Page 23 of Stolen Dreams

His words took time to sink in, but once they did, it was a shot of dopamine to my bloodstream.

As Tucker and I leave the pizza restaurant, I peek at him in my periphery. Take in his sunny disposition and bounce in his step. Soak up his happiness and let it seep into my bones. Let it remind me everything I do, every decision I make, is for him.

If Tucker is happy, so am I.

Sweat beads my brow and I take a deep breath to cool down. Twisting, I press my forehead to the sleeve of my chef’s coat then return my focus to the plate.

I spoon red wine demi-glace over the roasted quarter chicken on buttery, mashed cauliflower. Top it with a caramelized clove of roasted garlic and chiffonade of basil ribbons. After a quick wipe of the plate rim, I move the dish aside and follow the same process on the next plate.

The kitchen works like a well-oiled machine as tickets come in. André weaves through the kitchen, observing everyone at their stations, delivering praise and sharing tips. A moment later, he sidles up to me and does the same.

“Exquisite plates this evening, Chef Calhoun. Guests have sent compliments to the kitchen all night.”

My cheeks warm at his praise. “Thank you, Chef Beaulieu.”

As we do every night in the kitchen together, André and I fall into a harmonious dance. Tickets come in, we call out orders, and magic happens as each dish is plated under his hand or mine.

I love every minute—the rush, the stress, the pure chaos, and the art we create. I live for the thrill, the surge in my pulse. It’s why André and I work so well together.

After another dozen plates are sent to the dining room, the tickets slow. André and I move about the kitchen, checking in with the cooks.

“Chef Beaulieu,” a server calls from the pickup area.

He crosses the kitchen. “Yes, Ginny?”

Hands clasped at her waist, Ginny smiles. “A guest is requesting to speak with the chef.”

In some restaurants, a cook or chef may be concerned if a guest asks to speak with them. At Calhoun’s Bistro, we live for the requests.

André peers over his shoulder at me, pride highlighting his expression. “Chef Calhoun”—he gestures toward the dining room—“would you mind?”

I nod. “Yes, Chef.” I wipe my hands on a towel and toss it in the dirties bin off to the side.

Exiting the kitchen, I follow Ginny to the outskirts of the dining room. She pauses and nonchalantly points to a table across the room. “Table eight.”

From here, it’s difficult to make out the guests at the table. All I see is long, dark hair.

“Thank you, Ginny.”

“You’re welcome, Chef.”

Straightening my chef’s coat and smoothing my hands down my floor-length apron, I walk through the dining room toward table eight. Several guests stop me momentarily to sing their praise over tonight’s meal. I thank them and casually move on.

As I near table eight, muted conversation and faint laughter hit my ears. The light, whimsical sound warms my skin and quickens my pulse. I suck in a sharp breath and hold it as I step closer.

Clasping my hands at my back, I slowly exhale. “Good evening, ladies. You asked to speak with the chef?”

The woman to my right meets my gaze, a sparkle in her eyes and suggestive smile on her lips. She’s vibrant, beautiful. Just not the kind of beautiful I prefer.

“Yes.” The woman bats her lashes as she taps her fork on her plate. “Best steak I’ve ever had.” She spears a piece, pops it in her mouth, then slowly, seductively, slides the fork from between her lips. “So juicy…” Her eyes trail over my chef’s coat. “Chef Calhoun.”

A few years ago, when I had fewer responsibilities and would take anyone to bed, I would’ve flirted with this woman. Asked for her number. Had a wild night with her without a second thought.

But I’m not that man anymore. I can’t be, not with Tucker. The moment he was in my arms again, I made a promise to myself—and him, in essence.

No more frivolous relationships. No random hookups with strangers.

If I introduce a woman to Tucker, I want her to be someone who will stick around. Someone I’ve spent time with and gottento know. Someone who won’t break my kid’s heart if things don’t work out with us.

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