Oh, my God, I’d completely forgotten she was here. I whipped around to her, hoping she didn’t comment on how red my cheeks flamed or how absorbed in Killian I’d been for the last ten minutes. “Hi, sorry. Gosh, Molly, sorry.”
She gave me a pointed look, silently calling me out on everything I hadn’t wanted her to see. Her eyebrows danced over her eyes, and she made a silent gesture toward Killian—kissing and then something more vulgar. “Do you care if I take off? I have an early morning tomorrow, and I’d like to get home.”
She was a liar. She had brunch with me tomorrow morning because we’d made plans less than an hour ago.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Are you sure?”
Smiling innocently, she nodded. “Super sure.”
“You don’t want to wait around just another hour or so?”
She started walking toward the door, collecting her things as she went. “Nope, I’m good. I’ll uh, see you tomorrow, Vera. Bye, Killian.”
“Bye, Molly,” Killian called over his shoulder, fully absorbed in his new and improved spice blend.
I didn’t say anything to her. I was pretty sure I was never going to speak to her again.
Or at least not until tomorrow morning when I met her at brunch.
The door shut behind her and Killian and I were left alone. Suddenly feeling awkward, I moved away from him and focused very intently on anything else. Like my cleaning rag and the greased-over fryer.
“Where did you train?” he asked when I found more surfaces to scrub.
“CAI, Charlotte,” I told him.
He whistled between his teeth. “That’s a good program. You finished?”
I nodded. “Yeah, with a Bachelors. Geez, that was almost five years ago.”
His face scrunched up while he worked through my answer. “So, I met your dad, and your brother owns the bike shop, right?” I nodded, not liking where this was going. “And your mom?”
I rubbed my hand over my heart, feeling that same hollow ache I always got when the subject of my mom was brought up. “She, uh, died when I was little. My dad raised us.”
His silence was a tangible thing that filled up every single space in the truck. It sucked up the remaining oxygen and reached across the galley to touch me, wrap around me… hold me. “I’m sorry,” he said so very tenderly my heart skipped.
I tilted my head, avoiding eye contact with him. “Thank you.” We were silent for a minute while he let me step out of the sharp but also distant grief that came with losing a mother I could barely remember. I only had a handful of faded memories of her. Watching her put on perfume. Laughing while she pushed me on a swing. A family vacation at the beach. There weren’t many of them, but I treasured each one.
People never knew what to say when I told them my mom died when I was young. They usually tried to fill in the emptiness with useless clichés or words of encouragement. I appreciated Killian’s silence. There honestly wasn’t anything to say. Nothing made it better or okay. Nothing said could change what happened. It just was. This was part of my story, the reality I lived with. Killian seemed to get that better than anyone else.
I wanted to ask about his family, but he changed the subject before I got a chance. “Durham is home for you?”
“Born and raised.”
“And the truck is a new venture, right?”
“Right.”
“Where have you been since CAI? Not in a kitchen around here. I would have heard about you.”
I shook my head. As flattering as that statement was, I also knew it wasn’t true. I’d worked for plenty of chefs happy to give me busy work without any real responsibility. “I stayed in Charlotte for a while. Last year, I worked my way across Europe.”
Interest sparked in his bright eyes, darkening them, deepening them. “Worked, as in cooked?”
“Yeah, you know I just hopped from kitchen to kitchen. Nothing fancy or famous. Just your average bistro or café. I wanted some perspective. Some flavor for my resume.”
“You couldn’t get that in Charlotte?”
“Not like that.” Charlotte had a great food scene. There were plenty of notable kitchens to work out of. Theoretically, I could have built a great resume there. Except that hadn’t been in the cards for me. I skipped over the sordid details of my past and told him the truth. “Charlotte was a great place to start. But come on, Europe? Last June I was in Barcelona. Then Paris. Then Rome. Then Tuscany. Vienna. Berlin. All the little towns in between. So, no, I couldn’t get that in Charlotte.”
“That explains your flavors.”
“You hate my flavors.”
He held my gaze, unflinching, showing me something I hadn’t seen before. “You don’t get it. Or maybe you don’t see it. Your flavors are going to be legend, Vera. They’re going to make you a legend.”
“If I can remember to get the salt right.”
His lips twitched again. “Ideally, yeah. If you can be careful with the salt.”
“So what about you then? How did you find your footing?”
He shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. We were as far apart as we could be in the small space. He leaned against one counter, and I leaned against the other.
He was such a man. Not in the sexist sense, but like the anatomical sense. His long, lean body was all muscled frame and virile strength. His tattoos only added to his hard edges, feeding that masculine presence and making me feel very, very female.
Delicately feminine compared to his intoxicating male-ness.
I yanked the bandana off and retied my hair in a messy bun on the top of my head. Killian watched me, fascinated.
He waited until my hair was situated before he spoke. “Chicago,” he explained, although I already knew that from my prior years of light cyberstalking. “I cut my teeth at Americana under Toby Manier.” He crossed his feet at the ankles, leaning back against the counter, a nostalgic smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “God, those years were hell.”
“I’ve heard horror stories about his kitchens,” I empathized.
He looked up at me from beneath those long lashes, and I felt my heart jump in my chest, surprised by the boyish expression and warmth waiting there. “Whatever you’ve heard, they can’t compare to the truth. He was psychotic. And paranoid like you would not believe. Before he died, I would get regular cease and desist letters from him. Ezra had to keep a lawyer on retainer just to fight my legal battles with him.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I wish.” He laughed again, the sound all melty chocolate and cozy firesides. “But I learned how to clean a kitchen working for him. And I learned how to bust my ass for every single thing. In his kitchen, there was no small task. Every single thing meant something bigger, greater. He was a slave driver for sure, but I don’t regret those days.”