“Does he always give you input on your menus?”
Killian reached out to shake the vendor’s hand, then inclined his head, indicating I should follow him. We threw our empty coffee cups away and wandered through the clustered aisles of the market, stepping over the larger puddles on the wet asphalt.
It took a minute before he answered my question. “Always. I don’t think I can even call them my menus. They’re his. They follow his vision for his restaurant. I work for him.”
We stepped up to a stand with different variants of greens and root vegetables. “It almost sounds like you don’t like working at one of the best restaurants in the city, Killian Quinn. Good thing I know better.”
“Do you? Know better I mean.”
“Ezra might needlessly put his hands on everything you do, but he can’t cook for you. You’re the one that makes the food. You’re the one that’s responsible for the restaurant’s reputation. That has nothing to do with Ezra.”
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “But it does. It’s not really my food. It’s not really my restaurant. As far as reputations go, I’m just good at cooking other people’s ideas.”
Frustration boiled in my chest. “You could put a thousand other chefs in your position, and they wouldn’t accomplish what you’re doing over there. You’ve forgotten I’ve eaten there. I had ‘Ezra’s’ food. And it changed my life on like a spiritual level.”
His mouth quirked up in a reluctant smile. “Spiritual level, huh?”
“I had an existential experience with the braised lamb. I think I actually left my body and went to some other plane of existence.”
“You’re such a liar.”
His humility was so out of place with everything about him that I wanted to call him the liar. Everything I knew about this man screamed confidence to the point of arrogance. But he was so damn good at what he did that I couldn’t even fault him for it.
But now he wanted to play shy?
What a weirdo.
An adorable, sexy, gorgeous weirdo.
I kind of hated him for being so irresistible.
Turning back to a bushel of iridescent rhubarb, I pushed those thoughts out of my head and dropped some knowledge on him. “The point is most chefs would kill to be in your position. I bet you don’t even have to worry about a budget. Yeah, maybe Ezra gets final approval, but you pretty much have complete freedom and notoriety to create whatever you want.”
“You get to create whatever you want,” he pointed out.
I made a sound in the back of my throat. “It’s not even close to the same thing, and you know it. I’m cooking out of a tin can. You run one of the best kitchens in the state, possibly the entire country. We couldn’t be more opposite.” Realizing something shocking, I turned around to face him, dropping my hand on my hip. He was already looking at me, all masculine strength and hard body. The sun exposed his twining tattoos and tanned skin. He was perfect—not just at what he did, but how he looked too. “You know that, by the way. I have no idea why I’m padding your ego. It’s not in any danger of being squashed.”
His head dipped toward mine, and a sly smile lifted his mouth. “This isn’t about ego, although I don’t mind your compliments. Feel free to keep them coming.”
“You’re impossible.”
His grin widened.
I turned back to the produce.
When he spoke again, he sounded more serious. “I thought your food truck was your dream come true? Didn’t you say something about it being everything to you?”
I nibbled on my bottom lip for a minute while I compared prices of carrots and turnips without really seeing anything. I vaguely remembered stepping over here to look at lettuce, but my thoughts were a jumbled mess at this point, and Killian prying into my life didn’t help.
Finally, I braved some truth. “I said it was everything I have left. Not all of us get handed our dream kitchens because our childhood friend hands it to us.”
“Friendship had nothing to do with it. The only reason Ezra hired me was because I deserved that kitchen. Neither of us wants to be reminded of our childhood. Neither of us can stand looking at the other,” he shot back immediately.
It was defensive enough that I couldn’t help but be curious.
“And he didn’t hand it to me,” Killian added. “I worked my ass off to earn a kitchen like Lilou. And I continue to work my ass off to keep it.”
“I thought you said—”
He cut me off by reminding me that he’d said they grew up together. That apparently didn’t imply friendship. “Honestly, I’m not sure if you could even call us friends yet. He’s someone I owe a lot to, someone I would probably die for. But I don’t know if that makes us friends or not.”
Men. “It makes you friends,” I told him, hoping it would help him in some way. “If you’re willing to die for him, then you’re friends.”
“Ezra’s complicated,” Killian explained without explaining anything.
“You’re complicated,” I countered.
“That’s adorable coming from you, Delane.”
I glared at him with narrowed eyes. “I’m not complicated. I’m easy. As long as you don’t get in my way.”
He shook his head, not sparing me a glance. He was too focused on the turnips in his hands. “Then stop changing the subject on me and tell me why you’re running a food truck when you clearly want a kitchen.”
The will to speak dried up in my throat. I wasn’t ready to say those words to anyone yet. Let alone Killian Quinn. He wouldn’t understand throwing away my career like I did. He wouldn’t understand turning my back on my dream for someone else. And he really wouldn’t understand being trampled for years because I lacked the backbone to escape.
“It’s complicated,” I admitted, the word tasting like dirt in my mouth. Maybe I wasn’t as simple and straightforward as I had hoped.
His warm hand wrapped around my wrist. His fingers circled my smaller bones completely, touching his palm and making me feel so small, so fragile next to him. He made me feel sheltered, protected. He made me feel valued in a way that took me off guard every single time he treated me so kindly.
And yet I couldn’t shake the worry, the old fear that stayed with me no matter what.
I was the exact opposite of him. He was sure and stable, where I was fickle and shaky. He was confident when I was only insecure. Strong where I was only ever weak.
I kept my gaze trained on where his hand touched me, using him to steady the wild beating of my heart. When I first left Derrek, leaving the country had felt like my only option. I had been skittish around all people, jumpy and paranoid. My hands shook regularly, and my expectations for human decency were lower than low. But during my year in Europe, I’d worked on some coping mechanisms to help me heal.