I lined up my next whole chicken to prep, filling the tray between us. “Well, don’t get too excited. It was a one-time thing. I doubt there will be a repeat when my son would probably set a booby trap if he came into our home again.”
“But you’re still teaching Royce at his house, right?”
I bobbed my head. “Allegedly, yeah. And whether he likes it or not, Liam needs that money.”
“Okay, well, Liam doesn’t need to know what happens when you’re at Royce’s.”
I puffed air out of my lips. “It’s just not worth the hassle. It was a fluke anyway. We still hate each other.”
I said that, but my whole body tingled at the memory of how he looked at me in the hot tub, at his warm touch in my bed, at his smile when I gave him his special meal. At his texts since then.
The things he called me.
My good girl.
Princess.
“Chef?”
Cindy’s staff manager came into the kitchen with a worried expression. “Chef?” she responded.
“Three more just called out.”
Cindy’s head sagged back onto her shoulders. “Fuck.”
“I can stay,” I offered.
“Will you?”
“As long as you don’t make me do front of house.”
TWENTY-ONE
HARLAN
MARCH
My body buzzed headinginto the dining room on our first day back in Ohio. The only text I’d gotten from Emma in the last few days was to cancel our private lesson for the week. I figured she didn’t want my mom to see us texting, which, same. There was also a chance all the stuff with Liam was getting to her, and who could blame her? I had no clue what it was like to be a single mom, but I assumed her first allegiance was to Liam.
I could never fault her for that.
But I would do my best to charm and/or annoy her like usual at work, and maybe I’d have a chance to make her scream in a good way again soon.
Miguel looked harried coming out of the kitchen, and after waiting a good ten minutes, I still hadn’t seen Chef. I never got one of Miguel’s famous omelettes, but now was time to start.
“Switching up your habits, Mr. Royce?” he asked as I approached.
“Uh, yeah. Thought I’d try more protein. Load it up however you think.”
“You got it.”
I stood with my hands in my pockets, quite literally whistling to seem casual.
“You can sit and I’ll bring it to you,” Miguel said.
“Oh. That’s okay. You’re busy today. Speaking of, where’s Chef?”
“Off sick.”