My smile stretched and my chest squeezed. He’d complimented my food, but I could see in his warm expression that he meant it twofold.
I walked back to my kitchen on cloud nine, grinning from ear to ear.
“I take it you don’t hate him quite as much as I do,” Molly grumped. A line of people had formed, and she had a handful of order tickets.
“He offered me a job,” I told her gleefully. “But even better, he approves.”
“Approves of what?” Her eyes were as big as possible.
“Of Killian and me.”
At that, her eyes softened, and her expression turned adoring. “Of course he does. You’re perfect for each other. Now cook these before you run yourself out of business.”
I took the order tickets from her unable to break my smile. The differences between Derrek and Killian went on forever. But this was one of my favorites—the best friend support. Molly’s seal of approval felt amazing.
There was nothing to hide from Molly or Vann or my dad. There was nothing to keep secret or manipulate into sounding better than reality.
More of the pieces of my lost self clicked into place. I found more of me. I became more of me.
And it felt good.
For the first time in so long, I felt like me. Completely, wholly me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“We need to talk about something.” Killian showed up later that night, all black t-shirt, tattooed skin and sexy beard.
I cut my eyes to Molly, wondering if I needed a rescue. Talk about what? I suddenly felt like I was in trouble for something. “Why?”
He crossed his arms, resting them on the window and leaning in the truck. “When are you out of here?”
Uh, oh.
“Things have died down. I can be done soon.” I cleared my throat and focused on the bread crumbs clinging to my chef’s coat. “Unless it picks up again. Then, it could be hours before I close.” I looked up. “Days even.”
His lips twitched. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, hiding his reaction. “That busy, huh?”
I held my poker face. “Yep.”
He patted the inside of the truck, the muscles in his tanned forearms flexing and shifting. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
He said goodbye to Molly and started walking backward. I panicked and called after him. “Then what?”
He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Then we talk.”
I stepped to the window. “About what?”
He smiled, flashing white teeth surrounded by dark, alluring beard. “Don’t be so nervous, Delane. If I bite, I promise you’ll like it.”
Turning around, he darted across the street, leaving me nervous for an entirely different reason now.
“Vera,” Molly asked in a quiet voice, “Do you just spontaneously orgasm all the time when he’s around?”
I leaned against the window and bugged my eyes out. “Yes,” I agreed. “All the time.”
“Seriously, though, are you okay? What does he want to talk to you about?”
I shook my head, tension curling inside me once again. “I have no idea. He makes me so nervous.”
She released a bubbly laugh, reminding me my fears were probably unfounded. “Why?”
Shrugging, I moved back to the galley so I could start cleaning up. “Habit, I think? I don’t know. He’s so intense. I never know whether to call him on his bullshit or just strip naked so he can have his way with me.” I looked up at her. “Maybe I’ll try shrinking into a ball and seeing what that gets me.”
Molly lifted a finger, wiggling it at me. “No shrinking. You’re done shrinking, Vere. You were meant to shine, friend. End of story.”
I wrinkled my nose and tried to believe her. “That’s not as easy as it sounds.”
“The best things in life never are,” she reminded me. “Doesn’t mean they’re not worth pursuing.”
My breath of relief came from some deep recess of my soul, filled with truth and understanding and hope. For the first time in a long time… hope.
“Thanks, Molly. For tonight, and for everything else too. For being there for me even when I shut you out and became someone I’m not proud of.”
She closed the distance between us, wrapping me up in a hug. I hugged her back, finding closure in our relationship I hadn’t let us breach before. “It doesn’t matter,” she promised. “All that matters is that you’re someone I’m beyond proud of now. You’re someone that didn’t break beneath the weight of something so ugly. You got out. You left. And you fought and fought and fought until you made something amazing. You’re my hero, Vera.”
I squeezed her tightly. “You’re my hero too, Molls.” And she was. For being the friend that didn’t judge and only supported. For being the woman who didn’t get herself into bad relationships. Not just because she was quiet, and so sweet and nice, but for always sticking up for herself. For never being the doormat. For being beautiful and kind and giving. She was exactly who I wanted to be when I grew up.
“Now do what you need to do before Killian comes back and bites you.”
I stepped back from her laughing, smiling, happier than I could remember in a long time.
Killian returned an hour later, just like he’d promised. He stepped inside the truck without an invitation and picked up a crate of leftover food. “I’m taking these to Lilou tonight, so you don’t have to drive all the way over to the commissary.”
“Do I get a say?”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “It’s one-thirty in the morning. Do you want a say?”
I repressed a smile. “Is it okay? I mean, I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
He moved toward the door. “It’s my kitchen. I decide what goes in it.”
Okay, then.
After he’d dropped off my crates of food in his kitchen and locked up Lilou, he stood by while I locked up Foodie. There was something about the moment that sent warm tingles spiraling through me. The late fall night, the sounds and smells of a city I had come to adore, Killian at my side after a long, fulfilling night of doing something I loved so much… it felt right.
He wrapped his arms around my waist and tugged me back against his chest, resting his chin on my shoulder. “Where’s your car, Molly?”
She pointed at her Jetta parked on the street. “Just there.”
“We’ll watch to make sure you’re okay?” Killian told her.
There was an awkward silence where Molly and I had a nonverbal conversation using only our eyebrows. Eventually, she waved at both of us, a grin plastered across her smug face. “Call me tomorrow, Vere.”
“Drive carefully,” I answered noncommittally.
True to his word, Killian and I stood there until she’d gotten in her car and safely driven away. His arms tightened around my waist. “Ready?”
I struggled to swallow through a suddenly very dry throat. “For what?”
He kissed the spot just below my ear. “Our talk.”
“Do I have a choice?”
I felt his smile against my neck. “You always have a choice, but I’d like it if you stopped being such a little chicken, got on the back of my motorcycle and let me take you home with me.”
Nerves pelted my insides so abruptly I jerked in his arms. “I thought you wanted to talk?”
“We’ll start with talking,” he amended. “We can see where it leads.”
This was a trick. I knew it was a trick. He hinted at fun things to get me to say yes to the un-fun things.
But it worked.
I linked my hand with his and let him pull me across the street to where his bike was parked. We decided to leave my car at Vann’s shop so I could ride with him.
He threw on his leather jacket and pulled out the helmet for me. I had to redo my hair in a low ponytail to get it to fit, but I made it work. He gently cradled my helmet-covered head with two hands and grinned at me. “Fucking sexy as sin,” he murmured. Then he climbed on his bike and tilted his head for me to join him.
I h
ad jealous flashbacks of watching him take a different girl home on the back of this bike. But I quickly shooed them away. We’d both been tested since our naughty night at Lilou. We were both clean and committed to this thing between us. I didn’t have to worry about nameless blondes riding home with Killian or riding him.
I just had to worry about me doing those things.
Gulp.
Leaving my chef’s coat on to protect my arms during the drive, I climbed on the back of Killian’s motorcycle feeling beyond bad ass. My thighs hugged the backs of his, and I linked my arms around his solid core. A shiver rippled through me, heating my body with bright awareness.
“Hold on,” he called over his shoulder. I did as he said.
He started the bike and took off out of the plaza, zipping through the cool night with smooth efficiency. I clung to him, enjoying the ride and the flight of butterflies tumbling around my belly.
To calm my racing pulse, I focused on the city zooming by. The night air was crisp and just damp with the heavy dew that settled on the ground in these middle of the night hours. The streets were mostly dead, leaving plenty of room for Killian to navigate smoothly.
I stared into darkened shop windows and down dark, quiet streets. The stoplights gleamed red and green, glittering on the pavement under a night sky filled with sparkling stars.
There was something about this time of night that made me feel so achingly at home, comfortable. These were the hours I lived for and the life I was getting used to living.
I would never have a traditional nine to five job. I would never wake up with the dawn and get home in time to make a normal dinner. I would, hopefully, always head to work at odd hours and stay until everyone else was safely tucked away in bed. I would always fall asleep closer to the time that everyone else woke up and drag myself out of bed not long after so I could get to the market in time for the freshest ingredients. I would never look forward to the weekends because I got them off. No, I would anticipate them for their busy chaos, for the crowd-filled dining rooms and even later nights.
This was the life I chose. The life I fought to have.
The life I fought to keep.
Killian turned down a tree-lined street with a gorgeous limestone church on the corner. Tall, narrow spirals reached toward heaven, a golden bell nestled between the two. My heart thumped at the quaint beauty of his street and then twice more when we pulled up to a cool looking bungalow, complete with a covered porch and blue front door.
He parked his bike in the garage behind the house and grabbed my hand as soon as I’d slid off the seat. We didn’t talk as he led me through his back door and into his kitchen.
Love at first sight. Maybe not with Killian, but definitely with his kitchen. Granite countertops, glass-door refrigerator, huge, stainless steel range. The center island stretched long and wide, scattered with fresh fruit and a massive wooden cutting board, one side was sprinkled with flour and a discarded dish towel. His house smelled like baked bread and roasted garlic and everything wonderful.
Killian went about flicking on lights and setting his things down. I unbuttoned my chef coat feeling silly in work clothes.
I imagined the first time at his house to be better planned. I’d pictured a sexy outfit and hair that hadn’t been smashed beneath a helmet and wild from a night working in my kitchen. I’d also hoped to be perfectly groomed in all the right places and not covered in kitchen grease and pickle juice.
But to be fair, Killian never did what I expected him to do. And we never happened like I expected us to happen. So, this was all fair play.
He swung open his beautiful refrigerator. “Water? Beer? Wine?”
“Water and wine, please?”
He pulled out two cold bottles of water and tossed me one before stepping into his pantry for the wine. As he opened the bottle and set it aside to rest for a few minutes, I took a seat at one of his iron barstools. “Your house is gorgeous.”
One of his shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “It’s a little much for just me. But it’s like my one hang-up from growing up in the system. I wanted a nice place to come home to. And I wanted space. I wanted privacy.”
I stared at him, wondering if maybe that wasn’t all. Maybe that was all he wanted to admit to me tonight, but there was more from his life in foster care that left scars.
Not that he hadn’t come out perfectly adjusted, but I knew better than anyone that our pasts marked us in ways we couldn’t escape. They shaped us into the adults we were destined to be whether we wanted them to or not.
It was up to us how we used those experiences. We could let them own us, or we could let them be the journey they were meant to be, the stepping stones to a better life, a better self. Each moment, good or bad, a tool to give us the strength we needed to be the person we were supposed to be.
Finally, he poured my glass of wine after I’d downed most of the water. He brought it over to me, taking the stool next to mine. “How was your night?”
Twisting the stem between my fingers, I swirled the crimson Cabernet until it made a tornado in the glass. “Ezra stopped by,” I said without looking at his face.
When I looked up, Killian’s shoulders were tense, and the humor had drained out of him. Tension thickened the air. “He told me.”
I found myself ensnared by his heated glare. “Is that what you want to talk about?”
His chin dipped once. “He mentioned that he offered you Bianca.”
I swallowed against the absurdity once more, still unable to believe that happened. I’d replayed the conversation so many times by now I had started to wonder if it had actually happened or if I’d somehow imagined it. “Crazy, right?”
“No, completely understandable. Ezra’s not an idiot—I knew he’d come for you eventually.”
My chest hollowed out, my heart dropping to my toes in disappointment. “You don’t sound pleased.” I wanted to make an excuse for Killian’s boorish behavior. I wanted to explain away his disappointment with me being offered a full kitchen. What was it with men and trying to keep me locked away? Fury boiled in my belly, spreading with acid-fueled frustration through my blood.
Killian shook his head, adamant. “I knew this was going to happen for you. I just didn’t realize it was going to happen so soon.”
“Well, not everyone thinks I have an issue with salt,” I bit back. I was so done with defending my career to egotistical maniacs. Done. Over it.
But before my head could explode with irrational anger, I breathed out slowly, realizing for the millionth time that Killian wasn’t Derrek. That maybe my defensiveness could be dialed back until I heard him out.
Killian’s open gaze bored into mine. “Is that what you want then? Bianca?”
I nibbled on my bottom lip, before answering honestly. “It’s what I thought I wanted, before Foodie. But now I don’t know what to think. Honestly, at this point, I’m just happy to have been considered.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
His tone caught me off guard, and I leaned away from him, afraid I’d pissed him off and not able to squash the instant reaction to run and hide. “What do you mean?” I whispered.
Not catching my panic attack, Killian sat up straight and leaned forward. “You’re not a consolation prize, Vera. You’re a phenomenal chef. Ezra figured it out in the shortest amount of time, but soon the entire city is going to be buzzing with your name. There will be more offers for kitchens, more head chef positions to choose from. I’m glad you’re happy to be considered, but think bigger… better. Don’t just take the first thing thrown at you because that’s all you think you’ll ever get. Decide what you want in life. What do you want out of a kitchen? If Bianca is what you’re looking for, then take it, but don’t do it because you’re afraid there won’t be anything else. There will be, Vera. There will be everything else.”
I stared at him, not knowing what to say or think or feel.
“I’m just saying, decide what you want. You have option
s.”
I blinked. “Like what?”
He’d been full of energy when he’d told me I deserved Bianca. His body had been vibrating with enthusiasm and sincerity. His hands moved animatedly, and his eyes practically glowed with intensity.
Now he was still and stoic. It was like stepping out of a hurricane and into an air-conditioned room. His body stopped moving, his expression shuttered, his eyes darkened, a wall falling in place and hiding his thoughts from me.
I preferred the hurricane.
Until he spoke. And then I realized he was protecting himself. He’d pulled back to ready himself against my reaction.
But what he should have done was warn me to do the same thing. If I thought his words of affirmation were shocking, I had no way to prepare myself for what came next.
“Like me,” he pitched gently and at the same time with so much weight and possibility that my knees nearly buckled beneath it. “Like us. We could do something together. Open something together.”
I tried to take a deep breath and failed. “Us? You want to open something with me? You’re serious?”
He must have seen something in my expression because his wariness turned soft and tender. His distance became a careful touch as if he were handling something so incredibly fragile and precious. “I’m serious. Modern American with flare. It’s not original, but our dishes would be. It wouldn’t be your own kitchen, per say. But you would have someone to share the burden with… the commitment.”
I tried to breathe deeply again. And failed again. “Killian…”
He wrapped his hand around mine, closing it into a fist. I hadn’t even realized I was reaching for him, that I’d perched on the edge of the stool readying to throw my arms around him. “Don’t answer now,” he said quickly. “Think about it. Take your time. I’m asking a lot.”
He had no idea what he was asking. It was so much more than a restaurant or business venture. He’d looked all the way down the road and decided he wanted me to take a chance with him. He’d promised commitment in either a relationship or partnership that extended into a potentially very messy future. “You want to open a restaurant with me?” My voice was small, delicate. Breakable.