He picked up on the third ring and didn’t bother with hello. “Did you just get up?”
“I’m actually on my way to the commissary. I need to check inventory for the next week before I go back to Morning Market.”
“You’re working today?” I could hear clanking in the background, voices calling to each other in an open space. He was already at Lilou.
“I’m catching up on everything,” I told him. “Are you working today?”
I heard the smile in his voice when he answered, “I work every day. How long is that going to take you?”
I calculated everything I had to do, deciding to swing by Target first since it was on my way. “Two hours. Maybe three.”
“Do you want to swing by Lilou afterward for some lunch?”
I bit my bottom lip, trying to restrain my smile. “Are you asking me instead of telling me?”
His voice dropped to a low rumble that did wicked things to my resolve. “Don’t tempt me, woman. I have no problem telling you to get your ass over here. I’m not good at being nice, Vera.”
Oh, my God.
I licked my lips and reminded myself I wanted a nice guy. I was done with assholes.
Only, Killian didn’t feel like an asshole. Not anymore.
Not at all.
I cleared my throat and tested him. “Just say please.”
His deep chuckle chased me through the phone. “Vera, please come eat lunch with me.”
Holy cow. If I thought Killian was sexy when he told me what to do, the word please just rocketed him into an entirely different dimension of irresistible.
“Okay,” I agreed breathlessly while my heart pounded erratically in my chest and my blood rushed with anticipation.
I heard the smile in his voice and knew he heard the same in mine. “See you soon.”
“Bye, Killian.”
I hesitated another three seconds before I made myself hang up. I was in very dangerous no-you-hang-up-first territory. Gross.
And at the same time—swoon!
I remembered belatedly that I was driving and refocused on the road, straightening out my car that had been gliding a little too freely to the left. Oops.
I determined not to think about Killian until lunch. I would focus on being a responsible driver, on finding the right black pants that I could destroy in the kitchen without regret, and on inventory at the commissary. I wouldn’t think about him again.
Not once.
Starting now.
Chapter Twenty
Three hours later, I parked in Vann’s lot and realized I had done nothing but think about Killian since I hung up the phone with him. Which was obnoxious.
And secretly, very secretly, adorable.
I locked up my car and walked across the street, the August afternoon sun beating down on the top of my head. There was no breeze today, the air was thick with sticky humidity and sweat.
Hurrying across the street, I debated on whether I should go in the side door like Killian always did or through the front even though they weren’t open yet. Nerves pinballed back and forth through my appendages, making me equal parts nervous and excited for a behind the scenes look at Lilou.
The enamored girl in me couldn’t wait to spend more time with Killian. The curious professional couldn’t wait to see the kitchen in all its famed glory or the dining room with the house lights fully up. It was hard to say which side of me was more anxious for lunch.
Wyatt pushed through the side door, carrying boxes to the dumpster and I decided to let him lead me inside. I felt like an imposter walking into the restaurant by myself.
When he turned around, he shot me a friendly smile and a cocked eyebrow. “What are you doing here? I thought today was your day off.”
About thirty replies rolled around in my mouth, but I decided on the truth. So I just said it, with confidence as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “Killian asked me to meet him for lunch.”
Wyatt’s bark of surprised laughter was the reason I had contemplated going with something other than the truth. “Did he now?”
“Don’t be weird,” I scolded. “He’s probably trying to steal more recipes.”
“Well, that explains why he pushed our meeting.”
“You can join us,” I suggested casually, trying to downplay the idea that this was a date. “I don’t mind.”
“Not that kind of meeting. There’s a critic from Gourmand stopping by tonight. He wants to make sure we don’t fuck everything up.” Before I could fully grasp how very cool that was, Wyatt swung the heavy steel door open and waved me inside. “But now we can just blame everything on you, so we’re good.”
I glared at him but only for a second because my attention was immediately diverted to the huge industrial kitchen that smelled like heaven and looked even cleaner. White subway tiles on all the walls made the gleaming stainless steel stand out in perfect lines and shiny surfaces.
A few employees in black coats and hats bustled around the kitchen, their hands busy with prep work and their gazes focused on their tasks. My heart kicked against my breastbone, jealous and happy and dreamy all at once.
The huge glass-doored refrigerators were stocked with fresh vegetables and cheeses, meats and more. A huge pot of broth simmered on one of the cooktops and the dishwasher was already buzzing from the morning’s work.
My tiny truck kitchen could fit inside the walk-in cooler.
It hit me harder than it ever had what I’d given up when I came home. At least when I’d been in Europe living hand to mouth, I’d gotten to work in a kitchen. Even if I’d only been a peon in the hierarchy of restaurant staff, I’d still gotten to be a part of the organized chaos.
Nothing could compare to that. Not even the privilege of owning my own business. There was nothing like running around during dinner service, chefs shouting orders and tickets flying through the window. There was nothing like the different smells that tangled together or tired hands after prepping for hours. There was nothing like sending plate after plate of perfect food to a room full of diners that couldn’t comprehend the amount of time, care and effort that went into each dish so they could have an experience instead of a meal.
Just when I thought I would burst from missing the rush so badly, my gaze fell on Killian. He hadn’t noticed me yet. His focus was wholly on the dish at his fingertips, plating it just right so that the visual precision could change your life if you let it.
I stood next to the door, enjoying him in all his glory. He commanded the attention of everyone in the room just by his presence, by the sheer strength of his dominating will. His fingers moved steadily over the dish, never shaking, never questioning what he was doing. He orchestrated the plate. Not the other way around.