I popped another pistachio in my mouth and let his words settle inside me. That was exactly my style. It wasn’t a secret, but I hadn’t had to explain it to him. He’d simply gotten to know my food and figured it out himself. There was satisfying validation in that.
My pride soared, and I settled into the style all over again. I loved to take ordinary meals that we were all used to and make them interesting, different. I wanted to take the thing that your mom made you on your sick days or the meals that reminded you most of home and spin them until they felt completely different. And then I wanted to make you love them just as much.
I smiled instead, appreciating Killian all over again. “Yes. That is my style.”
“Are you ever going to expand beyond the truck?”
Was this his version of twenty questions? Geez. “Right now I’m about fifty thousand dollars in debt. First I’m going to pay off my student and business loans.”
His eyebrows lifted at my candidness. Swiping a piece of cheese through the red pepper jelly, he said, “Yeah, but if the food truck continues to grow you’ll need to capitalize on your success. I know you want a kitchen, Vera. And I know Foodie is taking off. A restaurant of your own seems like the next, most natural step.”
“Derrek will never let me have a kitchen. I gave up on that dream the second I left him.” I had doubts that I would be in the food truck business for another week now that Derrek knew where to find me.
His expression transformed from casual to furious in less than a second. He went from relaxed and fluid to angry, rigid lines, his fists clenched at his side, his jaw so hard it pushed his cheek muscles out. “Who cares what Derrek thinks? You’re not still considering going back to him, Vera. That would be a huge fucking mistake.”
“Geez.” I felt my stomach drop to my toes. “Obviously not. I would never go back to him. I’m talking sabotage. He’s been pretty clear on what would happen to me should I choose to work somewhere else besides his kitchen.”
And just like that Killian slumped back in his chair, relaxed once again. Well mostly relaxed. The topic of Derrek still put him on edge, but at least he wasn’t three seconds from turning into the Hulk. “Derrek doesn’t get to decide where you work. Or what you do. Only you decide that, Vera. He doesn’t get to control you anymore. And if he tries we’ll take legal action.”
I ignored his use of “we’ll.” I appreciated everything Killian had done for me, but I in no way expected him to help me fight Derrek all the way to court. I could never ask that of anyone, least of all Killian. But instead of explaining that, I changed the direction of the conversation. “I doubt he would do anything illegal. All he has to do is talk to the people he knows, get them to shun me and I’ll be completely alienated. Un-hirable.” Killian shook his head, refusing to agree. So, I repeated myself in simpler terms. “All he has to do is tell his friends in the industry whatever bad rumor he wants, and I won’t be able to find a job at any good restaurant in the entire state.”
“That’s not true,” Killian countered. “His circle of friends is smaller than you think. Most people can’t stand the useless prick.”
That made me smile. “Still, I’m a nobody. I haven’t even worked anywhere notable, and I graduated over four years ago.”
“Who cares,” Killian insisted. “You’re a hell of a chef. You can have my letter of recommendation any time you want it.”
I was speechless. Completely. Utterly. Speechless. It wasn’t like he’d offered another suggestion to my dishes, which I’d learned was both helpful and obnoxious. This was much bigger.
Killian freaking Quinn had just offered to give me a letter of recommendation. He’d called me a hell of a chef.
Obviously, I’d died last night. This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t my life.
I messed up. I always chose the wrong thing, the wrong path, the wrong boyfriend. I was the perpetual screw-up who had just learned to be okay with that.
What was happening?
“I wish you’d say something,” he coaxed. “I can’t tell if you’re pissed or happy.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. “You’re so generous. I’m just, I’m trying to process all your support. If we’re honest, I’m still trying to process our friendship. So, this is like, I don’t know, incomprehensible.”
He snorted as he switched the charcuterie for the mousse and passed me a spoon. “We’re not friends, Vera. If you haven’t figured it out by now, I like you. And not in a way that’s appropriate for friends to like each other. Whether we explore our non-friendship or not, you have my support in your career no matter what. Your talent isn’t dependent upon me. You just kick ass in the kitchen. End of story.”
“Oh.”
“But if you want my honest advice, you’d be smothered in a kitchen that wasn’t your own. You might think you’d enjoy working under someone, but we’re all assholes. And you’d be stifled, pushed into a box that you don’t belong in. Sure, you could work your way up, but you have your truck, so I don’t know why you would.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
He leaned forward, taking my hand in his and playing with the tips of my fingers. “Say yes when I ask you to go out on another date with me.”
“Another?”
He waved his hand at the table. “I cooked for you. Don’t I get credit for that?”
I pressed my lips together to keep from grinning like an idiot. “Yes.”
“Yes, I get credit? Or yes to the date.”
“Yes, to both.”
And then he smiled at me again, soft, sweet, simmering with heat and affection and I thought my heart was going to blow up and kill me. He’d literally turned me into a Billy Ray Cyrus song—but like the happy version of Achy Breaky Heart.
I’d never felt like this with Derrek. Or any of the other guys I’d dated before him. I’d never been simultaneously this happy and this hopeful and this nervous. It was like my past was black and white, and Killian Quinn had finally given me color. He’d brought me back from a dead, lonely place and given me a reason to hope and smile and laugh again.
We finished the mousse, and he walked me outside, but only so he could press me against the cool side of the building and kiss me senseless. His lips moved against mine greedy with a different kind of hunger than I was used to feeding. He gripped my hips and held me against him, letting me feel all his hard, toned lines. My hands dove into his hair, kissing him just as relentlessly as he kissed me.
When he pulled away, my lips were swollen from his kisses, and my chin itched from the beard burn he’d left me with. We said goodbye, and I walked across the street to my truck, pressing my fingers against my mouth and trying to hold in the taste of him.
Was this really me swearing off men?
Maybe Killian Quinn was worth breaking a few of my own rules.
Chapter Twenty-One
…So for all these reasons, you need to stay away from me. I’m serious, Derrek. I will get a restraining order if I have to.