I leaned over the counter, curling my fingers around the edge and squeezing tightly until I was positive I wouldn’t crumple on the ground. When I’d first come home, we’d only had to face the diagnosis. Dad didn’t want surgery, but he’d agreed to chemo.
Fine. That was his choice. But he’d still looked healthy. From the outside, it was impossible to tell that something monstrous was destroying him from the inside out.
Now, he looked sick. Now, he looked like a cancer patient. Now, I wanted to beg and plead and demand he live.
“I don’t know, Vann,” I whispered into the phone.
He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Let’s have supper together Sunday night. I know dad won’t feel up for much, but I’ll bring over chicken noodle from Rusty’s and that bread he likes.”
I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead, doing my best to hold it together. “That’s a good idea. We can play Scrabble and watch 60 Minutes.”
“This is dumb,” he groaned. “I hate this.”
Sniffling, I agreed. “Me too. But he’ll be happy you’re taking him today. He’s worried you’re jealous that I moved home.”
Vann didn’t respond to that, making me wonder if it was true after all. “I love you, Vera.”
I didn’t know what to say for a minute. Vann and I weren’t overly demonstrative. Dad’s sickness had put things into perspective for us both. “I love you too, Vann.” Then I thought of something. “He likes HGTV. He’ll tell you to put on whatever you want, but he wants the house hunting and remodeling shows. Even if he’s asleep.”
Vann’s chuckle was relieved but fragile. “Midget house hunters it is.”
“I don’t think that’s what it’s called.”
“Here he comes. I’ll call you after.”
“Give him my love.” We hung up, and I stared at the phone for a minute, wondering if I shouldn’t just abandon service tonight and meet them at the clinic.
I was just about to pack up shop when the door swung open, scaring the absolute crap out of me. I clutched my butcher knife and spun around.
Killian prowled into the small truck, shrinking everything under the strength of his anger. He held up his phone, shaking it back and forth at me. “Fussy? Pretentious?”
I bit my lip to keep from smiling. He’d found my Yelp review.
“What’s going on?” I asked innocently.
He glared at me and my knees nearly buckled under the force of it. Clearing his throat, he turned back to his phone and began reading. “I went to Lilou despite everything I knew it would be. And unfortunately, it lived up to every one of my expectations. I knew the atmosphere would be stuffy. And it was. I knew the food would be fussy. And it was. I knew the chef, Killian Quinn, who is raved about in some circles, but otherwise known to be a total douche, would be snobby. And he was. The garnishes were all a little much for my standards. And I can’t remember one dish that wasn’t overly salty. Not to mention I was looking forward to a charcuterie board and disappointed to find that they did not offer one. Obviously, nobody would call Lilou cutting edge, but I would have felt comforted knowing they at least tried to keep up with current trends. All in all, while the food was executed well enough, I was underwhelmed. To be fair, the desserts were incredible. But I heard they outsource those. In the end, I expected more from a chef with Quinn’s reputation.” Killian looked up at me again, his green eyes hot and furious. “That’s my latest Yelp review,” he explained. “Posted by someone with the screen name Nanananabooboo.”
I cleared my throat and checked the exits. He was blocking the doorway, but maybe I could throw myself out one of the windows?
Deciding on guiltless ignorance, I threw myself into the role. “Yikes. That sucks.”
“Vera.”
“I mean, why even write something so vicious?” I gulped nervously but just kept digging my grave. “Although, Nanananabooboo does bring up some valid points. Would it be the worst thing to—”
“Vera,” Killian growled. “Are you kidding me?”
“Yes?” Licking dry lips, I tried again. “No. I mean no. I’m not kidding you.”
His voice dropped low, menacing. He did not find the review hilarious at all. “What is this, Delane? Is this your idea of a joke?”
It was my idea of a joke. Or payback. After all his helpful notes and midnight tutoring sessions, this was exactly my idea of vengeance. Only now, with him standing across the food truck looking so big and scary, I wasn’t so sure that it was my brightest idea ever.
To be fair, Molly had even tried to talk me out of it. But we’d gone back to her apartment after our life-altering meal at Lilou, opened a bottle of wine and I’d lost the ability to make rational decisions.
My gaze jumped from Killian to the door, to Killian back to the counter behind me, to Killian then up to the ceiling. If this was my “act casual” look, I should probably give up my dreams of being an international spy. “Come on, you can’t think that’s me.”
His expression hardened, his mouth pulling down in a frown. “I don’t think. I know it’s you.” He took a step forward. I retreated instinctively.
“You can’t know that it’s me.”
He took another step towards me. “I can.”
I changed tactics. “It’s just Yelp. Who reads Yelp anyway?”
“It’s the first thing that shows up on a Google search!”
He’d stopped moving right in front of me. I could feel his body heat and smell his skin. My heartbeat skipped in my chest, desperately trying to run away.
“You were Googling yourself, weren’t you? That’s how you found it.” I narrowed my eyes, trying frantically to turn this into a joke we could both laugh about. “I bet you have alerts set up. I bet it pinged you when it went live.”
His eyes darkened, and his mouth pressed into a straight line, disappearing behind his beard. Belatedly, I found the nerve to run, but he was faster than me. Or maybe he’d been expecting me to run and so he was prepared.
I darted away from him, ready to throw myself out the front door, but he grabbed my wrist and yanked me back to his body. I landed in a surprised heap against his chest, my cheek smooshed over his chiseled pectoral muscle.
I rested there for a second. Maybe two seconds.
There was a good possibility it was at least thirty seconds.
Hot awareness zinged through me with my body pressed so tightly to his. He was breathing heavily, worked up by the review, and I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to be plastered over his well-defined body in other circumstances.
Like if we were both naked, for example.
Replacing my cheek with my hand, I quickly pushed away from him, desperate for space. He kept hold of my wrist and caged me in against the cool counter.
My butt hit the edge, and my back bowed to put some space between my now looming neighbor and me. Killian’s hands rested on either side of my waist, making an impenetrable prison while his body leaned over mine, holding my full attention.
I tried not to smell him again, but he was everywhere. And so very close. His thighs rested against mine. His stomach against mine. Our chests were just inches apart. If I leaned forward just a smidge, I could head butt him. Or bite him.
Or kiss him.