Kai ducked his chin to receive the compliment. “Thanks a lot. I’m happy we didn’t disappoint.” He turned to the junior members at the table for a round of fist bumps. “Everybody like their food?”
Zara fulfilled her duties as spokeschild as Dane was occupied with finger-painting circles in a puddle of leftover syrup. “The waffles were perfect, but next time, can I have chocolate chips in them? But not carob because carob is revolting.”
“Absolutely.” Kai nodded a military assent. “And carob is revolting.”
I couldn’t hold it in any longer. “Why didn’t you tell me you were a chef?” I snipped. If I could have wedged a hand onto my hip in defiance, I would have.
He looked at me, amused. “Well, for one thing, I’m not a chef. I’m a cook. At a diner. Not exactly Michelin stars and all that.”
I winced to remember how that must have sounded. “You misled me. You said nothing about this.” I gestured to the bustling room, my empty plate.
“I don’t remember you asking much about me,” he said, a bemused smile settling in. “Also, are you always this intense? You know, some people just have conversations instead of interrogations.”
Manda cleared her throat. “So, apparently you two have met. No need for the whole ‘Kai, Charlie, Charlie, Kai’ thing. And yes, Kai, she’s always this intense. But very likeable. And a fantastic baker. And athletic!”
“And I have a strong 401K!” I erupted, my cheeks en fuego. “Enough!”
Kai laughed with his eyes and his mouth. I wanted to hear him do it again as soon as possible. “Listen,” he said. He leaned both arms on the table and settled his gaze on me.
I swallowed.
“I’m a cook at Howie’s Diner. I hope this doesn’t freak you out, but I actually own the diner, which may or may not be a good thing in your world. We’ve only been open a year, but I think we’re doing okay. Howie was my grandpa’s name and I named the pancakes after my grandma. My 401K is pathetic, but I hope you can get over that. Because even though Manda appears to have been right about your control issues and your food snobbery, you do have a great smile.”
I bit my lower lip, my heart pounding into my shirt.
“And you look much prettier without the scowl.”
Manda sighed. “I’ve been telling her that since she moved to New York. Thank you for agreeing with me. She totally looks prettier without it.”
Kai kept his eyes on mine. “Totally.”
“Pretty sure an insult with a compliment equals an insult,” I said.
He ignored my words. In fact, he appeared to be ignoring everyone in the room but me. “Are you free for dinner tonight? I’ll cook.”
I made a face. “Or I can cook. I do know how.”
“So that’s a yes, Intensity Freak?” He had delightful lips, this one. They were distracting.
“Yes,” I said. “But no. No, I can’t tonight.” My thoughts returned to the pile of papers on my floor, the pastry kitchen at Thrill, the email from the management team asking for my final notes on Tuesday’s opening menu.
“Okay,” Kai shrugged. “Tomorrow.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I can’t tomorrow. Or this week. I’m sorry, but I’m starting as the new head pastry chef at a restaurant downtown, and I can’t even think about anything but that right now.”
Manda vouched for me. “She’s not brushing you off. I had to kidnap her for breakfast.”
Kai ran a hand through his hair. His eyes traveled back to the kitchen and a stack of order slips piling up on the metal wheel. “I get it.” He thought for a moment, then turned back to me. “Your next day off, then. Meet me here at lunch. I’ll feed you, and then we’ll see what happens.” He was already backing up, answering the call of the bell Sunshine kept ringing to get his attention. She glanced at me, then Kai, then rang it again for emphasis.
“Great to catch up with you guys,” Kai called back over the din of the room. “And really good to see you again, Chef.” He winked before letting the kitchen door swing to a close.
I shook my head slowly when I pulled my attention back to our table. “Now what?” I demanded of Manda and Jack, my eyes two question marks.
“Boom!” Jack said with a fist pump. “I’m not usually one for subtext, but even I could see the chemistry there. See, Char? Totally not creepy.”
I sighed. “And just how does he fit into a sixty-hour work week, a cross-country move, a commercial kitchen, and an ex-boyfriend boss?”
Manda ate the final bite of her pecan roll. “When a man can cook like this, look like that, and give you the sass you desperately need,” she said, locking eyes with Jack, “I think you’ll figure it out.”
9