Page 23 of Things We Burn

“I have to close down the kitchen after that,” I said, talking to the plates.

“Behind, Chef,” Ferris announced softly. I knew my second was hovering because he was worried, protective, even though he was younger than me. He’d been in my kitchen the longest. We weren’t friends by any stretch of the imagination—by design, I wasn’t friends with any of the staff—but there was mutual respect there.

I stepped aside for him to plate my wagyu.

“Well, I’ll be here until the kitchen is closed, then.” Kane’s response was slightly playful, yet with a sensual edge and an iron foundation. He was making it known that I wasn’t going to be able to dismiss him.

“Fine.” Frustrated and secretly excited, I let out a sigh. I said the word as a dismissal, focused on the plates, refusing to look up.

I held my breath for ten seconds, waiting, stealing myself.

When I looked up, Kane was gone.

I didn’t know whether I was relieved or disappointed.

Luckily, I didn’t have time to examine my feelings as the chaos of the kitchen required my full attention.

Not for the first time, I was infinitely glad about that.

I was on edge the remainder of service.

It didn’t help that I heard the murmurs of my usually professional staff about Kane’s appearance. It seemed even the people who worked long hours in my kitchen and weren’t prone to pandering to celebrity diners somehow not only knew of extreme sports stars but were also impressed by them.

That intrigued me. I hadn’t been aware that ‘extreme sports’—whatever that meant—were popular enough to permeate my kitchen.

Again, I didn’t let myself get intrigued. I couldn’t slip. Wouldn’t. Though none of my staff were brave enough to ask questions, I could tell they were curious.

Like the well-oiled machine we were, my staff made quick work of cleaning the kitchen and completing end of day tasks.

I let everyone go, but Ferris still lingered.

“I’m fine, Ferris, go home,” I told him.

He hesitated for a split second, peering at me with his brows knitted together.

“Yes, Chef,” he nodded, turning and leaving me. Alone. In my kitchen. Which was usually my happy place. The quiet, the cleanjuxtaposing with the rest of the night. I would run through the tasks I needed to do then check over everyone’s stations, even though I knew they’d be spotless.

Sometimes, rarely, I would share a drink with Michelle at the bar once the guests had left.

Tonight, the quiet kitchen did not calm my heartbeat. Anticipation curled up my back like a snake, my palms sweating. Michelle had already cleared it with me that Kane stay and be informed when the kitchen was closed down. She’d assured me she’d send him back. And she’d had a glimmer in her eyes, the slightest teasing, but other than that, she said nothing. The consummate professional.

I held my breath as the doors to the kitchen opened and closed.

Kane was in here.

There were not dozens of other people coming in and out, no one shouting tickets, no plates to distract me. Just him and me.

And he looked as good as he had when he first came in. Better. His forearms were defined and sinewy, peppered with tattoos. His hair was ruffled, messy. There was a large shadow of dark stubble on his angular jaw, making him look all the more rugged. His eyes… They were what captivated me. They were zeroed in on me with a different intensity than before. Heavier. He’d seen me in the kitchen. Seen me as a powerful woman and it hadn’t scared him away.

No. If I was reading him correctly, it excited him.

His eyes ran up and down me. I wasn’t brave enough to hold his gaze and just let him look at me, so I kept wiping at surfaces that were already gleaming.

He settled on a stool in front of the plating counter, lazily leaning against it as he cradled his chin in his hands, watching me.

“Your food is good,” he said.

The compliment was simple. Too simple, my ego would say. My food was not just good. It was fucking great. Extraordinary. Some of the best food to be plated on the planet.

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