“How did you know?” she asks, surprise turning to bemusement. “I mean…I never told you…”
“You mentioned it while we were in Vegas—offhand, but you mentioned it,” I say, still enjoying the wonder in her face.
She pulls the bowl near, taking in the smell a little like it’s a gourmet broth, then delicately takes one and puts in her mouth, finally showing me what I wanted to see all the while I was making it. That semi-orgasmic, almost spiritually satisfied look she gets when she’s tasting food she likes.
“Oh my God…” she says, chewing slowly. “You have no idea how good this is; how many feelings this brings back. Did you try it yourself?”
She picks another up and holds it out for me. As I take it from her fingers and pop it into my mouth I nod, unconvincingly.
“It’s…um…yeah.”
Willow laughs.
“God…I can’t believe the Michelin-starred chef Cole Chambers just made me puppy chow.”
I laugh along with her and put my arm on the back of her chair, hand on the soft curve of her shoulder. “I wasn’t sure what we should drink with it,” I say, drawing the cooler beside the table closer to us. “Is beer ok?”
“Beer’s great,” Willow says, as I twist the top off a bottle and hand her one.
I grab another bite of the food and open a bottle for myself, turning my gaze out to the cityscape and feeling my soul fill at having Willow beside me.
“So how was your shift?”
Willow finishes swallowing and tilts her head.
“It was good. Hell of a crowd tonight, and apparently the highest tip count this month. Although we did get somebody sending back the gazpacho soup because it was cold.”
I laugh and say, “Been a while since that happened.”
“I think Leo still hates me, the Basque burgers are selling great, and the success of escargots continues to confuse the hell out of me even though…” Willow trails off, then turns to me, her face a little anxious now. “Listen, Cole…I know this is probably awkward, and sudden, and maybe kinda…soon. And maybe your head isn’t in the same place as mine, or you feel like it’s not the right time, or…I don’t know. But I just…can I ask you something?”
For a moment my stomach lurches, like my body is already expecting the worst. Is she quitting Knife? Did she get offered a job at another restaurant, or something back home in Idaho where her family is? Or did Leo say something awful to her at work today? If he did, I’ll fire his ass so fast it’ll make his head spin. My fist involuntarily clenches and I have to work to relax my hand, clearing my throat and forcing my expression to remain calm.
“Of course,” I say, keeping my voice neutral despite the turmoil I’m feeling inside. “What’s up?”
Willow drops her eyes for a moment, then looks back up and focuses her gaze on mine. “I just…I’d like to know…what are we? I mean, maybe it’s crazy of me to say that considering how long we’ve been seeing each other, or whatever it is we’re doing. But, the puppy chow, Vegas, all the time you seem to want to spend together…I don’t know. Am I reading too much into this? I’m a little bad at interpreting the signals when it comes to men.”
I watch her a moment, then angle myself a little more toward her, lifting a palm to press against her cheek.
“Remember that first night we went out together?” I say. “Our ‘business meeting’?”
Willow looks aside, a little embarrassed.
“Every time I prep a Basque burger.”
I laugh gently.
“I mean when we were still at the concept bar, talking. Remember what I told you the secrets of great food were?”
“Sure,” Willow says, looking up a little as she tries to recall. “Make it look good, make people pay a lot for it, and make people want more.”
“Well, I missed something. I didn’t tell you that those secrets can also be applied to great sex, too.”
Willow stares at me as if I’m crazy for a second. “Pardon?”
“Think about it,” I continue, “Looking good, making someone chase a little, leaving them with just enough that they don’t regret it…except you disagreed with me. You said that it had to mean something, that there was more to it than superficial pleasures, that for it to be truly great it had to satisfy. I mean, I know you weren’t talking about sex, about relationships, but to me there’s always been a thin line between food and love. And you’ve convinced me. On both counts.”
“I…” Willow says, breathing deeply as she’s overwhelmed. “I don’t even know what to make of that.”
I take her hands in mine.
“I’ve spent my life eating fine foods—even this past week I must have had a dozen meals that cost a fortune and tasted like heaven. But ever since then, what I’ve craved more than anything are those burgers you cooked. I mean, they’re good, don’t get me wrong, but it’s the fact that you made them for me, and with such passion. What just thinking about them makes me feel. Same as this puppy chow right here does for you,” I say, grabbing one and popping it in my mouth, Willow’s lips turning up at my words. “It’s this simple: What I really want is you.”
We look at each other in the night, the turquoise glow of the swimming pool casting lines of light across her face, accentuating the soft curve of her cheek until it almost aches for me to see how beautiful she is. Her eyes lock onto mine, as if seeing something new for the first time, and her smile answers me before her voice does.
“I really want you too.”
Our faces move closer, so slowly it’s almost imperceptible, close enough for me to see those freckles in the dark—as if kept secret just for me—close enough to smell the sweet cocoa on her breath, close enough to feel the air crackle with the electricity between us…
Then a piercing xylophone tune breaks the magic. Willow pulls her head back, startled and frustrated as she pulls her phone from her pocket.
“Sorry,” she says, shaking her head as she checks her phone. “Just a friend.”
I shrug easily and grab my beer again while Willow mutes her phone and puts it aside. She smiles apologetically, brushes a strand of hair over her ear, then takes more puppy chow. That electric moment has dissipated, but the tension between is now replaced by something calm and relaxed, something that feels solidly connected in the best way possible.
“How are things going in Vegas?” she asks. “Did you—”
She cuts herself off when the phone vibrates loudly on the metal table.
“I’m so sorry, I thought I put this on silent,” she says, flicking through her phone a little more, then setting it down again.
“It’s going well. I took your advice about the indoor herb garden—though I still don’t know if it’s really the right choice.”
Willow shakes her head with a grin. “It’s the only choice—that’s the problem when you have a restaurant in the middle of a desert. It’s either the indoor garden or coordinating bi-weekly delivery of fresh herbs from around the country along with the rest of the—”
She stops again, noticing my eyes going to the bright light of her phone.