Page 52 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

Rachel leans forward and rests her elbows on the wood, swirling the wine in her glass. “Too bad that didn’t help you develop any sense of style or taste.”

Jameson fakes indignation and then grins at her. “Seriously, sis. Ouch with the jabs tonight.”

She waves a dismissive hand at him, then turns her focus on me. “Jamo and I are going shopping tomorrow for a bunch of stuff for this place. Do you want to join us?”

Crap.

Jameson peeks over at me. “I’m sure Isabella has plenty to do at her restaurant without tagging along to help with mine.”

It isn’t meant to be an insult or brush off. I’m almost positive about that. But still, his comment makes me shift uncomfortably in my chair.

This dinner has been full of moments like this—his siblings and their significant others poking and prodding and trying to get one of us to say something that would reveal that we’re something more than neighbors who happen to have the same profession. But we’ve both remained tight-lipped. Me mostly because I have no fucking clue what we are.

I smile at Rachel. “I appreciate the offer, really. But I have a lot scheduled tomorrow with my contractor. Little things here and there that need to be addressed before we can have the inspector come for approval of things.”

Flynn sips his wine and motions toward my unused wine glass. “Are you sure I can’t get you a glass of this? It’s pretty incredible stuff.”

The heat of a flush spreads up my neck, and I press my hand against it in an effort to conceal it from the table. “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”

Bash raises an eyebrow and looks down the length of the table at the three empty bottles they’ve already killed off since I arrived. “Well, shit, you must think we’re all total lushes.”

I shift upright and shake my head. “Oh, God, no. Nothing like that. It’s not a judgment thing. I just can’t—”

SHIT!

Everyone around the table waits for me to finish my sentence, but instead, I feign a cough and take a tiny sip of my water, trying to play it off that I didn’t almost reveal a lot more than I intended.

Jameson’s narrowed eyes watch me with concern. After a moment, he seems appeased I’m okay and motions down the table at the spread of dishes off his coming menu. “Well, what did everyone think?”

Greer raises her glass. “Fabulous!”

Bash nods his agreement. “Amazing!”

Rachel beams at Jameson. “Everything was incredible!”

Flynn rubs his stomach. “I loved the octopus.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Jameson slowly turns his head toward me. “I bet you did. It’s one of my favorite dishes on the menu. Or it was….”

Oh, God. Please don’t go there.

I’ve gone from feeling really fucking proud of myself for what I did to Jameson’s menu to thinking about it non-stop and wondering if I went too far. It happened on the most widely watched morning news show. I didn’t know he was going on there when I messed with the menu.

Though, if I had known, I’m not confident it would have stopped me from doing it. It felt too good to have a win. But not as good as being with Jameson the other night. That makes this incredibly dangerous territory.

I thought he had gotten over the whole menu thing, but his current reaction suggests he may still be harboring a bruised ego from the whole thing.

Bash’s jaw drops open. “Oh, my God! Was that you who changed the menu?”

I drop my face in my hands and groan. “Um…yes.”

Uproarious laughter fills the room, and I peek between my fingers to find everyone in hysterics.

Everyone except Jameson, who looks anything but amused. “Fine. Laugh at my being humiliated. I see how much you all care.”

Bash smacks his palm against the table. “Oh, stop it. You were not humiliated. That was hilarious, Izzy. Be proud of yourself. He would have done the same damn thing to you. Don’t let him tell you otherwise.”

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