She returned with the Herald-Sun a few minutes later. Most industry gossip was found online, with food bloggers and online magazines. But newspapers could always be counted on to print reviews. I flipped straight to the Living section, anxious to see if there was anything new in the Durham area and maybe, possibly, see if something had been written about Foodie. It was a long shot, and nobody had contacted me about it or anything, but a girl could hope.
Instead of local news, a familiar face stared at me from the flat pages. It was a write up for a newish restaurant in Charlotte making a splash in the southeast.
I tried to swallow around the gritty lump in my throat, but I couldn’t seem to manage.
Derrek leaned against an industrial cooktop, surrounded by smooth steel and shiny accessories. His crisp white chef’s coat had no wrinkles, his name and restaurant name perfectly embroidered over the right breast. His eyes looked kind in the picture, creasing in the corners and glittering with pride. And his face. His face that was so good looking it almost hurt.
Unlike Killian, who screamed danger and mayhem and broken rules, Derrek was all-American- blonde, blue-eyed with clean-cut, chiseled features. After I’d moved in with him and things had turned for the worse, I used to wonder if his success had more to do with his appearance than his skill in the kitchen. He was a good chef, but he wasn’t phenomenal.
But it wasn’t just his looks and mediocre talent that propelled his career skyward. Even I could admit that the man had charisma. He was charming, alluring, he made everyone feel comfortable and cared about. Nobody could resist him.
Especially not me.
Not until I’d learned my lesson the hard way.
Now he’d managed national acclaim. I wasn’t surprised. Disappointed in the American people as a whole, but not surprised.
My stomach churned, and chills crawled over my body, making me paranoid. My fear was silly and unfounded. It was just a picture. He couldn’t see me. He didn’t know I’d found this article or bothered to read it.
He didn’t know anything about me anymore.
I sucked in a deep breath and clenched my hands into tight fists to keep them from shaking. I didn’t like to think about him anymore, or the time I spent with him. But once in a while, when I was afraid of the future or disappointed with how little I had done with my life so far, I allowed myself to imagine what my life would have been like if I’d have stayed with him.
Would he have proposed by now?
Would he have made me quit my job by now?
Would he have hospitalized me by now?
Would he have killed me by now?
A sour feeling of dread snaked through my stomach, threatening to make me toss up my breakfast, followed by a flash of heat and sweat. God, I was a mess when it came to Derrek. One part relief that I wasn’t still with him. One part embarrassment that I’d become a victim, that I’d let myself get sucked into an abusive relationship to begin with. One part hate—pure, raw, violent hate. And one part fear. Fear that he would find me again. Fear that he would suck me back in, remind me that I was nothing without him, that I would never be anything without him. Fear that he wouldn’t give me the choice. That he would demand my obedience.
And I would give it to him.
Again.
I felt like an addict in the worst way. And it was the sick addiction that scared me the most. Because I knew what I wanted and he wasn’t it. I knew how to be happy again, and he wasn’t the way. I knew how to stay healthy and go after my dreams and be my own, independent woman. And yet the threat of what he could do to me, how he could destroy every single thing, was very real.
And knowing that still didn’t take away the fear. Because I didn’t trust that there wasn’t some way he could convince me to go back to him.
He had stripped me of self-worth and confidence and everything I needed to be me. He’d turned me into a submissive, weak, shell of a woman. He’d broken me.
What if he did it again?
What if he didn’t turn me weak? What if I’d always been weak?
And he had simply been stronger?
When Leanne came back at the end of my dad’s treatment, I still clutched the Living section in my sweaty hands. She woke Dad and unhooked him. His sleepy gaze swept over the paper. I didn’t know if he recognized Derrek or not, but he didn’t comment on him.
He wrapped his heavy arm around my shoulder, and we walked to the car. It wasn’t until we were buckled and headed back home that he reached over from the passenger’s seat and settled his warm hand on my still-chilled shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Vera. No matter what I said earlier, you should know that I’m proud of the woman you’ve become and all that you’ve accomplished. I only worry because it’s my job.”
I gave him a watery smile, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.
“And you don’t need him,” he went on, surprising the hell out of me. “I know you’ve kept what happened a secret because you think you’re protecting me, but I see it, Vera. I see that he hurt you badly. Hell, I had to deal with him after you left, calling the house twenty times a day. I know that he damaged you somehow and I hate him for it. I’d like to kill him for it. But I know I don’t need to. You’re stronger than that boy. And you deserve better. You deserve the best. I’ve never known anyone more deserving than you, baby girl.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I hiccupped on a mushy sob.
He squeezed my shoulder, his large hand engulfing me, making me feel small, protected. “You’ll get your picture in the paper soon enough. You just watch. He’ll be reading about you soon enough.”
I nodded, accepting his comfort without explaining that recognition was the last thing I wanted. Well, at least now, after I read Derrek’s feature.
He’d inadvertently put things into perspective for me. I wasn’t trying to make national or even statewide news. I needed to stay under the radar, do my thing quietly, inconspicuously and without drawing attention to myself.
Derrek could make the paper all he wanted; I just hoped he wasn’t dating anyone new.
Not for my sake.
But for hers.
****
That afternoon, after I had dropped Dad off and made sure Vann would be by later to check on him, I headed to the truck. I had about ten thousand things to do for the weekend, especially after the chicken and waffle flop. I needed to up my game. I couldn’t have any more train wrecks like that.
I’d learned so much in the few months that I’d been opened, but business could be better. My business management skills could be better. My food could be better. Basically, every single thing could be better.
I hadn’t heard back from any of the bakeries I’d stopped by, and I still hadn’t found a produce vendor I was happy with. So far I’d managed with the closest organic grocery store, but it was gouging my budget. I needed a place with fresh fruits and vegetables without breaking the bank.
All in all, though, I’d learned a ton since I’d opened. Nothing had been smooth or easy or natural, but I was getting the hang of it. Mostly.
I opened the windows and propped the door open. The truck hummed with electricity while the fans whirred to life. I stepped in front of one and tried to cool down.
Vann’s bike shop buzzed with activity around me. Cyclists from all over the city had shown up for a weekly group ride. There was a little Mexican restaurant outside the city where they went to celebrate Taco Tuesday. I’d told Vann I would serve tacos to them, so they didn’t have to go all the way to Mama Bonita, but Vann said that defeated the purpose. Clearly, cyclists were crazy.
Enough of them stopped by to see if I sold power drinks or energy bars though that I seriously contemplated stocking them for the future. I offered them cans of soda, but they looked at me like I had lost my damn mind.
When someone knocked on the door, I assumed it was another one of them. “I don’t have anything made by Gatorade. I’m not even open.”
“No, I, uh, I wasn’t looking for anything.
I just saw you were here.”
I spun around. Killian stood in the doorframe. His arms were braced on either side, but he had yet to step inside.
“I thought you were one of them.” I pointed to the human-size bumble bees behind him— because of all the yellow and black spandex. “They want me to whip them up some go bars and energy squeezies.”
He wrinkled his nose, as unimpressed as I had been. “That’s disgusting.”
“My brother is one of them, and I can safely say they don’t know the difference between cardboard and what they keep in their refrigerators. If it’s not tasteless and full of protein, they don’t want it.”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything else on the subject. Instead, he seemed to watch me for a minute, thinking something over. When he finally spoke again, he said the very last thing I ever expected him to say. “I’ve never asked, and it’s kind of silly to do so now, but I gotta know, Delane. Do you have a boyfriend?”
My heart stuttered, tripping over uneven beats and panic. Derrek’s article flashed in my head, and I worried that Killian knew. How did he find out I’d dated Derrek? Had he seen the article? Did Killian know Derrek? Did he know what Derrek was really like? Or did Killian respect him like the rest of the industry?
I inhaled slowly and answered as evenly as I could. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” I looked down at the knife in my hand and swallowed thickly. I sounded nervous, unsteady. And apparently, Killian thought so too because he just stood there staring at me. His eyebrows squished together over his nose and I could feel the concern bubbling up inside him. I rushed to rescue the conversation and cover my jittery behavior. “Unless you count the truck. Then things are new, but we took out a loan together so I guess I’m stuck with him.” I tried for sarcastic, but my voice sounded brittle and unconvinced. I hiccupped an awkward laugh and then just started spitting out words in an anti-effort to salvage my dignity. “And thank God for that, because I honestly don’t want a boyfriend. The only thing I’m capable of committing to right now is food.” Oh, God. The words just wouldn’t stop. “I mean, clearly I’m a walking disaster. A guy would have to be insane to date me. Or be one of those guys that likes crazy girls. And what does that say about them? Besides how hypocritical is our culture that a girl that’s high drama gets labeled as crazy, but a guy that enjoys high drama is what? Nothing? Applauded for putting up with her? It’s such a double standard.”
Killian stared at me for a minute, not saying anything and not doing anything. I turned back to the counter and put the knife away. Talking about boyfriends made me stabby. I didn’t want to be responsible for what happened to Killian if he pried any further.
Not that he pried.
He just asked a question, and I verbally vomited all over him.
After a long, uncomfortable silence, he said, “Uh, I came over to ask if you wanted to go out with some of us from the restaurant tonight? It’s Wyatt’s birthday.”
Surprised by his offer, I turned around and leaned against the counter. If I was honest, I was surprised that he was still here. He hadn’t fled. He’d witnessed some of my crazy and hadn’t abandoned me. He stood there as calm and patient as always.
Something warm and bubbly burst through me. I crossed my arms, trying to ward off the sensation, but I couldn’t manage to banish it. I tried to convince myself that it was just nice to be included with the staff at Lilou, but even my stubborn heart saw through the lie. It had nothing to do with Wyatt or his birthday and everything to do with the cocky, self-absorbed chef standing in my doorway. “Where are you going?”
Killian inclined his head toward the other side of the plaza. “Probably Verve or Greenlight. It could be cool.”
“Yeah, it could be.”
Half his mouth lifted in a coaxing smile, partly hidden behind his beard. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“No, it’s not that. I mean, Wyatt’s cool. And I should probably get him a gift for all he’s put up with from me anyway. I just don’t know anybody except you and the birthday boy.”
He shrugged, playing cool, but his shoulders were rigid, and he’d crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, but you do know me. We could hang out. Away from food and our places of employment.”
I licked my suddenly dry lips and avoided his gaze. God, I wanted to say yes. My first instinct was to say yes. To jump at the chance to see what he was like away from a kitchen. To get to know him without the pressure of performing. But Derrek was too fresh in my mind, a dark shadow that lingered in every corner of my new happiness.
Killian sensed my hesitation and threw me a life preserver. “You don’t have to decide now. Just see how you feel later.”
“How will I find you?” Not that I was thinking about going. Because I wasn’t.
“Here, hand me your phone. I’ll give you my number.”
I blinked at him, unable to believe he was seriously hitting on me. He had such a poker face. “Okay, smooth operator,” I mumbled.
His lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “What?”
“Don’t act so casual. I see what you’re doing.”
It became harder for him to hold back his smile. “I’m just saying; then you can text me later.”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
The smile won, breaking through and transforming his face from ruggedly handsome to I can’t breathe when I look directly at you. “I probably need it anyway, you know, for like work stuff.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Work stuff?”
“That way I can just text you tips and salt warnings.”
“You wouldn’t.”
He reached up to tug at the side of his beard, forcing it into shape. Then he curled those long fingers at me, gesturing for me to give up my phone.
Apparently, I’d also lost my mind. I grabbed my cell from the shelf over my head and walked it to him. “If I get a text about salt, I might punch you.”
He took the phone from me after I’d tapped in the password, our fingers brushing in the exchange. It wasn’t anything. We barely touched, but a burst of sensation sizzled up my arm, sending butterflies in a craze inside my belly and flushing my cheeks with heat. What was wrong with me?
I’d sworn off men.
All men.
Including him.
Especially him.
But honestly, did I even stand a chance when it came to him? His bright green eyes were warm beneath thick lashes. His dark hair was wavy and full, pushed to one side in a disheveled sort of delicious mess. He was just a step shorter than me, since he still hovered near the doorway and it was the first time I looked at his face where his beard wasn’t the prominent feature. From this angle, I noticed his tanned, perfect skin and the wrinkles his forehead made when he raised his eyebrows.
I swallowed and took a steadying breath. Get it together.
He punched in his number and then called his phone from mine. “It’s done,” he said simply, handing it back to me. “Just text me when you decide about tonight. I’ll tell you where to meet us.”
“Do you go out with your staff a lot?” I knew I was being nosy, but whenever they came to the truck, they seemed to be terrified of him. Wyatt especially had a delirious case of hero-worship grounded in substantial work-related terror. I wondered if Killian was a different person with them outside of work.
Although it was hard to imagine Killian as anything but domineering.
He lifted one shoulder. “Yeah, I don’t know. Sometimes.”
“That’s nice of you. I bet they like that.”
His dry look disagreed with me. “Sure. Everyone loves hanging out with their boss.”
“Hey, my employees love hanging out with me. Maybe it’s just you.”
He shook his head, calling my bullshit. “Your employees are your friends.”
“Exactly. Yours could be too.”
“No, they’re your actual friends. They want to hang out with you because you’re who they hang out with.”
“You’re just jealous.” Oh, my
God, why was I flirting with him? I needed a sedative. Like one of those tribal spit-shooter darts. I should have planted Molly in the bushes so she could blow one at me in case of emergency.
This was obviously an emergency.
His smile was earnest and made his eyes crinkle. “Maybe. Are you sticking around to work today?”
I shook my head, determined to pull back and disentangle myself from this weird place we’d accidentally stumbled into. “No, I have some errands to do. And I have to figure the menu out for the weekend.”
“Writer’s block?”
I wrinkled my nose, trying to pinpoint it. “I need more inspiring produce. I’ve been going to Wagner’s, but it’s just not good enough.”
“Have you tried the Morning Market? On Franklin Ave.?”
My ears perked up. This was the tip I needed. “No. Is it good?”
He gave me a look. “Do you doubt my judgment?”
“This could be sabotage.”
“This is a favor,” he countered. “And you’re going to owe me your first born son when you realize I just changed your life.” I made a “ha!” sound, but he ignored me. “It’s only open in the mornings from seven to ten-thirty. The earlier you get there, the better. There’s coffee, though. And a kolache stand. It’s legit. You’ll love it.”
“Killian, thank you. I’ve been searching for a great place to go, but I’ve never heard of this one.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of an insider secret.”
I could have hugged him, but I held back. I was confused enough and wrapping myself around his body like a spider monkey didn’t seem like the best decision.
“Thanks again.” I waved my phone back and forth. “I’ll text you what I decide about tonight.”
“Sounds good. Bye, Vera.”
“Bye, Killian.”
He stepped down from the truck and turned toward Lilou. I told myself I wasn’t watching him walk away, but then he turned back around and caught me staring at him. He didn’t call me on it, though.
“Meatballs,” he called out.
Fine. I’d been staring at his ass. Whatever. Regardless, I was incapable of coherent thought. “What?”