“They grew up together,” I explained. “I think he’s the closest thing Killian has to a BFF, although he would never admit that.”
Molly let out a wobbly breath that could have been a laugh under different circumstances. “Can you imagine what those two are like together? No offense, Vera, and by the way I’m super happy for you, but I feel like they would just sit around discussing politics and retirement plans. Never smiling.”
My laugh was less subtle. “You might be onto something.” I focused on the food for a few minutes, thankful that no other customers had shown up yet because I didn’t think Molly planned to move from her spot in the corner until Ezra Baptiste had officially disappeared. “What’s your deal with him?” I finally whispered. “Why are you hiding from him?”
She threw me a look that screamed duh! “He has terrible taste in design.”
“Oh. Right. Then do you also hate me?”
Stepping closer to me, she dropped her voice even lower. “You don’t have terrible taste in design. You have specific taste in design. There’s a difference.”
“Seriously, Molls, what is it with him that’s got you all flustered?”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms at the same time—the universal body language for back the hell off. Of course I didn’t. I paused what I was doing to poke her in the arm.
“I just don’t like him, okay? He asked for my opinion on his website when we were at Lilou, so I gave it to him. He didn’t like it apparently, so he picked it apart completely. He didn’t really want my opinion. He just wanted me to tell him what he wanted to hear. When I called him on it, he got even more defensive. We just don’t see eye to eye. And on top of that, he’s super intimidating. He makes me uncomfortable.”
Well, she had me there. He was super intimidating. I finished plating his food and walked it to the window. He stood away from the truck, typing furiously on the small keyboard of his phone.
I hesitated for a second not knowing how to address him. On one hand, he was Killian’s good friend, which made us kind of familiar, right? On the other hand, he was a super important titan in the industry I was trying to survive in, and that had made me spend five extra minutes on his food to make sure it was perfect in every way.
Ezra? Or Mr. Baptiste? Or Mr. Ezra Baptiste?
Just kidding. The last one was overkill. Definitely, overkill.
I cleared my throat and went with my instincts. “Um, your order is ready.”
He looked up from his phone, clicking it off and shoving it in his pocket when he saw me half-hanging out of the pickup window. Closing the space between us in five smooth paces, he grabbed the box from me with robotic efficiency.
As I explained where the napkins and plastic utensils were, he studiously ignored me in favor of checking out his order. He flicked the top of the French bread with his pointer finger, but it stretched in protest, anchored by a heavy amount of Swiss cheese. He made that sound in the back of his throat again and pushed the decadently greasy fries around with the same finger.
When he finished jabbing at his order, he reached for a napkin and wiped his hands clean. Then he lifted his gaze and inclined his head toward the sidewalk. “Do you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Uh, sure.” The words were out before my panicked brain could stop them.
Ezra stepped to the side of the truck to wait for me. Molly’s eyebrows were scrunched together over her nose as I gave her a helpless shrug, wiped my hands on my apron and left the safety of my truck.
The cool night settled on my heated skin like a sigh of relief. I inhaled deeply, enjoying all the different smells of the city and the kitchen I could never quite wash off.
I found Ezra several yards away from Foodie, closer to the alley than the street. He’d polished off half the sandwich and fries before I caught up to him by taking gigantic bites that didn’t fit his polished style. He appeared all tailored professional, but he’d just inhaled his order like an animal.
Uhh… I took his voracious appetite as a compliment. Sort of.
Spotting me, he wiped his hands on his napkin again and extended it. “We haven’t had a proper chance to meet yet.”
I shook his hand for the second time in my life and resisted the urge to text Killian and demand he get over here and explain his friend’s bizarre behavior. “Thanks for stopping by the truck,” I told him sincerely. “Killian has spoken so highly of you.”
He gave me a look that said he didn’t believe me. “Killian doesn’t speak highly of anyone.”
Well, he had me there. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I stayed silent, hoping he would get to the point.
“Except you.”
Ezra’s words caught me so off guard I took a physical step back. “W-what?”
“Except you,” Ezra repeated, slower. “He can’t stop talking about you, in fact.”
I attempted a coherent sentence. “Uh, yeah, we, uh… yeah.” And failed.
He stood up taller, squaring his shoulders, his expression shifting from serious to very, very grave. Oh, God, this man was going to make me cry.
Not in an emotional way. But in the visceral, slice me apart professionally way. I could feel it coming, like electricity in the air before a big storm.
“Be careful with Killian.”
What??? “What?”
“He doesn’t care for things easily. It’s even harder for him to care about people.”
My mouth dried out and my chest burned with the need to defend myself from what I was realizing was a warning. Not wanting to jump to conclusions, I said, “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”
In a moment of what I could tell was rare weakness, he ran his hand through his hair, messing it up. On a bitter chuckle, he explained. “I trust too easily. My restaurants can attest to that. But Killian is the opposite. He doesn’t trust people. He doesn’t let them in. Work is his life and, until you, that’s always been enough for him. I just… I worry for him. I’m asking that you’re careful with him. Don’t break him.”
Fire burned through me, engulfing my esophagus with angry flames that spilled out of my mouth. “I won’t. I would never.” What I didn’t say was that I had been broken by someone else. I would never hurt another person in the same way.
Especially not Killian. The person that had healed big parts of my shattered heart. The man that had pushed his way into my life uninvited and demanded that I ask for more, do more… be more.
He stared at me, taking in my furious eyes and firm frown. Seeing something he approved of, he nodded. “Thank you.”
“I’m not doing it for you.” I struggled to explain. “I… what you don’t know is… Just know that I won’t hurt him. I care about him too much.”
He jerked his chin in concession one more time, his shoulders relaxing just barely. “There’s one more thing.”