Page 18 of The Proximity Effect

“What exactly are you going to do? Sue me for making edible food? I’d love to see that case. ‘Your Honor, the defendant made our guests want to eat at our restaurant.’ The horror.” I slid the finished plate across the prep table toward him.

The chicken cutlet was golden brown, the pasta perfectly cooked, and the marinara sauce looked like something you’d want to eat.

“How do I know you haven’t poisoned this?” He eyed the plate like it might sprout legs and attack him. It was certain to attack his taste buds in the best way possible.

I laughed abruptly. “Did the big bad lawyer make a joke? Alert the media.”

“I’m serious.” The way his voice dropped an octave made me wonder if he practiced that tone in front of a mirror, possibly naked while pretending to command someone to get on their knees.

Nope. Shutting that train of thought down right now.

I grabbed two forks. “Well, for one, murder would really put a damper on my vacation. Plus, I have way too much professional pride to waste good food on revenge. If I wanted to kill you, I’d use that ranch-covered curly pasta disaster from lunch today. The cause of death would be listed as ‘crimes against Italian cuisine.’”

The corner of his mouth twitched. It was subtle, but I caught it.

I pushed the plate closer and handed him a fork, accidentally on purpose letting my fingers brush against his as I passed it over. The warmth of that brief contact sent a little zing through my arm. “Try it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Death, apparently.” His eyes had softened a fraction as they tracked from my face to the steaming plate between us. Progress, however microscopic.

“Think of the guests, Archer. The poor, hungry guests.” I gestured dramatically toward the dining room with my own fork. “They came here expecting a relaxing mountain getaway, not a test of their intestinal fortitude. I’m a humanitarian, if you think about it.”

The aroma of garlic and fresh herbs wafted between us, and I watched with satisfaction as his nostrils flared ever so slightly. Even Mr. By-The-Book couldn’t resist that smell.

He took the fork with a resigned sigh that suggested I’d worn him down through sheer persistence. I held my breath as he took a bite, watching his face for any reaction. For a moment, he was perfectly still. Then his eyes closed briefly, and I swear I heard the faintest sound of appreciation.

“Well?” I tried not to sound too smug and failed miserably. It was so satisfying to watch him enjoy something I’d made.

He set the fork down carefully. “It’s... adequate.” The pause before “adequate” told me everything I needed to know, especially coupled with the way his shoulders had slightly relaxed. Coming from him, that was practically a standing ovation.

“Adequate?” I was unable to contain my indignation as I gestured at the plate with my fork. “That chicken cutlet is better than adequate, and you know it. That sauce could make angels weep. I once had an Italian grandmother from Brooklyn propose marriage to her grandson on my behalf after tasting a similar recipe, and I’m pretty sure she meant it.”

“Ms. Callahan?—”

“If you’re going to kick me out after tasting that food, at least have the decency to call me Tessa.” I crossed my arms, channeling every ounce of confidence I had. “We’re about toengage in culinary warfare together. We should be on a first-name basis.”

“Tessa.” He stared at me for a moment, his brown eyes trying to delve into my soul, and I fought the urge to fidget. The way he said my name, like he was testing how it felt on his tongue, did funny things to my insides.

“Sir.” I didn’t know why I said it, but his eyes widened slightly.

“Let’s see how you do with the dinner service, and then we’ll talk.” There was something different in his voice now, a slight softening around the edges that hadn’t been there before, and I counted it as a small victory in the ongoing battle of Archer versus Joy.

Dinner service was done, and I had never worked so hard in my life. But what a rush it had been.

I’d mostly cooked on my own, but Archer, Evan, and Liam plated the simple appetizers and main dishes, and made salads. They weren’t perfect, but with some training and example plates to refer to, they quickly got up to speed.

They would need to hire kitchen staff to assist me if this was going to happen. The big question was, would it?

I wiped down the last counter, admiring how the stainless steel gleamed under the industrial lighting. My feet ached, my back was a little stiff, and I’d never been happier.

I’d shooed the guys out twenty minutes ago to eat their own dinner and, more importantly, to decide my fate. The thought made my stomach flutter with nervous anticipation. I hadn’t expected to want this so badly, but after tonight... Well, let’s justsay my original vacation plans of wallowing in self-pity seemed a lot less appealing.

The kitchen door swung open, and Archer walked in carrying their empty plates. My heart did a little skip-jump that I immediately told to calm down. He walked toward the dish pit, and I pretended to be very interested in reorganizing the already perfectly arranged sauté pans.

Even if he told me they’d decided to pass, I knew now that a restaurant was where I belonged. While I preferred my own, getting started in an already established kitchen would get me back into the groove of what I had been trained to do.

After a few minutes, Archer came back into the food prep area, his footsteps echoing against the tile floor. Without a word or glance in my direction, he walked straight to the walk-in freezer like a man on a mission.

I narrowed my eyes as I removed my apron and started to wash my hands. What was he up to?

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