“Don’t be ridiculous.”
She couldn’t let it go. “Then how do you know?”
I shrugged. Because he offered help and I jokingly asked him for it. But I didn’t tell her that. For some reason, it felt like an inside joke between Killian and me and I was reluctant to share it with anyone else. “Gut feeling.”
She let it go, but couldn’t help herself. “He’s so into you, Vera.”
I started laughing because honestly that was hilarious. “He’s so into food. And I think he’s really bored with his life.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because he lives at Lilou. Seriously, he works every single day. His life consists of that square building and the troll bridge he sleeps under. I kind of feel bad for him.”
Molly fell quiet again, probably trying to figure out the logistics of Killian’s life. She could join the club. In the time that I’d opened my food truck, he’d only been absent for dinner service a handful of times.
He started his morning early at Lilou with deliveries, of which he was always present for. Probably to ensure the food being delivered was up to his standards. Then sometimes he disappeared during the middle of the day, and sometimes he worked straight through lunch. But even if he took a break, he was almost always back in time to prep for the night.
Not that I was stalking him or anything.
Besides, that was the price you paid for running a kitchen like Lilou. That was the life we lived. We were all workaholics. Even chefs who didn’t work every single night, like me, couldn’t ever let it go. It didn’t end. We never let it end.
Just like I predicted, he showed up an hour later after my late-night rush. He walked right up to the window and said hi to Molly. I pretended not to notice him. I had chili to stir. And other stuff.
Apparently, he couldn’t stand not having all the attention. “I didn’t realize you were getting your best ideas from concession stands.”
Do not engage. Do not engage. Do not engage.
I spun around, totally engaging. “The chili dogs have been a huge hit, so…”
I had no willpower. I would have made a terrible ninja.
“So, you’re catering to the masses now? How revolutionary.”
Leaning forward, unable to restrain the snarky biotch he brought out in me, I said, “Hey, the masses pay the bills. I’ll leave the food revolution to you. If only you could combat climate change by taking away everyone’s table salt.”
His lips twitched, and I could have sworn he wanted to smile. But he didn’t. “It wasn’t overly salted tonight. I’m impressed, Delane.”
“It’s never overly salty,” I returned. “You have an overly sensitive palate.”
He stared at me, those green eyes glittering with something he wanted to say, but for some reason, he held back. Which wasn’t fair. I wanted to know what it was. And I wanted to know why he held back. And I wanted to know a hundred other things I shouldn’t want to know.
Another minute passed before I realized we were just standing there, staring at each other, locked in some kind of weird hate spell. People started walking up and standing in line behind him, and we were simultaneously released from the enchantment.
“Did you come over here for another one of my underwhelming chili dogs? Or was there something else?”
His voice dropped low, sending a tingle of something through my belly. A single butterfly leaped inside me, flapping unwelcomed wings and sending uninvited shivers down my stiff spine. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his face. “I just stopped by to see if you needed help. That’s all.”
My breath caught. He was so sweet at that moment. Gentle. Reserved. Open.
Fear curled inside me, fueled by his gesture of kindness and the way his hair fell in tousled waves. I wanted to run my fingers through it like he had. And that terrified me.
I didn’t have time for him. Or this unwanted attraction. I’d sworn off men. All men. Including, no wait, especially, arrogant, pigheaded, pushy chefs like Killian Quinn.
“I’m good.” I cleared my throat and gestured at Foodie. “We’re good.”
He took a step back, withdrawing physically and emotionally. Not that he was emotionally involved or anything. But it was like he closed back up behind shuttered eyes, closed up and retreated from our innocuous conversation. “Of course you are.”
“See you later, chef.”
He bobbed his head, seeming to decide something. “Lay off the salt, Delane.”
I watched him walk away, wondering how I could get us back to the place where I hated him. Nothing had changed tonight. Nothing significant or life-altering or obvious. And yet something had changed. Because I wanted to hate him, but I didn’t.
I wanted him to stay away.
But I so didn’t.
And I didn’t know what to do with any of it.
“He’s so into you!” Molly gloated after he’d gone.
I wrapped my arms around my waist, annoyed by the lump in my throat. “He’s not. For real. Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m right about this, Molls.”
I proved it two hours later when Killian closed Lilou and left with a pretty blonde on the back of his motorcycle. They’d walked out of the kitchen together, but she was dressed in tight jeans and sky-high stilettos, obviously not one of his employees. He’d given her his helmet, and she’d wrapped her arms around his waist. They’d driven off, his engine roaring through the plaza, and not once had he looked in my direction.
See? I was right.
Chapter Eleven
“Where is he?”
“Shh!” I ducked down, flattening myself against the table.
Molly giggled and continued to look back and forth around the restaurant. “Is he going to bring out our food?”
I snorted. “Killian Quinn associating with commoners? Highly unlikely.”
“Welcome to Lilou, ladies.”
I snapped upright and flashed a tight smile at the waiter hovering over the table. He wore a serene expression despite our suspicious behavior. I caught Molly’s eye from across our small table and used every ounce of self-control to keep from laughing.
“My name is Shane, and I’ll be serving you this evening. Have you been to Lilou before?”
“No,” I mumbled.
Molly sounded significantly more put together. “It’s our first time. We’ve heard such great things about the chef.”
Shane beamed, nodding his head toward the kitchen. “Chef Quinn is truly the best. You won’t be disappointed.”
“We’ll see about that,” I murmured under my breath.
Shane gave me a curious look, but it was brief and replaced with the bland, professional look all the servers sported. “Chef Quinn is introducing a new menu this evening.” His hand swept gracefully toward a rectangle of creamy cardstock. The cursive letters arched across the smooth surface, freshly printed. “Please take your time perusing, and I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.”