Page 24 of Things We Burn

It was that way because food was my life. I’d spent years honing my skills. Hours upon hours tweaking singular elements on each dish, traveling the world to pick up flavor profiles and cooking techniques.

My food was not merelygood.

People had said many great things about my food over the years.

Yet somehow, Kane’s simple, unadorned compliment meant the most.

He said it with a kind of concrete intensity that glued me to the floor. That made my insides do somersaults.

“Thank you,” I replied, my voice wispy.

I was glad I had the act of polishing the stainless steel countertops, or else I might’ve felt awkward.

Awkward.

Like I was a pimply teen at a dance, and my date’s hand was on my lower back.

“I figured you’d have people to do that.” He gestured to where I was polishing. “You doin’ this for our benefit?” he asked.

Our.

A single word. Our. Intimate somehow.

I tried to remain emotionless, knowing the counters were pristine, and all my jobs for the night were done.

Never someone to put off the difficult things, I abandoned the basket of soiled kitchen linens and faced Kane without anything to occupy my body.

His attention was squarely on me. As it had been since the moment he walked through the doors to my kitchen. Before, though, I was busy. I stole glances at him, of course, but there was never the opportunity to just stand under his gaze.

My palms were sweaty, heartbeat thrashing.

“No,” I said, my voice even … ish. “I finish out the night myself.”

He tilted his head. “Every night? You? Alone?”

I nodded once. “I don’t do anything in this kitchen I don’t expect my staff to do.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Something hot and hungry.

He got up from his stool. “We’re going to revisit you bein’ here past midnight alone at a later date.”

My cheeks heated at the possessive lilt to his tone and the gist of what he was saying.

I was about to tell him that we were not going to revisit anything of the sort because this was my kitchen, and I called the shots here.

But I stopped myself. It was second nature to put on my ice queen persona, to establish that I was not going to be ordered around or dominated.

A part of me, one that Kane had awakened, wanted to let go of that persona, wanted to try something different. I wanted to submit.

So I tried something different. I didn’t lash out with my ice-tipped words. I let the first thing come to my head, then I said it.

“I googled you,” I blurted.

Kane merely blinked in response. To be fair, I didn’t give him much of an opportunity to respond since I launched into my next sentence within seconds.

“It is kind of a douchey thing to do,” I clasped the back of my neck. “Googling someone. But I did it. And I figured it may make me somewhat less douchey if I informed you that I googled you.”

I wiped my palms on my pants. They were sweating. I did not get sweaty palms. Sweaty palms meant nerves. Nerves meant you were second-guessing yourself. Your ability. There was no room for that in my kitchen.

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