Page 70 of For Butter or Worse
“But you should get the chardonnay, not the mixed drinks. Our bartender isn’t exactly first-class,” Dori whispered. She put a hand on Nina’s back and started to lead them toward the café in the building.
A shrill cry erupted from behind them, and Nina jumped. She turned to see Reginald staring her down.
As it turned out, if there wasn’t one man out to get her, another would always find his place.
26
NINA
Nina jumped slightly as the kitchen door swung open. She hadn’t quite recovered from the confrontation with Reginald the peacock.
Hadi, the pastry chef, walked in balancing an enormous baking sheet in his hands. It was lined with delicate pink macarons topped with gold leaf. As he set the tray down on a countertop, he wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve.
“I’m terrified of tripping and spilling these every single night. I have nightmares about it.” He turned to Nina and said, “Chef, how are you not sweating? Do you get Botox in your forehead? I saw that on an episode ofReal Housewives.”
Nina shook her head with a half smirk. “I do sweat. Just not in the kitchen.” She’d been covered in sweat after her hike with Leo, for instance. And also after their session in his bedroom...
But she didn’t have time to think about him, because she had to crack pepper over the plate of Nicoise pasta she was finishing. The fresh spaghetti was plated onto a rich nest of heavy cream, basil, garlic and Parmesan cheese. Transcendence on a plate, the most satisfying thing...outside of Leo’s head between her thighs.
“Order’s up.” She carefully placed the pasta on the pass—the long, flat counter space where chefs placed finished dishes for servers to come and grab.
“Soigné!” Jasmine said.
Nina grinned. Her dish was elegant, wasn’t it? They were halfway through the evening with another booked dining room. She was grateful for the distraction of the kitchen and the food. Whenever she had a spare moment to think, her mind went to Leo. Which was ridiculous, considering how much time she’d spent perfecting the art of ignoring him.
“Maeve, what do we have on deck?” She quickly snapped herself out of the Leo spiral.
“Four scallop, two steak and one pasta, on order,” Maeve said, reading from the hanging order tickets. Nina was on pasta duty, Jasmine was handling seafood and Maeve, the sous chef, was overseeing the red meat.
Nina nodded. She hadn’t been in sync with her kitchen staff for the last few weeks. She was used to balancing her restaurants with filming the show, constantly working to meet her goals. Adding in a fake relationship on top of all that was just as exhausting as she had worried it would be.
But tonight, she’d brought her A game to work—no distractions. She was zoned in on the smells, the texture of the ingredients and the rhythm of the kitchen. The outside world, including Leo, was beginning to fade into the background.
“Chef?” One of the servers popped her head up above the pass. “A VIP is finishing up their main. Table four.”
Nina nodded and took off her apron. She checked in toward the end of every patron’s meal, the same way her mother would always ask if they’d liked their dinner. She wanted people to see the hands that cooked their meal. For Nina, she never viewed her restaurant as simply serving up a menu. Food created memories, and she wanted to elicit conversations through the pieces she cooked. The meal they were having wasn’t really about her, but the experience of coming to Lyon was something she hoped they’d remember forever.
And now that her business was on the verge of being flambéed, it was necessary to do everything possible to get repeat customers. Even if every question she was asked wasn’t about the food, or if the only people who came in were journalists—she didn’t care. She was going to throw herself into keeping her staff employed and her career relevant.
As she made her way through the dining room, she stopped short. Table four was a two-top in a corner tucked under a stained-glass window, usually reserved for couples celebrating an important date—anniversary, birthday—but there was only one person at the table.
Leo brought a forkful of her pasta to his mouth. As he chewed, he shut his eyes then swallowed. And she swore she heard a groan of pleasure come from him, not dissimilar from the noises she’d brought out of him the other day. He was in her restaurant and eating a dish she’d made. She inhaled sharply, pleased at his response.
And, ofcourse, the server hadn’t disclosed who the VIP was. As far as most people were concerned, Nina was dating Leo. The server probably assumed Nina knew about the visit, even though she definitely hadn’t.
When he looked up and caught her eye, he smiled widely. His hair was in an impeccable, Disney-prince swoop. The cerulean sweater he wore complemented his dark eyes. He’d rolled up the sleeves, which revealed the way his forearms flexed against the table.
She’d spent so much of her day staying as busy as possible so she wouldn’t think about Leo, but now she had no choice—every gorgeous inch of him was in front of her.
Then he stood. She couldn’t tell if it was because he happened to be tall, or if it was just the mere presence of him that made everything else in the room appear smaller. And when he slowly began to clap, she felt like it was just the two of them in her restaurant.
But he pointedly nodded behind her, because many customers had stopped eating and were watching the Nina and Leo show. A few of them even awkwardly joined the clapping.
She grinned without having to fake anything, relieved to see him and a little more than flattered at the solo standing ovation. Even if he was just doing it for the crowd, the gesture felt like it was solely meant for her.
“Brava, chef!” He grabbed her hand and kissed the top of it. The heat that rushed to her face was annoyingly truthful.
“I didn’t know you were coming.” Her body vibrated from the proximity. Being in the kitchen made her satisfied, but being next to Leo...Thatalso did something to her.
