Page 40 of Things We Burn

Yet here was Kane, bringing it to the forefront, making these issues impossible to ignore. This thing between us was moving past infatuation and turning into something else, something more permanent. Something that would mark my insides like scars when it was done.

“You overly tired, Chef, or you want to come out with me tonight?” Thankfully, his question broke the seriousness of the moment.

I should’ve been tired. My work schedule was as grueling as it always had been, I was used to that. But I was also used to falling into bed as soon as I got home. Not riding around the city on the back of a motorcycle then getting fucked into oblivion for hours every night.

“I’m not tired,” I replied honestly. When I was with Kane, it was the same feeling as when I was in the kitchen, like my body was electrified, like nothing else existed.

Except the kitchen was orderly, it had rules, structure. I was in control.

Kane was chaos. There were no rules with him, and I most certainly wasn’t in control.

“Want to go out with me?” he asked.

The control freak in me wanted to first ask where we were going, especially because I was only wearing the jeans I’d taken to change into for the ride and a leather jacket Kane had unceremoniously bought me a few days ago. The leather was buttery-soft, but it was also warm, chasing away the bite of the autumn air. It fit me perfectly and was exactly my style—classic, understated. A thoughtful, powerful gesture from Kane that only added to the proof this was more than a thing.

Though the leather jacket was undoubtedly nice, I worried about my attire if we were going to be around people in cocktail dresses.

Kane always wore a variation of his all-black clothing, usually motorcycle boots and a band tee, a jacket of his own. But even I could recognize everything he wore was expensive. I could tell you exactly how much black truffles were going for at any given moment, but not those kinds of things.

I bit my tongue, swallowing all the questions on it and looked up at Kane.

“Let’s go.”

“Thisis where we’re going?” I looked at the exterior of the bar. I tried to hide my distaste, but it didn’t quite work. Not that I was a snob. Or I supposed I was, by occupational hazard more than upbringing. We didn’t grow up rich, but I was never aware of money worries. My father, ever the practical man, had a healthy life insurance policy, and both my sister and I had college funds.

I had never gone out to a bar—I’d gone to wine tastings to find the best wine to pair with dishes. Learned from top sommeliers. I’d gone to cocktail lounges to attain techniques I utilized in my kitchens. Every trip was for a purpose, not for leisure.

“No cloth napkins or silver spoons here, Chef,” Kane joked. “You scared?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Of course, I’m not scared.” I straightened my back and walked into the bar in order to prove my point.

The music was blaring at a level you could hear on the streets, the source being a band playing on a tiny stage at theback of the tiny bar. The space was cluttered but not crowded. Despite the small space, no one so much as glanced my way when I walked in, even when I felt Kane’s warmth behind me, hands on my hips and his lips brushing my neck.

I shivered.

It took me a second to process the dim lighting, the noise, the sticky floor, the weird mix of smells—peanuts, beer, sweat, smoke. And then Kane’s scent curled up in it all, his lips on my skin, the intimate touch.

Once I’d processed all of this, I recognized the band playing was good. Great, actually.

I wasn’t into most things pop culture. Music was the exception. It was something I’d shared with my father, something that wove in and out of every one of my memories. My kitchen always had music playing. Not at a high volume, because we needed to hear each other, the tickets. But once service was over, I turned it up so it could wash over me, help me come down from the high of each night.

I’d had it playing the nights Kane watched me cleaning, yet he hadn’t commented on it.

“This place has some of the best undiscovered bands in the country.” His lips brushed against my ear as he spoke, sending goose bumps down my arms. “Unquiet Mind played all their original stuff here before they got huge.”

Unquiet Mind was one of the few commercial bands I actually enjoyed. Even though they were one of the biggest bands in the world, I still found their music authentic, powerful. They hadn’t sold out. They were on the playlist I’d played that first night he’d come into my kitchen.

“Figured you’d like them.” He nodded to the band playing a mix between rock and folk music. Hard and lyrical. “Figured you’d like a place that didn’t have cloth napkins and dress codes.Or at least it’d take you out of your comfort zone so I could watch your eyes light up.”

My palms were sweating, realizing just how much he saw me.

“Let’s get a beer.” Hand on my hip, he directed us to the bar.

He nodded to the bartender, and once he arrived, leaned over, presumably to give him our order.

Kane didn’t make a move to make further conversation with me. He merely lifted me onto the barstool in front of him and slung his arm over my shoulder, half around my neck, toying with the neckline of my tee.

He was obviously relaxed, at ease.

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