Page 82 of The Promise Of You

Was it just the heat of the moment?

Will we have this again?

Will he create the opportunity again? Should I tell him something?

And why is he flirting with me? He knows who I am. He has to know I want him, right? There can’t be a doubt in his mind. I’m like a blushing teenager around him. He has to see that.

I wipe my hands on my thighs as I stand right where we were when he licked his finger, set his arm against the counter and against my waist, drilled his gaze into my eyes and all but told me he wished he was eating food out of my mouth.

My inner parts beat painfully at the memory.

My horniness is embarrassing.

The truth of the matter is, I had fun today. For the first time in a long time. I had fun doing a simple thing I don’t get to do enough: cooking. And it was effortless with Justin. We fell into it like two old friends. We shared the same codes, laughed together.

It felt so good. So easy. So natural with him.

I wrap my arms around my middle, suddenly feeling lonely without him. I shake myself together, go upstairs, and take another quick shower. I swap the bulky track suit for capris and a T-shirt and head to the restaurant. I’m confused and hopeful about how my relationship with Justin has taken a turn for the better. I take my time driving to the village, windows rolled down, air in my hair, noticing the lush pastures, two horses galloping playfully, the lake glistening in the distance.

Life is beautiful.

Rosy glasses, Chloe.

Samuel is there alright, two black eyes and a big-ass cast on his nose. I almost feel sorry for him—that’s how bad he looks. “Chef, you look like… like you should stay home. For a couple more days at least.”

He slices his gaze at me. “Got a job to do.” He hands me a wad of papers. “Here you go.” It’s the menu costing.

“Are you cleared to work?”

“You don’t want me here?”

“Of course I do. I just want to make sure…” This guy’s ego is so oversized, I’m not sure how to handle it. “You know what, never mind. Thanks for being here. Let me know if I can do anything.”

I retreat to the office and open his menu costing. Then I open the file Corine created on my computer and compare the two.

And they’re very different.

Samuel’s recipes include a lot more of the expensive ingredients, like saffron. His foie gras appetizer calls for one-hundred and twenty grams of the duck delicacy, when Corine’s inputs it at forty grams.

I go back into the kitchen.

“Guys, we need a recipe book. With weights and all that shit.” I make it sound like I don’t know what I’m talking about. Then just to show solidarity, I add, “Owners request it.” I do know a little more than what I’m letting on, and Brendan and Aunt Dawn gave me free rein, but keeping Samuel in the dark about where my mind is, is key. “Chef, I think Corine could use the overtime hours, if you want to delegate that to her.”

“Nah. I’ll do it.”

“Great. You and I need to meet about the fair. When you have a minute.”

He drops his knife and turns toward me, leaning his hip against the prep counter. “I’m running a fine dining kitchen. You want to have fun, go for it. But don’t think one second I’ll have my name mixed into that.”

I let his snarky remark about me having fun slide. Actually, I do plan on having fun. And I’ll also work my ass off, but that’s beside the point.

I pretend to look relieved, and maybe I am. “Glad you said that. I’ll take over the fair. We’re expecting an influx of visitors in town as well as on the grounds. So be ready for a larger than usual crowd. Can you handle being open all day that Saturday? We need to start bringing in more revenue.”

The ‘Can you handle’ provokes him in a good way, just like I anticipated. “Whatever you need, boss.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything else?”

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