“But…”
She walked around, touching the gold tablecloth that shone under the candles. There were 24-karat flakes embedded inside of it. She spotted a movement in the kitchen and walked toward it.
“This is Haruto,” I said when the chef waited with his arms crossed behind his back.
“You’re the chef at Sake City,” she said.
He smiled and stuck out his hand. “Glad you’ve heard of it.”
“Everyone’s heard of it. It’s the most-talked-about restaurant in town and for New York City that says a lot.”
“Thank you.”
“Did you cook dinner? Here? For us?”
“Yes.”
She turned to me. “Are you serious right now?”
I grinned. “Yes. Are you surprised?”
“You could say that.”
“What would you say?”
She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “That this is the most ostentatious thing anyone could ever do.”
My heart sank. “You hate it.”
She pursed her lips. “I didn’t say that.” She turned and tried to hide her smile, but she lost that fight. Grinning, I picked her up and twirled her in the kitchen. “You nearly had me.”
She tilted her head. “Be careful, Will. I’m not the sentimental type.”
“Yeah. But you like this. Admit it.”
“Fine. It’s pretty badass, yes.”
I set her down. “Well, there’s more.”
“More?”
“Yes. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Haruto prepared a fine dinner and he won’t be happy if it gets cold.” I turned to the chef, who hadn’t moved since we entered the room. “Will you, chef?”
Without any smile or frown, he simply answered, “No.”
17
Christina
Whatever Chef Haruto lacked in terms of vocabulary, he made up for in culinary skill. Every dish he plated was a piece of art, from the thinly shaved ginger on the dumplings to the caviar on the sushi.
I’d been trying to get a reservation at his restaurant for months and now here I was at a private dinner for two and he was the chef.
Shaking my head, I closed my mouth over the Yakitori chicken and moaned.
“Careful,” Will said slyly, “I don’t want anyone but me making you moan like that.”
“You should be jealous,” I teased. “This is very satisfying.”