Page 58 of Sinfully Shameless Chef

Everything else may be a total shit-show, but I can definitely stir mac and cheese.

She leans against the counter in my kitchen, arms crossed over her chest. “Fine, but you know you didn't have to cook. We could've just ordered something. We both cook all day, every day. Sometimes it's nice to let someone else do the work.”

I stir the noodles and cheese in the pot and pour in more shredded cheddar. Never enough cheese. I’ve been craving my comfort food all day. After that meal with the Furys, I needed something that would remind me of easier times with Grams. “I know, believe me. But I really haven’t been cooking all that much, and I can't just sit around.”

I’ve been restless. Antsy. Unable to sit still despite being utterly exhausted.

“You clearly haven’t just been ‘sitting around,’ Izzy. You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She shakes her head. “I don't mean it like an insult. Just an observation. I don't think I've ever seen you look this exhausted, not even when we were in school or busting our asses as prep cooks.” A sigh slips from her lips, and genuine concern hardens her gaze. “I'm worried about you—”

“And I feel like a broken record telling you I'm fine.”

Even I wince at the tone of my response. It’s not like me to be so snippy with anyone, let alone Ashley. Everything just feels off lately. Like I can’t keep anything in order or on track. It’s made me feel like crap—mentally and physically.

But I shouldn’t take it out on her.

Ash presses her lips together and scowls in a way that tells me she isn't buying it for a second. Maybe I'm not as good of an actress as I thought.

Somehow, I’ve managed to hide what’s really been happening in my life from everyone—employers, other friends…Jameson. But Ashley has always known and can apparently see straight through my best efforts to appear unaffected by the long hours and lack of care I’ve been giving myself.

Because the truth is, I am weary to the bone. There's no other way to describe it—the kind of tired that makes it impossible to get out of bed in the morning without physically dragging yourself out and that makes you crash the moment your head hits the pillow, even if you’ve left important things undone.

And something tells me it’s only going to get worse the closer I get to the opening.

“You're going to burn out, Iz. Have you even spoken to Thaddeus since all of this started?”

My hand stirring the pasta freezes, and I glare at her. “No. And you better not call him, either. I'll talk to him if and when I need to.”

Which will hopefully not be for a very long time.

“Fine.” She pushes off the counter and wanders over to the papers spread out all across my small kitchen table—my final checklists. Everything I still need to do before we can actually open. Ashley sits down and laughs. “Why is this one crossed off?”

“Which one?”

She waves the paper back and forth. “Kick Jameson Fury’s ass.” One of her brunette eyebrows rises. “It seems to me that rather than kicking it, you've been kissing it.”

I let my jaw drop and turn to face her. “I have not.”

“Really?” She drops the list, forms a circle with one hand, and sticks a finger from her other hand through it. “You don't think letting him bang you in your kitchen counts as a loss on that front?”

Smartass.

One thing I’ve always appreciated about Ashley’s friendship is her willingness to call me out on my crap. It keeps me honest, and I know I can always rely on her to tell it like it is when I need to hear some hard truths. But I don’t think I’m ready to face the hard truth about my feelings for Jameson Fury just yet.

Ignorance is bliss.

I scowl at her and give her my back again. “That was a moment of weakness.”

She snorts. “I'd say. But I guess I can't blame you. He is one magnificent specimen, isn't he?”

“You have no idea.” Though I tried to say it under my breath, she obviously hears me since she bursts out laughing again. “Look, I really don't want to talk about Jameson anymore.”

“I’m sure you don't. You also don't want to talk about what you're doing to yourself physically or how worried Grams would be if she were here. Or how you should probably be calling Thaddeus or what I might be able to do to help you to take some of this stress off your shoulders.” She offers a shrug. “I'm not sure what that leaves as viable topics of conversation here.”

While I want to object to the accusatory tone of her statement, she isn’t exactly wrong. I’m avoiding all those things. At the moment, I just don’t have the energy to discuss anything that isn’t a little lighter.

---