“Could we call it ‘inspired’ by yours?”
I ignored her sly grin and shook my head. “Only in the general sense of he realized how awesome he could make it and how not awesome I had made it. Besides, I keep changing up my menu, so it’s not a huge deal. Those meatballs were so last month.”
“You’re not mad? Really?”
Honestly, I was flattered, but I didn’t want to admit it. “I’m always mad at him. The man is obnoxious.” Although I hadn’t expected him to ever steal something from me. Killian Quinn was a complete original. I got the vibe that he loathed doing the popular thing. He wanted to be the first, set the tone, create the trend. Not follow in someone else’s footsteps.
We were going over the rest of the menu, trying to narrow our main courses to a couple of options we could share, when Wyatt stepped out of the kitchen. He walked over to Shane, who pointed in our direction.
“Oh, no! Molly, we’ve been made!”
She ducked down, holding the menu to the side of her face. “I told you we should have worn disguises!”
“Well, well, well,” Wyatt crooned, stepping up to our table. “If it isn’t our nosy neighbors.”
I peeled the menu from the front of my face and braved looking at him. “I would have had you bring me something, but I felt sorry for you and didn’t want to get you fired.”
The high planes of his sharp cheekbones turned pink. “Thanks for that.”
Offering him a genuine smile, I made a show of glancing around. “I mean, I don’t personally understand why anyone would want to work here, but I guess if you need to pay your bills or whatever.”
He laughed and held out the tray I hadn’t noticed yet. “Yeah, I just need the basics really. Like electricity, water, cat food.”
Molly and I shared a look. Cat food?
“I think you need better priorities, but hey, I’m not one to judge.” I leaned toward the tray, pulled in by the interesting bites of food he’d brought with him. “What do you have there?”
He grinned at me. “A little amuse bouche, compliments of the chef.”
“How generous,” I mumbled.
“He wanted to thank you for stopping in. He always loves another chef’s opinion.”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “We were hungry,” I explained. “We didn’t have anything else going on tonight.” Lie. “We’re not here to spy.” Another lie. “Besides, if anyone has been spying lately…” I pointed to the remnants of the tzatziki sauce that hadn’t yet been licked off the plate. “I think I’m the one with the right to complain.”
Wyatt chuckled, not taking me seriously. “You know the entire kitchen blames you for the new menu.”
“What? Why?” Panic jumped around inside me. My insides became a mosh pit of confused emotion. The very notion seemed too absurd even to consider, and yet the sauce sat there glaring at me, proving that it wasn’t entirely impossible.
“The last time Killian changed the menu in the middle of a season, was after a Jarod Campbell review. Killian had all but lit the menu on fire and started from scratch. It was terrifying.”
Jarod Campbell was one of the toughest critics in the country. He never gave glowing reviews. He preferred scathing criticisms with a few positive notes sprinkled throughout. But I was surprised even Killian had suffered Jarod’s harsh opinion.
My eyebrows jumped to my hairline. “So you’re saying he hates me as much as Jarod Campbell?”
Wyatt gave me a goofy look. “That is not what I’m saying at all.”
I didn’t know what he was saying. Nor did I want to know. “You better get back in there before he realizes how much he doesn’t need you.”
Wyatt chuckled again and turned to Molly, setting down the fancy little bites of food on a fresh plate. “Enjoy.” To me, he said, “He’ll be out when he can catch a break.”
“He doesn’t need to bother! I swear we didn’t come here to visit.”
Wyatt backed up a step. “But you did come all this way. It’s only polite.”
Before I could embarrass myself further, Wyatt was swept away in the current of bustling servers and trays of food. He disappeared into the kitchen with his now empty tray, and we were left with our amuse bouches that suddenly felt like less of a friendly gesture and more of a deal with the devil.
“Well, this was nice of him,” commented Molly—poor, sweet, na?ve Molly.
“Killian Quinn isn’t capable of being nice. He’s just rubbing his superior skill in my face.”
She picked one up; it had a small toast on the bottom with a thin piece of prosciutto and maybe mascarpone on it? There was a brown drizzle that I suspected was balsamic based. “Oh, my God,” she groaned after consuming it in one bite—like it was intended. “He’s such an asshole. I hate him.”
“Liar.”
She grinned at me. “I’m sorry, but a man that makes that cannot possibly be entirely evil.”
“That’s the whole point, Molly! He’s tricking you with his good looks and delicious food. Meanwhile, your soul is damned to hell.”
“Stop being difficult, Vere, and try the damn food before I eat yours.”
I gasped, immediately picking up a flakey piece of white fish with a perfectly peppered crust on a lavosh-like cracker. I couldn’t stand the man, but there was no way I was giving away my food. “Fine,” I huffed. “It’s more ammunition for the Yelp review anyway.”
Molly just shook her head at me, her mouth too full for her to verbally respond.
Shane didn’t return to take our order. A bus boy cleared our plates, but nobody checked on us until Shane reappeared with a tray full of plates, the bartender at his side replacing our drinks with new ones.
“We didn’t order this,” I pointed out.
Shane smiled politely, his eyes darting around the table afraid to meet mine. “The chef wanted you to enjoy a variety of dishes.” He stepped back so the server with him could start setting the plates down. “And drinks,” he added.
“That’s unnecessary—”
Shane held up a hand. “He insisted. He also said that you should stop arguing with him.”
“I didn’t—” But at Shane’s look of complete helplessness I backed off. It wasn’t Shane’s fault that Killian was so heavy-handed. “Alright, fine.”
Shane watched me for another minute, probably trying to figure out why we were getting such special treatment.
Honestly, I wanted to know too.
Finally, after every plate had been squeezed onto our tiny table, he asked, “Would you like me to thank the chef for you?”
“No.” I tore my eyes from the feast in front of me and smiled apologetically at Shane. “Thank you, but no. I don’t want you to thank him for me.”
“You’d like to do it yourself?” he guessed.
“I’d like to punch him in the throat, but I’ll have to settle for icy silence.”
Molly snickered, already plating for both of us, while Shane floundered for a response. “I, uh, well, if you need anything else, please don’t hesitate.”
“We won’t,” Molly answered for me. “Thank you so much.”