Killian hovered a second longer before nodding toward his kitchen. “I should get back. I just wanted to make sure everything tasted fine.”
“Thanks for checking on us,” Molly gushed before I could answer. “I didn’t know food could taste this good.”
I kicked her shin under the table.
Killian tugged on his beard, somehow acknowledging me without looking at me. “I don’t believe you.” Finally, he turned back to me and said, “I’ll have Shane clean this up and bring you dessert. You can stay as long as you’d like, the meal is on me tonight.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Just tell me what you’re making this weekend,” he countered as if that would be fair play.
I stood for almost thirty seconds not knowing what to say or how to react. He couldn’t possibly be that interested in my cooking. Or my menus. When logic failed, sarcasm swooped in to save the day. “I’d rather pay my bill,” I told him.
His hand swiped over his mouth, hiding his brief smile. “I guess I’ll have to stop by and find out for myself then.”
“No, that’s not what I—”
He’d already turned away from me. “Molly, it was a pleasure to meet you. Forgive my friend, he’s a bigger asshole than I am.” Molly tried to apologize for her behavior too, but Killian cut us both off and said, “Goodnight, ladies.”
Then he was gone. Like a dragon back to his lair.
I turned to Molly. “What just happened?”
Her eyes cut across the restaurant to where Ezra had disappeared. “I’m not totally sure I know.”
“Men are weird.”
She gave me a sympathetic smile. “I think you might be on to something with your vow of celibacy.”
“So, are you saying you’re taking the vow with me?”
Her head tipped back with the force of her laughter. “No, God, no. I was just admitting that you’re smarter than me.”
I leaned back when Shane showed up to swap our third course plates for a buffet of desserts. “Would you ladies like to see the coffee menu?”
I winked at Molly. “Absolutely.”
Chapter Twelve
Three days later, I got a call from Vann while I was in the middle of prepping tonight’s crispy pork belly pot pie, which was not at all inspired by Killian or Lilou or the dinner Molly and I shared Tuesday night that I hadn’t stopped thinking about once. I wiped my hands on my apron and tucked my phone between my shoulder and chin.
“Is everything okay?” I asked instead of a regular hello.
“I just wanted to go over everything again before I pick him up.”
My brother sounded scared and unsure. I could count on one hand how many times Vann had been afraid of something growing up. But my dad’s illness was one of them.
Steadying my voice and doing my best to sound casual, I explained the chemo treatment area. “You’ll be in a private room, so you won’t have to deal with anyone else except the nurse. There’s a TV. He’ll probably sleep through most of it.”
“And when will he get sick?
“Not until Sunday.” Dad was getting sicker with each treatment. He’d started out handling them like a champ, but recently the two days following his treatment were bad.
Thankfully, I had Sunday off so I could sit with him and wait on him when he needed me. Dad’s treatments were usually on Tuesday, so I always took him. But this week, they asked him to come in on Friday. He had ten weeks of treatment left. Vann offered to take him today, so I could work.
Vann was quiet for so long that I had to look at my phone to make sure the line was still connected. “Is he going to be okay, Vera?”
I leaned over the counter, curling my fingers around the edge and squeezing tightly until I was positive I wouldn’t crumple on the ground. When I’d first come home, we’d only had to face the diagnosis. Dad didn’t want surgery, but he’d agreed to chemo.
Fine. That was his choice. But he’d still looked healthy. From the outside, it was impossible to tell that something monstrous was destroying him from the inside out.
Now, he looked sick. Now, he looked like a cancer patient. Now, I wanted to beg and plead and demand he live.
“I don’t know, Vann,” I whispered into the phone.
He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Let’s have supper together Sunday night. I know dad won’t feel up for much, but I’ll bring over chicken noodle from Rusty’s and that bread he likes.”
I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead, doing my best to hold it together. “That’s a good idea. We can play Scrabble and watch 60 Minutes.”
“This is dumb,” he groaned. “I hate this.”
Sniffling, I agreed. “Me too. But he’ll be happy you’re taking him today. He’s worried you’re jealous that I moved home.”
Vann didn’t respond to that, making me wonder if it was true after all. “I love you, Vera.”
I didn’t know what to say for a minute. Vann and I weren’t overly demonstrative. Dad’s sickness had put things into perspective for us both. “I love you too, Vann.” Then I thought of something. “He likes HGTV. He’ll tell you to put on whatever you want, but he wants the house hunting and remodeling shows. Even if he’s asleep.”
Vann’s chuckle was relieved but fragile. “Midget house hunters it is.”
“I don’t think that’s what it’s called.”
“Here he comes. I’ll call you after.”
“Give him my love.” We hung up, and I stared at the phone for a minute, wondering if I shouldn’t just abandon service tonight and meet them at the clinic.
I was just about to pack up shop when the door swung open, scaring the absolute crap out of me. I clutched my butcher knife and spun around.
Killian prowled into the small truck, shrinking everything under the strength of his anger. He held up his phone, shaking it back and forth at me. “Fussy? Pretentious?”
I bit my lip to keep from smiling. He’d found my Yelp review.
“What’s going on?” I asked innocently.
He glared at me and my knees nearly buckled under the force of it. Clearing his throat, he turned back to his phone and began reading. “I went to Lilou despite everything I knew it would be. And unfortunately, it lived up to every one of my expectations. I knew the atmosphere would be stuffy. And it was. I knew the food would be fussy. And it was. I knew the chef, Killian Quinn, who is raved about in some circles, but otherwise known to be a total douche, would be snobby. And he was. The garnishes were all a little much for my standards. And I can’t remember one dish that wasn’t overly salty. Not to mention I was looking forward to a charcuterie board and disappointed to find that they did not offer one. Obviously, nobody would call Lilou cutting edge, but I would have felt comforted knowing they at least tried to keep up with current trends. All in all, while the food was executed well enough, I was underwhelmed. To be fair, the desserts were incredible. But I heard they outsource those. In the end, I expected more from a chef with Quinn’s reputation.” Killian looked up at me again, his green eyes hot and furious. “That’s my latest Yelp review,” he explained. “Posted by someone with the screen name Nanananabooboo.”
I cleared my throat and checked the exits. He was blocking the doorway, but maybe I could throw myself out one of the windows?
Deciding on guiltless ignorance, I threw myself into the role. “Yikes. That sucks.”
“Vera.”
“I mean, why even write something so vicious?” I gulped nervously but just kept digging my grave. “Although, Nanananabooboo does bring up some valid points. Would it be the worst thing to—”
“Vera,” Killian growled. “Are you kidding me?”
“Yes?” Licking dry lips, I tried again. “No. I mean no. I’m not kidding you.”
His voice dropped low, menacing. He did not find the review hilarious at all. “What is this, Delane? Is this your idea of a joke?”
It was my idea of a joke. Or payback. After all his helpful notes a
nd midnight tutoring sessions, this was exactly my idea of vengeance. Only now, with him standing across the food truck looking so big and scary, I wasn’t so sure that it was my brightest idea ever.
To be fair, Molly had even tried to talk me out of it. But we’d gone back to her apartment after our life-altering meal at Lilou, opened a bottle of wine and I’d lost the ability to make rational decisions.
My gaze jumped from Killian to the door, to Killian back to the counter behind me, to Killian then up to the ceiling. If this was my “act casual” look, I should probably give up my dreams of being an international spy. “Come on, you can’t think that’s me.”
His expression hardened, his mouth pulling down in a frown. “I don’t think. I know it’s you.” He took a step forward. I retreated instinctively.
“You can’t know that it’s me.”
He took another step towards me. “I can.”
I changed tactics. “It’s just Yelp. Who reads Yelp anyway?”
“It’s the first thing that shows up on a Google search!”
He’d stopped moving right in front of me. I could feel his body heat and smell his skin. My heartbeat skipped in my chest, desperately trying to run away.
“You were Googling yourself, weren’t you? That’s how you found it.” I narrowed my eyes, trying frantically to turn this into a joke we could both laugh about. “I bet you have alerts set up. I bet it pinged you when it went live.”
His eyes darkened, and his mouth pressed into a straight line, disappearing behind his beard. Belatedly, I found the nerve to run, but he was faster than me. Or maybe he’d been expecting me to run and so he was prepared.
I darted away from him, ready to throw myself out the front door, but he grabbed my wrist and yanked me back to his body. I landed in a surprised heap against his chest, my cheek smooshed over his chiseled pectoral muscle.
I rested there for a second. Maybe two seconds.
There was a good possibility it was at least thirty seconds.
Hot awareness zinged through me with my body pressed so tightly to his. He was breathing heavily, worked up by the review, and I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to be plastered over his well-defined body in other circumstances.
Like if we were both naked, for example.
Replacing my cheek with my hand, I quickly pushed away from him, desperate for space. He kept hold of my wrist and caged me in against the cool counter.
My butt hit the edge, and my back bowed to put some space between my now looming neighbor and me. Killian’s hands rested on either side of my waist, making an impenetrable prison while his body leaned over mine, holding my full attention.
I tried not to smell him again, but he was everywhere. And so very close. His thighs rested against mine. His stomach against mine. Our chests were just inches apart. If I leaned forward just a smidge, I could head butt him. Or bite him.
Or kiss him.
I swallowed through the dysfunctional lump in my throat. “What are you doing?” I whispered.
“Forcing a confession.”
“Wh-what?”
“Confess, Vera. Confess that the review was yours and that you didn’t mean it.”
I rolled my eyes, faking bravado. “Never.”
His head dropped, the heat warming, shifting, evolving from one kind of frustration to another. His gaze dropped to my mouth. “Vera,” he warned.
I shivered at the way his deep voice curled around my name. He was so close. So intimidating. So something I wouldn’t let myself admit.
“Tell me it’s yours,” he demanded.
Shaking my head, I realized I should have been afraid of him right now. The trauma of my past should have triggered all kinds of fear and panic and desperation. I should be kicking and screaming or at the very least curled up into a helpless ball of uselessness.
Instead of freaking out, I felt something different, something fluttery and hot and hungry. At the same time, I realized I was taunting Killian on purpose, seeing just how far I could push him, I admitted that I wasn’t afraid of him. That I even might have, sort of, trusted him.
At least I trusted him not to hurt me.
If I would have imagined this scenario yesterday, I would have denied it. I would have stood by the fact that every executive chef, maybe every man on the planet (except my dad and Vann), were the same. They all had excessive egos and the need to be coddled, worshiped and obeyed. And when they didn’t get their way, they took it out on whomever could be hurt the most.
Yesterday, I thought all men were assholes, and the lead asshole of them all was Killian Quinn.
Today, he’d made me acknowledge the truth. Killian could be an asshole, but he wasn’t only an asshole. And he was a man, but he wasn’t a bad man.
Most of all, he wasn’t anything like one man in particular.
And that was huge for me. Not only did I not distrust Killian, but I trusted him. I trusted him not to hurt me physically, verbally or emotionally. Maybe he’d said some exasperating things in the past, but they hadn’t been meant to manipulate or control me. He hadn’t been spiteful or mean for the sake of being mean.
Most of all, they hadn’t destroyed whole pieces of me at a time. If anything, I’d become a better chef because of him.
That didn’t mean he was completely forgiven for past actions or that my Yelp review wasn’t completely justified. But it did mean that maybe I wasn’t completely broken after all.
“Make me,” I dared him.
His eyes dropped to my lips again, and I resisted, but barely, the urge to lick them. “Admit that it’s yours and I won’t have to torture you.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “I’m terrified. Really.”
Half his mouth lifted in a cocky smile. “Good.” Then he extracted his revenge. By tickling me.
The bastard.
One hand clamped down on my right hip. I was so surprised at first, that I squeaked. But then he pressed his thumb into a sensitive spot, and I started to wiggle. His other hand grabbed my other side, and I looked like a lunatic trying to shake him off me.
I gasped for air as his hands moved over my torso from hip bones to ribs, poking, squeezing and prodding until tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. He didn’t let up. He tickled me until I didn’t think I could breathe—until I was positive that I was going to die from being tickled too much.
“Okay!” I panted. “You win! You win!”
“Admit that you wrote the review,” he demanded.
And since he hadn’t stopped tickling me yet, I nodded furiously. “Fine, I did it. I’m Nanananabooboo!”
He backed off a little, but not enough. “Now, tell me you’re sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” I laughed, now that it was easier to breathe. “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry.”
He stopped tickling me, but his hand remained on my waist, and I realized my fingers had grasped his t-shirt in a desperate attempt to shove him off me. It hadn’t worked. Apparently, I’d decided to cling to him instead.
We were intimately close. Our bodies draped over each other from our tussle, hot everywhere we touched, buzzing with new energy and new interest.
He had what he wanted, but he didn’t pull away. “Now I’m going to need you to remove the review completely."
His intense, serious expression stole my amusement and revenge fun. I wanted to wiggle under his stare, but we were too close. Wiggling would only lead to more trouble. “What if I really feel that way?”
His eyes flashed with uncertainty. “Do you? Feel that way I mean?”
I nibbled my bottom lip, but couldn’t convince myself to lie. “No,” I whispered. “Not even a little bit.”
His head dipped toward mine again, closer, within biting distance.
Within kissing distance.
“Then will you remove your mean review? Please?”
It was the please that did it. His please would always do it. The word sounded too fragile for his filthy mouth, too sweet to
come from someone so hard. I didn’t stand a chance.
I patted the counter blindly until I found my phone. Making a show of unlocking it and pulling up the Yelp app, I went about removing my review from the site.
I hadn’t planned to keep it up anyway. But I had been curious to see how long it would take him to find it.
Three days.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one obsessed with reviews.
I showed him the confirmation screen. “There. All gone.”
He dropped his head in relief, his forehead brushing my cheek. “Thank you.”
“I hope your ego recovers,” I joked to untangle us from this spot—figuratively and literally. He was still leaning over me, making all my neglected girly parts wake up and pay attention.
He chuckled, his chest vibrating against mine with the sound. “My ego is never safe around you, Delane.” Lifting his head, he caught my gaze and held it. His hands brushed over the counter and over my hips. For a second I was afraid he was going to start tickling me again, but then his fingertips dipped beneath my white t-shirt and his hands wrapped around my waist instead. “Thank you for removing the review.”
“You already said that,” I whispered, nervous and excited and confused all at once.
“I mean it, though.” The corners of his mouth lifted in a sincere smile. “I just wanted you to know.”
All I could do was blink. I knew he was going to kiss me. I just knew it.
And I was right. He closed the distance between us, his lush mouth finding the corner of mine and placing a sweet, lingering kiss.
I squirmed when his beard scratched my skin, brushing over it with an interesting mix of soft and rough. I decided very quickly that I liked the feel of his beard on my skin.
I liked it a whole lot.
He kissed me one more time along the jaw, then he pulled back, separating us entirely. I shivered again, but this time it was because I missed the heat of his body, the cover of his skin against mine.
“Break a leg, chef,” he murmured, sounding as hot and bothered as I felt.
“You too,” I croaked.