Page 27 of Omega's Pretend Mate
I smiled. “I’ve only been once, as a guest of the chef. But I can promise that you will not be disappointed.”
“Christian! So good to see you again!”
I stood to exchange cheek-kisses with the chef. “You as well Louis.”
“You should come in more often,” he said, his accent thick. “I can always find a spot for you.”
I chuckled. “I’d hate to abuse our friendship like that. You have a waiting list for your waiting list. Besides, your talents are for special occasions.”
“Ah, you’re too kind.” Louis turned to Gabe. “And who is this vision with you tonight?”
I smiled. “Louis, this is my omega, Gabe. Gabe, this is Louis, founder and executive chef.”
Louis extended a hand. “A pleasure monsieur. It is wonderful to see Christian settle down with such a handsome man as yourself. He’s quite the lucky alpha.”
Gabe blushed and accepted the handshake. “I’m the lucky one.”
Louis laughed. “As long as each of you feels you are the lucky one, then a blessed life you shall lead, for you will understand how to treasure each other.”
I smiled at Gabe. “Words of wisdom.”
Louis patted my back. “Have a seat my friend. Jean will be here with the wine momentarily, and I need to check on your first course.”
“Of course.”
I returned to my seat, and caught Gabe staring at me. “What’s up?”
He shook his head. “I take it this is why you asked me all those questions about food preferences last week?”
“Partially.”
“Partially?”
“Well, I should know those things for when I cook, right?”
He blinked. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it.”
I reached over and took his hand. “I know you have a chef, and that’ll make life easier when we both get busy with cases. But I’ve been cooking since I was a kid and had to get snacks ready for my brothers after school because both mom and papa were manning the store. I don’t see myself giving up cooking just because there’s somebody else doing it.”
Gabe looked down at the table.
“What’s wrong?”
“I must be a pretty lousy omega. I don’t even know how to cook.”
I squeezed his hand. “Plenty of people can’t cook Gabe. It’s nothing to feel ashamed about.”
“Aren’t omegas supposed to be the ones who cook though?”
I shrugged. “I was never raised like that. Sure papa made a mean spaghetti, and mom considered the grill her domain. But they both took turns in the kitchen. Cooking wasn’t a matter of gender, but one of who was at home and available to cook.”
“I can’t help like that though.”
“Sure you can.”
Gabe looked up at me. “What do you mean?”
I shrugged. “So you can’t cook. Whatever. You’ve hired somebody this whole time for that. It’s still covered. That’s what matters. And if it really bothers you, I can teach you how to cook.”
