Page 33 of Before the Night Falls
After he showed her where he kept everything, she moved with ease around the kitchen.
Tyson settled at the breakfast bar to watch, wondering what kind of adventure she would turn this into.
She chopped up red onions and tomatoes, all with flair and confidence. Her eyes caught his as she worked, and she must have seen he was impressed.
“In full disclosure, my dad is a professional chef.” She continued dicing the tomatoes.
“Is he really?”
Olivia nodded, transferring the vegetables into a pot of chicken broth. “You may have heard of him. Drake Culpepper.”
“Drake Culpepperis your father?” Tyson couldn’t hide the surprise from his voice. “He’s the highest rated chef on television. I watch his weekly show and even have a few of his cooking products.”
Tyson never would have suspected they were related. Their relationship seemed like something that would have been mentioned at some point while they talked.
“Don’t get too excited. He really wasn’t much of a father. He and my mother divorced when I was five. A string of girlfriends followed. As he rose to fame, he didn’t have time for me. Instead, he sent me gifts and money.”
Tyson heard the hurt in her voice. “How did that make you feel?”
“Sadly enough, it actually felt pretty normal. I didn’t know any different. When you grow up surrounded by something, even if it’s twisted, it can become a standard.”
“That’s absolutely true. But I can say your mom did a great job with you. You turned out well.”
Her gaze fluttered to his. “Thank you.”
She turned away to stir the soup she was making, adding a dash of salt and some herbs. “You mind setting the table? I guess it will be just the two of us.”
Tyson wasn’t sure why, but he liked the idea of it just being the two of them. He tried not to think about why that was as he pulled out some bowls, spoons, and napkins. He set them on the table, along with two glasses of water.
“What are Chandler and Wes up to?” Tyson asked.
“They’re interviewing Lake Blair, the singer. She’s in town for a concert tonight.” Olivia set the pot back on the stove, covered it, and turned the burner to simmer. Then she sat across from Tyson.
“How are you feeling today?” Tyson’s eyes focused on hers.
He didn’t miss how her gaze fluttered to the tabletop before she answered. “Great.”
“You just seemed a little shaken up yesterday after?—”
“It was no big deal.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Just a bad driver and a practical jokester. That’s no reason to freak out.”
Tyson suspected Olivia didn’t believe her own words. He didn’t know her well yet, but hedidknow the face of someone who was scared. Reading people was a skill he’d learned to utilize.
“This soup is smelling good.” Olivia returned to the stove and gave the dish a good stir.
Tyson didn’t miss the subject change. Olivia didn’t want to talk about this anymore, and he had to respect her wishes. His curiosity was piqued, however.
“So, tell me about Hobbes,” Olivia said. “I’ve never met anyone who has a butler.”
“He’s officially my assistant.”
“Okay, an assistant who seems like a butler.”
Tyson chuckled. “He’s one of a kind. Archibald ‘Hobbes’ Evans. He actually trained as a chef at Le Cordon Bleu in London before being recruited by British Airways to develop their first-class dining service.”
“Really?” She raised her eyebrows. “Tell me more.”
“From what he tells me, for more than a decade, he’d traveled the world, refining menus and training staff in more than thirty countries. His perfectionism and attention to detail became legendary among the airline’s elite clientele. When the airline downsized in 2008, Hobbes pivoted and began to do catering.”
