This time I couldn’t help it. I stopped what I was doing and gaped at her. “Molly Maverick, I thought you were a lady.”
Her head tipped back as she continued to laugh. “Don’t look so scandalized. You know it’s true.”
“I know nothing,” I argued. “And even if it were true, which it’s not, I wouldn’t be into Wyatt. He’s not my type.”
“Your type is…what? Not hot guys?”
I rolled my eyes and turned to my station, wiping it down and cleaning it up while I had a break in customers. “My type is anyone not in my industry. I’m not dating another chef.”
“I didn’t tell you to date him. I told you to—”
Cutting her off quickly, I said, “I know what you told me. But I’m telling you, even a one night stand is completely off the table. Especially with someone that works across the street from the business I own. No more drama, Molls. And no more difficult relationships. I won’t survive it.”
She turned back to the window. I knew I’d shut her up by reminding her of my past. Instantly, I felt guilty. I’d promised myself months ago that I wasn’t going to let my awful history ruin my present. I wanted to move on. I wanted a life. I wanted to get over my bad mistakes and not be afraid to try new things.
But dating wasn’t an option. Especially not a chef.
Not that they were all like my ex. But generally, we were egotistical, narcissistic people. It was just the way of things.
I could admit to being that way. I could also admit that two people with those personality traits did not a healthy relationship make.
Molly’s soft admonition filled our suddenly quiet space. “You will survive it, Vera. You’re stronger than you think. Stronger than anyone I know.”
I didn’t answer her. She was wrong. I wasn’t strong. I was weak. Too weak. So weak, I’d let myself be abused, mistreated and trampled on for two years of my life. When I should have been taking important steps advancing my career I’d shrunk behind the shadow of a great chef and shitty human.
It wasn’t until I had absolutely no other choice that I left. It wasn’t until my dreams had been stripped from me and my confidence battered and burned that I’d finally, desperately escaped.
And even then, I hadn’t confronted him. I’d removed his name from my savings account and ran away to Europe.
Those weren’t the markers of someone strong, someone courageous.
I was a coward, and we both knew it.
But at least I’d gotten away.
Two hours later, Molly and I had shrugged off the weirdness that descended whenever we tried to talk about my last relationship. There were very few things that had ever come between us, but Derrek Hanover was always one of them. I knew she didn’t blame me for what I’d been through, but she also didn’t understand how I’d let any of it happen.
I didn’t understand either, to be honest.
And that was why I chose to think about it as little as possible.
“Oh, shit,” Molly hissed, instantly pulling my attention to the order window.
I stared out the window unbelieving. He couldn’t be serious. Hadn’t I made myself clear enough?
Killian Quinn approached Foodie without one single hesitant step. He walked up to the window like he had a right to be there. Like he couldn’t be bothered with my hatred of him.
“I thought you banned him,” Molly whispered quickly.
Shaking my head slowly I admitted, “I thought I did too.” I bumped her with my hip. “Move over. I’ll deal with him.”
Leaning forward and resting my elbows on the windowsill, I told him firmly, “We’re closed.”
His narrowed gaze darted to my latest customers still finishing their meals. They stood in a wide circle, eating over their cardboard containers, laughing and talking animatedly. At least they seemed to be enjoying the food.
He quirked an eyebrow at me. “Then I should throw these away?” Like a poker player revealing his winning hand, Killian set two golden takeout containers on the small ledge in front of me.
“What are those?”
“I was told goods had been exchanged.” His long, gorgeous fingers dipped into the seam of one of the containers, pulling back the lid to reveal rich, creamy mousse. “Desserts for meatballs.”
I popped up to my full height, deciding to never trust another sous chef again in my life. “My deal was with Wyatt.”
“Deal?” Killian let out a sound that almost sounded like a laugh. “You blackmailed him and then held him hostage in your tiny truck.”
My fingers curled around the windowsill, the sharp edges biting into my palms. “And you’re here to avenge him?”
His lips twitched, but his facial expression—bored annoyance—didn’t change. “I’m here to remind you that you’ve committed two felonies already. Are you sure you want to commit a third?”
“Felonies? Hardly.” I wanted to slam my window shut and turn off my lights, so he finally got the message but I couldn’t help myself. I had to know. “What’s the third?”
This time his mouth did turn up in a cocky smirk. “Stealing.” He tapped the top of the gold box with one finger and I momentarily found myself mesmerized.
Blinking, I tore my gaze from his stupidly perfect hands and focused on his beard. It seemed like the path of least resistance. “You think I’m trying to steal your dessert recipes?” My gaze dragged upward, over his full lips and crooked nose to those deep green eyes.
He shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.”
“I’m not,” I told him honestly, quickly, adamantly. “That’s not what the deal was about. The deal that Wyatt walked into willingly. With his full consent.”
Killian tipped forward, pressing all his weight onto his hands. “Make it with me.”
There was something in his tone, in the way he softened his voice and looked at me so intently. A wicked curl of heat coiled through my belly. I ignored it. “What?”
“Make the deal with me. Desserts for meatballs.”
I glanced at the boxes, hating that my traitor of a stomach wanted to agree. I had something of Killian Quinn’s right in front of me. Something of Lilou’s. I was just an inch from touching two desserts I knew would be beyond amazing. All I had to do was sell my soul to get them. “You’re delusional.”
“Why? Because I want a…” He stepped back and read the chalkboard menu. “A gyro slider and Greek fries?”
God, he was so tempting. Not just the offer… but him. Everything about him. The playful look in his eyes, the lift of his mouth, the fullness of his beard. It simply wasn’t fair that he looked the way he did and acted the way he did.
“No, because you won’t be able to keep your mouth shut. Contrary to what you think, I don’t hate myself. I’m perfectly happy never to hear your opinion again.”