Page 15 of Hiding Rose
I rubbed my forehead. “I don’t like to admit it, but yes. I need time.”
“You can have all the time in the world, beautiful,” he promised. “I also think you need a hug. Am I right?”
I raised my arms and threw them around his neck, his arms coming around my back as he rested his head on mine. We didn’t speak, but we held each other with a new understanding of what we each wanted out of whatever this was.
“I wish like hell I could take your pain away, Rose, but I can’t. I promise you tonight, I’ll be here to hug you, distract you, feed you, or make you laugh whenever you need it. Do you believe me?”
I nodded and he lowered his arms, kissing my cheek before he stood. “Good, because I have some tacos getting cold. Let me pop them in the microwave and heat them up, then we’re celebrating!”
He swiveled to the counter and opened my microwave, but I remained on the bed waging a war in my heart, and in my mind, I wasn’t sure could ever be won.
I laid my fork down and leaned back in my chair, my stomach full. I kept my eyes focused on him, learning his little idiosyncrasies. The way he hummed a little with each bite as if he found food to be a truly life-changing experience. The way he used a fork instead of his hands to eat tacos, after he broke up the shell. The way he kept his plate neat, as though the habit of keeping the kitchen in order was impossible to break.
“You can say it,” I said, when he finished his last bite of taco.
“Say what?” he asked, laying his napkin on the table.
“I told you so.”
He laughed, deeply amused by my answer. “Rose, I’m the head chef at a five-star restaurant. I don’t need to say I told you so. The only satisfaction I need is what I get from watching you clean your plate of my icky fish tacos. Nothing else matters to me.” I tipped my head to give him the point as he cleaned up the plates, and stacked them on the counter. “Now then, it’s time to break open the bubbly and celebrate!”
He lifted the bottle out of the sink where he had it sitting in cold water while we ate. I stuck my fingers in my ears and he paused, his eyes focused on me, but an amused expression on his face. “What are you doing?”
“I’m waiting for you to open the bottle. I don’t like it when it pops, it scares me every time,” I explained.
He motioned for me to take my hands down. “You’ve clearly been hanging out with people who don’t know how to open champagne bottles.” He held it up. “A bottle of champagne has three times more pressure than a car tire, which is why there’s a metal cage around the cork. How do most people open champagne,” he asked as he took the top seal off, holding onto the metal cage.
“They twist the cork until it pops off and champagne goes everywhere.”
He held up a finger off the cage. “Exactly, but I don’t think you want champagne all over your kitchen, do you?” I shook my head no. “I didn’t think so.” He removed the wire cage and I scooted backwards unconsciously. “What you do is twist the bottle while holding the cork. Then you don’t get the pop because the air escapes slowly,” he explained, twisting the bottle. Sure enough, the cork came out in his hand and the air vapors escaped into the air. “Voila.”
I clapped a couple times. “I’ll have to remember for next time.”
He poured two glasses and handed me one, clinking mine as soon as I took it. “To Rose, may the new job be everything you hope for, and may it be a new beginning for your life as well.”
I held up my glass and took a sip. “Mmmm, so tasty,” I said. “The bubbles didn’t tickle my nose either. Does the wine glass prevent it from happening?”
He sat next to me and leaned forward. “This isn’t a wine glass. It’s a Reidel Veritas Champagne glass. They’re made to give the champagne room to breathe while still trapping the flavor.”
I took another sip. “You know a lot about champagne.”
He shrugged. “Comes with the job. I have to give the bar manager a list of wines and champagnes to pair with each dish.”
“Huh, I had no idea that was a thing,” I admitted.
“Definitely a thing in a restaurant like Kupid’s Table. From what I hear, we’ll be working together a lot more now.”
I lowered my glass to the table and leaned in. “Where did you hear that? And how did you know about my new position?”
“I talked to Kate and Gideon after my shift. They told me they’ll be deciding in a few days what direction to go with, regarding the center. Once they’ve decided on where it will be, they’re giving it to you to run with. You’ll need my help with kitchen planning and menu planning.”
“I will, but it will be weeks before we come up with a solid plan, most likely. If you’re too busy, I can always work with one of the other chefs. I know you’re always slammed with your own work.”
He set the glass down harder than necessary. “Like hell you will. I’ll find the time. I don’t start cooking until noon anyway. We can meet early in the morning once you’re not in the daycare center anymore. We’ll make it work.”
I twirled the glass by the stem, avoiding sipping too much of it considering how late it was. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to work with me on this. You’re an executive chef of an award-winning restaurant. There are more important things than feeding children macaroni and cheese and apple slices.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “There are? Tell me what’s more important than feeding children.”
