remember? You left town and never looked back. The rest of us were left to pick up the pieces. That boy was going to marry you and you just… abandoned him. And for what? For this life you claim to love so much? You work a million hours a week. You don’t have a social life or a dating life, or hell, any kind of life. You have no prospects. You’re stuck on this never-ending hamster wheel where you cook all day. This can’t be all you want out of life.” She never raised her voice. Her sense of decorum was too strong to cause a scene, but she didn’t need to. Her words were arrows, aimed directly at my self-esteem and shaky confidence. One eyebrow rose, and I instinctively shriveled back, knowing she was dealing the final blow. “I raised you better than to settle for this.”
The air behind me turned to static, electrified and sharp. I felt the change all over my bare skin. All the little hairs on my body stood to attention, the back of my neck prickling with warning. The sensation was so strong I hardly noticed my mother’s sneer at all. Although I couldn’t ignore it completely. I mean, it was there. All over her face.
“Hey there, chef,” Wyatt’s deep voice greeted from behind me.
My body had been keenly aware he was there for a solid twenty seconds now, but the intense warmth in his voice made me jump. I couldn’t move right away, paralyzed by the intimate way he said “chef” and the five alarm warning bells clanging through my head. The signal was to run, but I didn’t know if it was to run from Wyatt or to him.
“I hope you’re enjoying the meal,” he said, addressing my parents now.
The nervous feeling zinged through me evolving from hot tension to cold fear. How much had Wyatt heard? Had he caught my mom’s tirade? Had he heard about Nolan not wanting to be with me? Oh my God, right now would be such a good time for a cataclysmic earthquake. Or super volcano? Surely there was a hidden super volcano buried directly beneath me.
I swiveled in my seat to stare up at him. He had been waiting for me. His smoldering gaze met mine immediately, the corners of his mouth turning up in that wicked, mischievous way of his. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here,” I told him.
“I wanted to meet the parents,” he said evenly, destroying all of my assumptions about him. Or maybe not all of them, since he had been the one to set up the reservation in the first place, but there was an extra layer to his words that made my heart karate kick my breastbone. “I’ve heard so much about them after all.”
Not wanting to draw this out for longer than I needed to, I jumped to my feet, only tottering a second or two as I adjusted to the height of my stilettos. “I’m going to make you pay for this,” I whispered to Wyatt as I settled my hand on his shoulder to catch my balance.
His head dipped so he could whisper, “Promises, promises,” against the shell of my ear.
Hiding my shiver, I faced my parents again and waved a hand in Wyatt’s direction. “Mom, Dad, this is Wyatt Shaw, executive chef of Lilou.” Seeing my mom’s still pinched expression, I added, “And my boss,” hoping to soften the snarling bitch that had taken possession of her body.
My dad rose immediately to shake his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, chef. Eric Swift.”
Wyatt offered a firm handshake I knew my dad would respect and said, “Same to you, sir. Your daughter is a real asset to my staff. I’m afraid I’d be lost without her.”
“That’s true,” I quipped. “He needs me.”
His hand settled on my lower back, adding pressure to my already tingling spine. “I do.” My breath caught in my throat at the seductive tone to his voice, but he quickly added. “She’s the best sous chef in the city. I’m lucky to call her mine.”
God, was it me or was Wyatt full of innuendos tonight? Probably just me. Right? One mind-blowing sexual encounter did not a relationship make.
“You’re who we have to thank for working our daughter to the bone?” my mom asked, not even pretending to be impressed with Wyatt.
“Yes,” I said quickly, trying to diffuse the insult with sarcasm. “Please blame him. He never listens to me when I lodge complaints.”
He smiled down at me, taking the bait, but there was something in his eyes that let me know he was only being kind for my sake. There was a gentleness there, meant for me. A sweet question of, “Are you okay?” with a vindictive shark swimming in the background. Wyatt didn’t take shit unless it was from Killian or Ezra. He wasn’t about to let Dana Swift bust his balls. Even if she was my mom.
“Wyatt, this is my mom, Dana.”
Wyatt took her hand, but quickly released it, reaching for mine instead. As if we stood like this often. With his hand still on the small of my back, splayed familiarly… possessively and his other hand holding my fingers loosely in his, my body tucked into his like we were a couple. Or two people with zero physical boundaries—the latter probably more accurate.
“Hi, Dana,” Wyatt greeted brightly.
She tried to smile, but none of us believed her. “Everything has been delicious so far.”
Wyatt looked at me, our eyes connecting in another one of his encouraging glances. You can do this, he seemed to say. You’re strong enough for this. And because he believed it, I believed it too. The gaping wound my mom had opened with talk about Nolan and marriage and my priorities began to close, my body ached less, my heart hurt less.
“Thank you,” he told her patiently. “You won’t eat a better meal in the city.”
My mom blinked at him, but his confidence held strong. I also knew he believed what he said. It wasn’t bravado for the sake of standing up for me. Lilou was the best. It was worth sacrificing for.
“We see that,” my dad said tersely, saving the conversation.
I turned to Wyatt, putting my hand on his chest, realizing too late how comfortable we looked touching each other. His arm that was already resting on my back, slid around and tugged me toward him, settling me against his body and holding me there. I focused on his face, stopping myself from glancing around in a panic. It wasn’t only my parents that I was worried about watching us now. His entire staff could see our public display of affection.
There would be no way to stifle the gossip. This was exactly what I didn’t want to happen.
And yet… I didn’t hate it either. Yes, thinking about my career and the implications this would have on my application for Sarita, I wanted to shrink into a tiny version of myself and race out of here like a cartoon Jerry trying to escape Tom’s sinister plans. But, the girl inside of me—the one that controlled my emotions and soul and my broken heart—rested in this touch, this closeness, the way he held me so firmly but so delicately. My heart grew three sizes in his arms, allowing my body to feel comforted and healed and held all at once.
“You should probably get back to the kitchen,” I told him, even though all I wanted to do was throw my body around his like a boa constrictor and never let go. “I’m not in there to save your ass tonight.”
He smiled down at me, his mouth a sanctuary of affection and his eyes a temple of desire. His expression was nothing short of adoring. God, how had I caught this man’s attention?
And how was he still here after everything I put him through? How had he not run away screaming by now? How did he ignore every single word out of my mouth and only pay attention to the signs I was too chicken to say out loud?
“Don’t remind me,” he groaned. Tipping forward on his toes, he pressed a sweet, slow kiss to my forehead.
I was momentarily blinded by the riot of butterflies inside me. They started low in my belly, but quickly spread to every extremity, making it impossible to think straight or form words or do anything but melt into a sticky, gooey pile of adoration.
Wyatt stepped back and addressed my parents. “Your food should be out in a minute. It was nice to meet
, y’all. I’m sure we’ll see each other soon.” To me, he said, “I’ll text you later, yeah?” He started to pull away but didn’t. He quickly leaned in and caught my ear with his lips. “By the way, I’m thinking about making this your new dress code. Goddamn, woman, you know how to bring me to my knees.” And then he was gone. Back to his lair, while I was left to convince my body it still had bones to hold me up with.
How did he do that? How did he make me feel so completely hot and melty and… soft? I wasn’t soft. I was hard, edgy… biting. I was a venomous snake. I was a snarling Pitbull. A barbwire version of what I used to be before unrequited love and devastating heartache had made me completely pull into myself.
Bracing myself for my parent’s questions, I collapsed on my chair and turned to face them. They were as flabbergasted as I was. All they could do was blink at me.
Thankfully, our food came out, saving us from trying to speak in full sentences until we’d collected our scattered wits.
Kim went over each dish, reminding us what was in front of us. She took another drink order—I asked Darius to surprise us.
I wasn’t entirely sure that alcohol was going to improve the evening, but I was willing to give it a shot. Besides… I still had two days left with my mother. Probably best to soak everything in booze—especially my sharp tongue.
“Wyatt seems nice,” my dad said evenly as he cut up his steak.
“Are you dating him?” my mother demanded, her tone shrill and slicing. “Is this what your hang up with work is?”
I took a bite of my handmade tortellini, closing my eyes against the fresh taste of blanched sweet peas and wholesomeness of pasta from scratch. The sauce was perfect tonight, hot and creamy and just a little tart thanks to the sharpness of the aged parmesan. God, I could eat a gallon of this. Carbs and my ass be damned.
“The thing with Wyatt is…” Not real. Too real. So very real. “Early.” I cleared my throat. “My hang up with work is that I love it. I love it more than I’ve loved anything in my life.” I pointed my fork at her when she started to protest. “Including Nolan.”
“Maybe you should back off for tonight, Dana,” my dad tried.
But my mom was a dog with a bone. “You can’t hide in a kitchen your whole life, Kaya. Eventually you’re going to have to come out. And when you do you’re going to find that you’re all alone and life has,” she made a vanishing gesture with her hands, “passed you by. No man is going to want a shriveled-up spinster, even if she can cook him a good meal.”
I slid to the edge of my chair. “Life is not passing me by, Mother,” I snapped. “I’m living life. I’m living it to the fullest. I have an amazing job. A job other chefs would literally kill for.” I glanced at my dad. “Not literally. But do you know how many other chefs want my job? How many are dying for the day I leave? A ton. So many. And I love my friends. And I love my apartment in the city. And I love my life. I love it. And I have a man. A good man. A smart, creative, super talented man. A man that I love—” the words caught me off guard, sticking in my throat and burning my tongue. I hadn’t meant to say that. I hadn’t even meant to think it. “To work with,” I finished. Calmer, slower, with more intention, I repeated. “A man I love to work with. A man that makes me a better chef. And a better person.” I relaxed in my chair, realizing that all these things were true. I not only felt them, I meant them. I didn’t have to convince anyone else. I could… rest in their truth. I held my mother’s angry gaze, praying she would see the sincerity in mine. “Nolan was never that man for me, Mama. We were kids. And he… he’s never grown up. He’s still the same kid, still playing the same games, still using the same tricks. But I’m not the same. I have grown up. And my taste has grown up. My qualifications. My preferences. I’m sorry that you think Nolan is this great love of my life, but he’s not. And I’m also sorry that you think I need a husband to make my life worth living. Because I don’t. I’m happy. Really, truly happy. And I would love it if you would be happy for me.”
Both of my parents stared at me, hardly believing the words that had come out of my mouth. For so long I’d been the silent victim to her constant nagging. I’d taken her anger, believing I deserved it, deserved their anger.
I’d felt guilty for running away. I’d felt guilty for leaving Nolan, for leaving Hamilton, for leaving everything behind. And they were so content with their life, so utterly happy with the smallness of it. I couldn’t live that way. That life wasn’t for me. Those people weren’t for me. Nolan wasn’t for me.
It had taken almost ten years and an unlikely arrogant chef to help me see it, but I finally felt released from the chains of my childhood.
My mother twisted the napkin in her lap and stared at her untouched pork belly. “Well.” She sniffed.
Surprising everyone, my father barked a low, “Enough, Dana. Eat the damn good food and give her a break for once.”
I had to shove some tortellini in my mouth to hide my smile. My dad never stood up to my mom. Like ever.
But then again, neither did I.
It might have been my imagination, but our dinner tasted even better after that. The conversation fell to safe topics like my sisters and how good everything was and the genius that was Darius the master barman.
My dad and I even laughed over the different names of dishes as I explained the rest of the menu and how frilly everything sounded. My mom never quite got over her ruffled feathers, but that was okay. I was willing to risk hers if it meant mine could be left alone.
By the time we got home, I was exhausted. All of us were ready for bed. I said goodnight to my parents and headed to my room.
Mindlessly working through my nightly routine, I saved plugging my phone in for last. I knew I’d have a text waiting for me. I had several—precisely what I expected after Wyatt’s full on possessively affectionate act tonight.
There were several waiting for me from Dillon and Benny, even Endo had texted a WTF?!?! But it was Wyatt’s and only Wyatt’s that I was interested in opening. There were four of them, sent throughout the night.
Keep thinking about you and that dress, Kaya. Damn.
Five minutes later he added, But it’s not better than you stripped naked for me. Need to see that again real soon.
An hour later he sent, Hope I didn’t piss your parents off too badly. To be fair, I was on my best behavior. At least considering the circumstances. Don’t remember being that irritated in a long time.
And then twenty minutes ago. PS, who the fuck is Nolan?
I typed back, He’s nobody. For the first time in too many years, I meant it.
Chapter Eighteen
A week later, I was back at Sarita and felt more at home than ever. Not just in this restaurant, but in my own skin.
After my parents left Monday morning, I’d grabbed some breakfast tacos, headed over to Lilou and enjoyed some one on one time with Wyatt. We’d spread out in his office and laughed over the total headcase that was my mother.
I thought he was going to be as exhausted with her as I always was, but he had been surprisingly endeared. He claimed that he loved to see how much she cared about me, even if it drove me crazy. And knowing his story with his mom, I relaxed. My mom made me see red most days, but Wyatt was right, she loved me more than anything.
He’d asked about Nolan and I had reluctantly shared—not because I was afraid of what he would think or of reopening my old wounds, but because Nolan finally felt like my past. I finally felt like I could let him go and move on. It wasn’t even hard for me to admit that Wyatt had played a major role in my new-found freedom. He had helped me see that I was worthy again, that I was desirable. He’d helped me shed the prison of not feeling wanted, not feeling good enough.
And yes, Wyatt’s affection and desire helped speed the healing process along. But it was more than that too. It was his respect for me, his utter belief in me. It was the way he lifted me up and chased after me.
I’d let one bad relationship define me for too long. Wy
att had opened my eyes to a whole new way of thinking. Nolan’s rejection didn’t get to have a hold on me anymore. I truly was the strong, independent, capable woman I had claimed to be for so long. And I might forget that sometimes in the future, but I would make sure Wyatt always reminded me. Or Dillon. Or I would tape sticky notes all over my house that screamed the truth at me. Never again would I let someone else decide my self-worth.
Our conversation had ended with secret kisses and wandering hands. We’d locked ourselves in his office until our coworkers started to show up and we were forced to act professionally again.
We’d been playing the same game all week. And I thought we’d been doing a pretty good job of being discreet until yesterday when Dillon had caught me walking out of Wyatt’s office with my chef coat undone and my lacey bra beneath totally disheveled. She’d been texting me nonstop today. I’d been faithfully ignoring her glee.
Vera spun a plate in front of her and nonchalantly mentioned, “Ezra’s going to stop by tonight.”
I focused on plating scallions atop bite-sized circles of bacon-wrapped scallops. Albeit reluctantly.
This was a dish I would change in a heartbeat. No more bacon wrapping anything. If we were going to add bacon to a plate, it was going to be the feature, damn it. Not the saving grace to an otherwise bland, boring and outdated yawn-fest of a dish. And we wouldn’t cut corners by gift wrapping mediocre seafood with overpowering salt parties.
No, the right bacon could stand on its own. And the right scallops should stand on their own. I would take this dish and make it into two. Scallops diced over toasted lavash, with sharp asiago cream sauce sprinkled on top, and a mint, cucumber drizzle finish.
For the bacon dish? A thickly cut piece to feel like steak, crispy on the outside, perfectly done on the inside, served with a tomatillo and jicama chutney and a microgreen salad on top.