I snuck another peek at him as he trimmed the steak with quick, precise strokes. His forearms flexed with every movement, and he maneuvered with effortless grace as he seasoned the meat after trimming it. He didn’t consult a recipe or look to see what he was grabbing; he knew exactly what was where and how much he needed of each ingredient.
God, I loved competent men, especially ones who lookedthatgood in an apron.
Forget men in uniform. I’d take one in the kitchen all day, every day.
I was so busy looking at him that I didn’t notice the sauce bowl was overflowing until the sticky liquid dripped onto my hand.
Sebastian was too busy on his side of the kitchen to notice my mistake, but it was the reminder I needed to keep my eyes on the task at hand and stop ogling my (objectively gorgeous and ogle-worthy) boyfriend. If I messed up something as simple as food prep, he’d never let me live it down.
Thankfully, the rest of the prep and cooking process went smoothly. Once our food was done, we took it to the dining room. It was already set up with candles, roses, and soft French jazz playing in the background.
I settled in my chair, my insides suspiciously gooey. “Sebastian Laurent, a true romantic,” I teased. “I never would’ve guessed.”
“I’m not sure you can call me a true romantic when I asked you to prep your own dinner.” He poured us both a glass of wine and sat back. “You did great, by the way. My favorite assistant by far.”
“Have you had many of those?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Is that your way of asking if I’ve cooked for other dates in the past?”
I shrugged, but a blush crept across my cheeks. I really needed to work on my subtlety.
“No,” Sebastian said, his eyes on mine. “I’ve never cooked for another date. I’ve never wanted to.”
I didn’t bother hiding my smile this time around.
He’d cooked two different main courses—pasta for me, steak and potatoes for himself. The food was incredible. I hadn’t expected anything less, but it felt extra special knowing I’d played some part in creating it.
We lapsed into an easy conversation about a new art exhibit at the Met, followed by a fifteen-minute breakdown of the latest hit TV show and an argument over which country might win the next World Cup. The best part about dating someone you’ve known your whole life was skipping the small talk and cutting straight to the topics that interested you.
However, because this was us, and we were who we were, the conversation inevitably circled to work.
“I’m so excited for the launch event,” I said. “I can’t wait for everyone to taste your cooking. You’re going to blow their minds.”
The launch was in three months. We’d lost some momentum due to our personal issues, but we were quickly making up lost ground. When Sebastian and I stopped arguing and actually worked together, we were unstoppable.
I expected him to make a flippant remark about howof coursethey’ll love it because he was a genius, but his response was oddly subdued. “I hope so.”
I frowned. “What’s wrong? Are you nervous?”
The kitchen was his element, and he was always so sure of himself in there. Tonight was proof of that.
“No. Yes. I mean…” Sebastian blew out a breath. “I didn’t tell you this, but when I agreed to take Derek’s spot in the collaboration, I made a deal with my father. If I—ifwe—succeeded in makingthe launch the event of the season, he’ll let me quit as CMO and become a chef full-time.”
Holy shit. That washuge. I’d suspected Sebastian was more passionate about cooking than marketing, but his father wasn’t the type to let his only heir abandon corporate prestige for restaurant life.
“That’s a good thing… right?” I ventured. It was a lot of pressure, but Sebastian thrived under pressure. I was confident we’d pull off a great launch, and his cooking skills were second to none. The odds were stacked in his favor.
“I guess,” Sebastian said. “We’ll see what the critics say.”
“They’ll love you.” I gestured at our plates. “You aretalented. I’m not saying that because I’m your girlfriend and obligated to do so. This meal is truly one of the best I’ve had in a long time. Your love for your craft shows in your food. I’m sure the critics will pick up on that too.”
“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But talent is only part of the equation. Things didn’t work out so well the last time I ran a kitchen.”
My brow knotted. “What do you mean?”
“We can talk about it another time. It’s too heavy a topic for our first date.” He sipped his wine and tossed out a half-hearted smile. “How are your bridesmaid duties going? Has Priya turned into a bridezilla yet?”
“Sebastian.” I fixed him with a stern look. “We both know this isn’t a typical first date. I don’t want to talk about my sister’s wedding. I want to talk about you—if that’s whatyouwant.”