Our chests rise and fall in sync while we stay molded together with me still deep inside her. The summer breeze chills the sweat on my neck and I trace circles over the soft skin of her back, exactly where I know that floral tattoo is.
“Am I crazy or was that even better than I remember?”
“Possibly.” She nuzzles against me, letting out a pleased hum. “You were right though.”
I run my hands up her sides, fixing the straps of her dress and ghosting my lips over her neck with a soft kiss. “About what?”
She looks up with the corner of her mouth pulled into a subtle smirk. I search her eyes and feel a sense of satisfaction when I don’t see any sign of that twinge of worry or uncertainty I saw when she arrived. Instead I just see her stormy eyes clouded over in a lust-induced haze. “That definitely took the edge off.”
I chuckle. “Good. That means our date can officially start. Are you ready for dinner now?”
“I takeback what I said earlier. You’re actually terrible with date ideas.”
I turn on my barstool to face Kelsey—still obsessed withhow that dress looks on her—and top off her wine glass. It’s the same wine I keep in my apartment and I know she likes it too based on how my bottles end up empty faster than I’m used to.
“What do you mean I’m terrible at planning a date? I feel like it started off on such a high note.”
“Yes, but then you brought me to work.” To make a point, she turns and waves at Rich who’s working at the far end of the counter, at the bar.
She arches a brow at me over her glass, but she can’t hide the little flush that creeps up her cheeks. When she takes another sip, she lets the smallest whimper escape and I crave that sound, thinking of the way she moaned into my neck less than an hour ago.
“Ah yes, but we’re not working. We’re enjoying food and there’s no better way to get to know me than through food.”
I rarely sit on this side of the tasting counter, but I wanted her to get to experience it. My staff are the closest thing I have to family in Jackson and I make sure they treat all of our diners the same way.
Kelsey rocks her head side to side. “Alright. I’ll play along.” Her eyes drift to the neon sign on the back wall of the restaurant that saysGloria’sbefore settling back on me—or the tattoos on my forearm and her thong still on my wrist to be more precise. “So your grandma?”
I see the rest of the unspoken question in her eyes. “Yep. I don’t think she realized that teaching two boys to cook would turn into this.” I gesture around the restaurant with my wine glass.
She shakes her head and laughs. It’s a lighthearted laugh that tells me she’s letting her guard down, and I cherish it. I prop an elbow on the counter and lean on my fist, fixated by this version of her. Laughing, wearing color, but decidedly her strong-willed self.
“What’s so funny?” I grin back at her.
“I’m just trying to picture it. You and your brother with your grandma. Did she give you matching old lady aprons with white lacy trim?”
I snort a laugh, thinking back to growing up in New Mexico—learning how to cook with what was fresh and in season. Family dinners on Sunday nights meant her kitchen was always filled with new and exciting aromas from what she picked up at the market or from the small farms surrounding the town. “It had to look ridiculous because even as teenagers, Slade and I were both at least a foot taller than her.”
“I never met Gloria, but being in the kitchen with Slade and Sutton… let’s just say that’s an experience,” a familiar female voice teases.
We both look up to see Jade, exactly where I normally stand on the other side of the counter. She has two dishes in hand and pride swells in my chest when I see how perfectly they’re plated. Kelsey leans over the counter toward Jade. “Please tell me they wear matching coats.”
My mind goes right to thinking about what Kelsey’s bare legs look like when she’s wearing nothing but my chef’s coat and suddenly I’m ready to take her back upstairs.
“Have you met Slade? I don’t think he’d let anyone in the kitchen without a clean coat. It’s more the way they bicker like a married couple. ‘Why aren’t the spices in alphabetical order?’ ‘Because this is my kitchen, and I keep them organized by dish prep.’”
I roll my eyes. “So what’d you make us tonight, Chef?”
I already know, but I still want Kelsey to get the full experience. Jade straightens up and beams at us when she sets down the two dishes. “These are my specials for tonight. The first dish is a duck confit with braised white beans and a medley of fresh local greens. And for the wine pairing, we have a wonderful French Syrah—it’s big andbold and goes perfectly with a classic French comfort food like this.”
I look at the dish, admiring her take on the classic French bistro staple. The skin is a deep golden color and I know it’s going to have that just right crispiness. Peeking at Kelsey, I catch the tip of her tongue running over her upper lip which brings a smile to my face. That’s the reaction I want people having with our food.
“Our second dish is a trout ravioli. Very fresh and local—the trout was caught just this morning on the Snake River, on the edge of town. And our pasta is all made in house. It’s served in a sage and truffle butter sauce and should go perfectly with the crisp and clean Chablis we’re pairing it with.” She sets down fresh silverware and a glass of each wine pairing. “Enjoy, and please let me know if you need anything.”
“It all looks and sounds amazing. Thank you,” Kelsey says, taking a drink of the red wine that came with the duck.
“You’re welcome.” Jade dips her chin to Kelsey before looking at me. She grins and gives me a little wink before turning her attention back to the kitchen.
Kelsey wastes no time grabbing her silverware and taking a bite of the duck. When I hear that crispy skin crackle as she cuts into it, I know it’s done perfectly. She takes a bite and her pleased hum tells me I’m right.