Page 32 of Inked Beasts

“New travels fast around the resort.” Moving closer to her, I lower my voice. “And I have several spies working for me here in the office.”

She nods solemnly, in on my joke. “Noted.”

As I set the tray on her desk, my face cracks into a grin, like it does most of the time when I’m with her. “I brought lunch for you.”

“That’s amazing! And perfect timing; my stomach was starting to protest.”

“It’s a chef’s superpower, knowing when people are hungry.”

“I still can’t get over you being such a hotshot chef,” she says. “Though I’m certainly not surprised you’re so popular, especially after tasting your fabulous food last night.”

My chest swells with pride. “I’m afraid this meal is much more humble, but it was prepared especially for you.”

Her eyebrows go up. I watch her face closely as I remove the cloche, and see the moment the memory surfaces.

“Oh my gosh, you remembered!” The way her eyes light up makes it hard not to stare at her for longer than would be considered acceptable. I’m like a little kid again, hopelessly in love with my older brother’s friend.

She seemed so mature back then. Even though we were only one year apart, the age difference automatically made her cooler and smarter, and certainly unobtainable. She never treated me like a nuisance, even though she could have.

She looks at me very differently now, though, and I’m aware that our age difference doesn’t mean a thing, not anymore.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, still teasing. “Quesadillas and tomato soup are the only thing I ever make for lunch.”

“I can’t believe you remembered.”

“Of course I did.” The last time I served this to Lexy was the day that made me want to become a chef. I was alone with her, because Kai and Thorn were at school. They were already in high school, while Lexy and I were still at the middle school, and we had a half day.

She came over to the house, and I could tell immediately that something was wrong. Eventually, she confided in me that her parents were fighting again, and she didn’t want to go home.

I was desperate for some way to cheer her up, and of course we were hungry, so I made quesadillas and reheated some of my mom’s homemade tomato soup. It was simple, but Lexy was so impressed that I was able to make the meal, and her praise made me feel like a king.

More importantly, as we ate, we talked, and her mood shifted. I learned how food has the power to provide comfort, and that cooking for someone is a way to care for them.

“In all these years, I’ve never had this exact combination again,” she says. “Grilled cheese, yes, and those are certainly good, but they’re nothing like one of your crispy, flaky, gooey quesadillas.” She reaches for a wedge and brings it to her mouth, and I have to force myself to look away.

“Sorry, I’m being rude,” she says after she’s had two big bites. “Have you eaten yet? Have some.” She nudges the tray in my direction, where I’ve been standing, happily watching her eat.

I put up a hand, refusing. “I usually don’t eat lunch since I spend all day tasting food.” I pat my midsection with the same hand. “I have to keep in shape.”

Her eyes follow my hand, and I’m fascinated when her cheeks redden. “Doesn’t look like you have any problems there, but I won’t complain. More for me.”

She dips a spoon into the soup, and I nearly get a hard-on from the blissful expression on her face when she tastes it. I’m thrilled that my food still brings her pleasure, but now I want to make her face look that way by using my hands, my mouth, and my cock.

“Thorn, this is so next level. So much rich flavor. You really undersold it, calling it a humble meal.” She takes another big spoonful.

“Glad you like it.”

“Have a seat.” She gestures toward the chair closest to her desk. “Unless you need to go?” She sounds like she hopes I can stay, and I’d make the time, even if my staff was waiting for me. As it happens, I can spare at least ten minutes.

“How’s your first day going?” I ask as I sit.

“So far, so good. From everything I’ve seen, it’s going to be easy convincing couples to hold their wedding receptions here, especially with the food on offer.”

“That’s good to hear. Let me know what works for your schedule, and we can prepare a menu tasting for you, so you can speak from experience on all of the items.”

After swallowing another bite of quesadilla, she says, “Wonderful. I’ll be available for that whenever it’s convenient for you.”

“I’ll check the calendar and let you know.” I’m quiet for a minute, letting her eat, before I ask, “How does it feel being back here?” What I really want to ask her is how it feels being back in our lives, but there’s no easy way to word my question.

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