I felt some of my awe for him return. Not many people could live through Toby Manier and thank him for his strident obsessiveness. But it was clear, despite legal issues and slave labor, Killian still respected the man. “What made you leave Americana?”
He rubbed at his beard again, shaping it with two hands until it made a point. “It was clear very early on in my career that I needed to run my own kitchen. I’ve always struggled to follow the rules and listen to authority. Once I got my feet under me, I decided what I wanted to do, and there was little to stop me after that. I moved to New York and tried working in a few other kitchens. Etienne Immanuel, Sasha Goering and Christopher Perry to name a few. It was the same song and dance in every kitchen, though. I learned, I studied, I grew and then I needed to move on.”
“Do they all hate you for it?”
He laughed and looked at his shoes. “They should. But other than Toby, I somehow convinced them all to stay friends.”
“What brought you to Durham?”
“Ezra,” he said easily. “We’re from here. When he told me his plan for Lilou, I couldn’t resist.”
“We’re? You and Ezra?”
“Born and raised. We grew up together.”
“So what, one day you were on the playground at recess and just decided that he would open restaurants and you would become a world-renowned chef?”
The look in his eyes turned wicked. “That’s exactly how it happened.”
“Nu-uh!”
“Okay, no it didn’t really happen that way. Ezra and I hated each other as kids. He can sometimes be a bit of an asshole.”
I couldn’t help myself. “Unlike you, who’s always an asshole?”
“Ha! The girl has bite.”
I blushed, avoiding his gaze. Because the truth was I didn’t have bite. Not even sometimes. I was always a pushover except when it came to Killian.
For whatever reason, my rubbery spine decided to stand up straight whenever he was around.
“Anyway, Ezra and I couldn’t be more different. I always knew I was going into food. He fell into it by accident.”
“How does one come to own three restaurants by accident?”
“Four,” Killian corrected. “He’s a silent partner in his first restaurant thanks to his first wife.” A sly smile lifted one half of his mouth. “And by marrying the owner. That’s how you accidentally get involved with your first restaurant. When she leaves you for another man, that’s when you open three other restaurants as revenge.”
I gaped at Killian, unsure how to respond. “So you’re part of the plot?”
“When he opened Lilou, I was the only chef he trusted not to break up another one of his marriages.”
“She left him for a chef?”
“Their chef. The chef at Quince.”
“He owns Quince!” My voice just kept getting louder, but in my defense, Killian’s story kept escalating.
He chuckled at my theatrics. “Silently. And out of spite. He won’t let her buy him out just to torture her. Lilou, Bianca and Sarita are the projects he’s truly passionate about.”
“And now it makes sense why he names the restaurants after his ex-girlfriends. Wow.”
“Anyway.” Killian stood to his full height, making a show of looking around the kitchen. “How are we going to rescue tomorrow’s menu?”
“I thought we’d already decided I was going to quit?”
“Enough of that,” he demanded with steel. “You’re not quitting. You’re too fucking good to even joke about it.” He glared at me until I held up my hands in surrender. His eyes softened, but just barely when he said, “I’ll give you the advice the late, great, Toby Manier gave me all those years ago. Are you ready for it?”
I felt the urge to smile, but repressed it. “Yes. I’m ready. Give it to me.”
“Stop being a loser and make something better.”
“Are you serious?”
“I swear. He said that to me at least three times a night.” He lifted one of his shoulders casually. “It worked.”
I nodded, feeling the motivation in my joints, spreading to my bones… bleeding into my veins. Stop being a loser. I could do that. Make something better. I could at least try.
I moved to stand beside him at the prep counter. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not being nice. I’m afraid if you start making shit food, you’ll drive all my business away.”
I restrained the urge to elbow him in the ribs. He was flirting with me, and all I wanted to do was flirt back. The need swelled up inside me, bursting through my fingers and toes, spiraling straight to my core. This was dangerous. He was dangerous.
He threatened everything. My business. My sanity. My vow of celibacy. The carefully constructed walls I’d built around my heart. My fragile courage I’d only just regained. He’d bulldozed into my life and shaken up everything I’d thought was true about men and chefs and people. And I didn’t know what to do with him.
Plus, I didn’t think he understood the baggage I carried. I wasn’t emotionally available anymore. I wasn’t an attractive offer. I was used. Broken. Scared.
He had a weird obsession with my food truck, but that was it. He liked the attention I gave him.
Things for me weren’t so simple. I couldn’t flirt carelessly or without consequence. Despite everything I’d been through, everything I’d pulled myself out of, I wasn’t the kind of girl that didn’t get attached.
I got very attached. And then when everything inevitably went wrong? I stayed attached.
So, Killian Quinn needed to stop or move on or do anything but flirt with me.
I wasn’t going to fall for this guy—this man that was everything I didn’t want. I’d sworn to let my heart heal, to give myself a break from toxic relationships and bad decisions.
But beyond that, even when I put myself back on the market or whatever, Killian still wouldn’t be my type. I’d already dated the egomaniac. I’d already had a relationship with the famous executive chef. I’d already given up my dreams so someone else could pursue theirs.
And I’d lost everything in the process.
I didn’t want a guy like Killian Quinn.
I wanted the exact opposite.
Chapter Fourteen
“Are you comfortable, Mr. Delane?”
Dad eyed the young nurse with one eye open and one sleepily shut. “Fine for now. Thanks, Leanne.”
She smiled at him, patted his shoulder and left the private chemotherapy room.
“You could have been a nurse,” he said to me once we were alone again and his eyes were both firmly closed.
I stared at him, taking in the smooth recliner Leanne had set him up in. He was attached to an IV pumping him full of drugs, both toxic and necessary to his survival. He’d lost weight over the last couple of months, but not his hair. He’d lost that a long time ago. And somehow he was holding onto his eyebrows and lashes.