"I thought the Bosc version you had me taste this afternoon was still quite nice," Margot offers diplomatically.
"It was fine," I say. "But fine is not good enough. Fine is what you serve at a hotel brunch, not at a tasting menu people flew across the country for."
"This might be insane," Alex says, and there is a glint of excitement in his eyes. "But I saw some quince at the farm stand on the way in that looked incredible, and I think it could work instead of a different pear variety. You poach the quince in that same Sauternes, slow and low until it turns that ruby color, and the flavor gets almost floral, like roses and honey. Every other component in the dish still works."
I stare at him and I want to hate the idea, but it's arguably better than my original concept with the pears. The quince would have that texture I was looking for, and the flavor wouldbe more complex, more layered. The combination of the Sauternes and the balsamic would create this beautiful sweet-tart thing, and the thyme would keep it from being too precious.
Damn it.
"Oh, that is gorgeous," Margot says, sitting up straighter. "I have a late harvest Viognier in the cellar that would be stunning with that. The stone fruit notes would play against the quince."
"That is..." I pause. "That is annoyingly good. Like, genuinely excellent."
Alex grins, looking pleased with himself. "Annoyingly?"
"Yes, annoyingly," I say, glaring at him without any real heat behind it. "Because I have been banging my head against this problem for two entire days, losing sleep over it, and you apparently just solved it while drinking bourbon at a bar. I kind of hate you a little bit for that. Just a small amount."
"I will take it," he says.
Before I can reply to that, Margot's phone buzzes on the bar top and she glances down at it, her expression shifting to mild concern.
"Oh shoot, I've got to take this. I've been playing phone tag with her all day about the Patterson wedding. Be right back." She slides off her stool gracefully and heads toward the quieter end of the bar, phone already pressed to her ear.
Alex watches her go, then turns back to me, shifting slightly closer now that we are alone, and that easy smile is still in place.
I narrow my eyes at him over the rim of my glass, suspicious. "Are you flirting with me right now?"
"Oh, definitely," he says, without a single shred of hesitation or embarrassment. "Very much so, yes."
The directness of it catches me completely off guard. I am used to men who circle, who hint, who make you wonder if they are interested or just being friendly. I cover my surprise by taking another sip of bourbon, buying myself a second to recover my composure.
"So,” I say. “You think you can flirt with me and get in my father's good graces at the same time? Kill two birds with one stone? Is that your strategy here?"
He laughs, low and warm. "No. The opposite, actually." He leans in a little closer, and his voice drops. "Your father made itveryclear before I came here that pursuing you was off limits. He told me that if anything developed between us, the Seattle deal would be off the table immediately."
I blink at him. "Hesaidthat to you?"
"Word for word. Something about you being precious to him and me not being sent here to harass you or try to sleep with you." He takes a sip of his drink, watching me over the rim.
I feel a hot flare of irritation at my father, which is becoming a familiar sensation this week. Of course he did. Of course he sat this man down and gave him the do-not-touch-my-daughter speech like I am some kind of prize to be guarded rather than a grown woman who can make her own choices.
"That is so like him," I mutter. "I am sorry. That must have been incredibly awkward."
"It was a little intense," Alex admits, though if anything, he looks amused, like my father's threats are a fun anecdote rather than a career-ending ultimatum. "But I appreciated the honesty, at least. He is not subtle, your father.”
"No, he is not subtle. Ever." I shake my head. "So wait. If he told you all of that, why on earth are you flirting with me right now? That makes absolutely no sense."
Alex shrugs. "Because I like you. And your father is not here."
I stare at him, genuinely at a loss for words. He is either very stupid or very confident, and I am not entirely sure which.
"You have known me for all of aweek," I say slowly. "Are you always this reckless?"
He tilts his head, considering. "Yep. Life is too short to not go after things that interest you. Where is the fun in caution?"
"Well, your Seattle restaurant is safe from my corruptinginfluence, because I am not interested.” I set my glass down on the bar. “While my father's meddling in my personal life is a massive overstep, I also think you would be genuinely insane to risk your entire restaurant deal over a woman you just met a week ago. And I donotlike my men insane or reckless."
"Noted." He takes a sip of his bourbon. "I will keep my reckless tendencies confined to my personal time and the comfort of my own cottage, where I will spend the rest of the month brooding about what might have been."