Page 61 of The Good Girl (Nashville Neighborhood)

She snorted and shook her head. “If you’re a terrible cook, then the best thing you can do is stay out of my way.”

It was so much fun to see her like this. All business. Confident. “Yes, ma’am.”

I grabbed the wrapping paper and the rest of the trash, clearing it off the island so she had more room to work, and then sat on a stool at the breakfast bar and helped by telling her where to find things in the cabinets.

While she cleaned the shrimp, we talked about her job. She’d started waitressing at seventeen, and only a month later she’d been moved to the kitchen and done all the prep work.

Even though she worked her own station now, a lot of her experience came from watching the other chefs. The sous chef, Diego, had taken her under his wing and was a mentor, but the rest of the line was pirates, she said.

“How’s that?” I asked.

She’d finished with the shrimp, moved on, and considered my question while she poured chicken broth into a pot. “They’ve got foul mouths, hot tempers, and cutthroat attitudes.”

I peered at her dubiously. “And how’s that for you?”

She turned on the burner, not bothering to look at me. “It’s fine. Honestly, it’s good for me. I had to learn to stand up for myself because no one else was going to.” Her voice lost a little of its confidence. “Still working on doing that outside of the kitchen.” She stepped away from the stove and glanced at me. “Cutting board?”

“The long cabinet next to the oven.”

She got what she needed and set the wooden board down on the counter across from me. “It sucks being the only woman there sometimes.”

She was young and beautiful, and the thought made ice slide down my spine. “Because they hit on you?”

She pulled out one of her knives and cut a shallot in half, then laid the flat side down and began to rapidly cut it into thin slices. “Most of the time, they don’t mean it. They’re just teasing me. But one of them, I’m pretty sure he was serious when he asked if I wanted to have a three-way with him and his girlfriend.”

I had to stay perfectly still to keep my emotions in check. The idea of Sydney with anyone else, male or female, triggered an unacceptable amount of jealousy in me. I could tell myself it was just because I was competitive, but I knew that was bullshit.

I did my best to sound casual. “What’d you tell him?”

Her knife slowed. “I told him no, of course. So, then he said it could be just the two of us, then. His girlfriend didn’t need to know. Which—gross.”

“Right,” I said.

Except my agreement came a little too quickly to sound natural, and it drew her suspicion. Her eyes sharpened on me, and I’d swear they could see right down to the mistake I’d made years ago, and the guilt I harbored over it.

“Okay.” She put her knife down and gave me a hard look. “You don’t think cheating is gross?”

“No, I do.” I hoped she could hear how genuine I was.

“Then why is your face all weird?” Her eyes went wide. “Oh, my god. You’ve cheated!”

“Well, that depends on your definition of cheating.”

Her jaw dropped and she looked at me like I was scum. “What the hell does that mean?”

I sighed. Why the fuck had I said that? “Look, it’s not something I’m proud of, but I . . . sort of cheated on Cassidy once.”

That did nothing to help the look of disgust she was shooting at me. “Sort of?”

Shit, I was going to have to explain. “It was at the end of our relationship, the summer right after our freshman year at Vanderbilt. I’d invited some people over, but it was last minute, so nobody showed up, except for this one girl named Stacy.”

Later, I learned she’d told everyone else to stay away. She’d wanted me all to herself.

There was an uncomfortable tightness in my chest. “I’d had too many beers, so my thinking wasn’t great. Stacy said she was cold and wanted to get in the hot tub.”

My pause was too long, annoying her. “And?”

“And she didn’t have a swimsuit.”

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