Page 8 of 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It
“Other than a few design meetings, we don’t need to have anything to do with each other.” Thank God.
“Not true.” He gestured toward Lily and JD’s table with his plate. “JD has put me in charge of the restaurant and brewery, which according to JD means you’ll be my pastry chef. Again.”
Againreverberated through her like a death knell.
“I’m not as familiar with local tastes—and delicacies—as I’d like. I was hoping you would work with me as I develop the menu.”
“Me?”
Amusement filtered into his expression. “Yes, you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a good chef and you know the area.”
“So you’re being nice to me because you need something from me.” And he expected her to accept because she was desperate. After all, she hadn’t been successful in New York. If she had, she wouldn’t be here, with a small-town bakery making small-town, backyard-barbecue food.
Don’t think like that, Claire. You have nothing to prove to the Iron Chef. You’ve become a success despite him.
Lincoln’s amusement faded back to that intense focus he had always used with her. She’d never been graced with the charismatic, flirting Lincoln Young; no, she’d been stuck with this version, though as she forced herself to meet his gaze head-on, she swore she saw a tinge of regret in those blue-gray eyes.
“I’m being nice to you because I like you.” He ignored her snort at that. “I want to get to know you again, not just professionally but personally.”
“Why now? You certainly didn’t want to get to know me nine years ago.” And that fact didn’t hurt, then or now. Not at all.
“I have a lot of regrets about things that happened back then, Claire.”
The way he said her name, the slight growl to his tone as his voice deepened did weird things to her stomach. She didn’t like it—or didn’t want to like it.
“I don’t believe you, Lincoln.” She couldn’t afford to, not after last time.
“That’s okay.” He leaned in. She fought the urge to back away, but the moment his warm breath brushed her cheek, she was caught, frozen. He kept coming until his stubbled jaw touched her as he whispered into her ear, “You’ll believe me eventually. I’ll make sure of it.”
When he straightened, the loss of his warmth made her shiver. For the very first time, he smiled down at her, the charm he was known for sparkling in his eyes. Then he walked off, popping a fresh strawberry slice into his mouth on the way, and left her gaping at his back, no comeback in sight.
Four
“You’re up,” JD said ruefully as he wandered into the kitchen Monday morning. “I’m not gonna get you to relax at all, am I?”
Linc grinned, leaning a hip on the kitchen counter, a cup of black coffee in his hand. The rich scent teased his nose, waking up his senses like the caffeine would his body. “Not likely. You know me; I’m not a good relaxer.”
JD moved to pass him, then stopped dead. Sniffed the air. “Oh my God. What is that?”
“Special blend. Brought it with me from home.” One of his vendors at the restaurant had a cousin in Guatemala who roasted small batches for select clients. Linc and his restaurant were now on that small, select list.
JD hurried to the coffee maker and poured himself some of the rich, dark brew, groaning as he brought the cup to his nose. “What’s it gonna cost me to get you to send me care packages?”
Linc chuckled. “Let me think about that.”
JD’s groan this time was pain, not pleasure. “That bad, huh?”
“Yep.”
The two men stood in the early morning light from the large window above the sink, one of the few redeeming features of the dated kitchen, and sipped the heady brew. It took about half a cup for JD to notice Linc was fully dressed.
“Are you going somewhere?” he asked on his way to the kitchen table to sit.
Linc followed. “Into town. Gonna drop into Gimme Sugar.”
