I stared into darkened shop windows and down dark, quiet streets. The stoplights gleamed red and green, glittering on the pavement under a night sky filled with sparkling stars.
There was something about this time of night that made me feel so achingly at home, comfortable. These were the hours I lived for and the life I was getting used to living.
I would never have a traditional nine to five job. I would never wake up with the dawn and get home in time to make a normal dinner. I would, hopefully, always head to work at odd hours and stay until everyone else was safely tucked away in bed. I would always fall asleep closer to the time that everyone else woke up and drag myself out of bed not long after so I could get to the market in time for the freshest ingredients. I would never look forward to the weekends because I got them off. No, I would anticipate them for their busy chaos, for the crowd-filled dining rooms and even later nights.
This was the life I chose. The life I fought to have.
The life I fought to keep.
Killian turned down a tree-lined street with a gorgeous limestone church on the corner. Tall, narrow spirals reached toward heaven, a golden bell nestled between the two. My heart thumped at the quaint beauty of his street and then twice more when we pulled up to a cool looking bungalow, complete with a covered porch and blue front door.
He parked his bike in the garage behind the house and grabbed my hand as soon as I’d slid off the seat. We didn’t talk as he led me through his back door and into his kitchen.
Love at first sight. Maybe not with Killian, but definitely with his kitchen. Granite countertops, glass-door refrigerator, huge, stainless steel range. The center island stretched long and wide, scattered with fresh fruit and a massive wooden cutting board, one side was sprinkled with flour and a discarded dish towel. His house smelled like baked bread and roasted garlic and everything wonderful.
Killian went about flicking on lights and setting his things down. I unbuttoned my chef coat feeling silly in work clothes.
I imagined the first time at his house to be better planned. I’d pictured a sexy outfit and hair that hadn’t been smashed beneath a helmet and wild from a night working in my kitchen. I’d also hoped to be perfectly groomed in all the right places and not covered in kitchen grease and pickle juice.
But to be fair, Killian never did what I expected him to do. And we never happened like I expected us to happen. So, this was all fair play.
He swung open his beautiful refrigerator. “Water? Beer? Wine?”
“Water and wine, please?”
He pulled out two cold bottles of water and tossed me one before stepping into his pantry for the wine. As he opened the bottle and set it aside to rest for a few minutes, I took a seat at one of his iron barstools. “Your house is gorgeous.”
One of his shoulders lifted in a casual shrug. “It’s a little much for just me. But it’s like my one hang-up from growing up in the system. I wanted a nice place to come home to. And I wanted space. I wanted privacy.”
I stared at him, wondering if maybe that wasn’t all. Maybe that was all he wanted to admit to me tonight, but there was more from his life in foster care that left scars.
Not that he hadn’t come out perfectly adjusted, but I knew better than anyone that our pasts marked us in ways we couldn’t escape. They shaped us into the adults we were destined to be whether we wanted them to or not.
It was up to us how we used those experiences. We could let them own us, or we could let them be the journey they were meant to be, the stepping stones to a better life, a better self. Each moment, good or bad, a tool to give us the strength we needed to be the person we were supposed to be.
Finally, he poured my glass of wine after I’d downed most of the water. He brought it over to me, taking the stool next to mine. “How was your night?”
Twisting the stem between my fingers, I swirled the crimson Cabernet until it made a tornado in the glass. “Ezra stopped by,” I said without looking at his face.
When I looked up, Killian’s shoulders were tense, and the humor had drained out of him. Tension thickened the air. “He told me.”
I found myself ensnared by his heated glare. “Is that what you want to talk about?”
His chin dipped once. “He mentioned that he offered you Bianca.”
I swallowed against the absurdity once more, still unable to believe that happened. I’d replayed the conversation so many times by now I had started to wonder if it had actually happened or if I’d somehow imagined it. “Crazy, right?”
“No, completely understandable. Ezra’s not an idiot—I knew he’d come for you eventually.”
My chest hollowed out, my heart dropping to my toes in disappointment. “You don’t sound pleased.” I wanted to make an excuse for Killian’s boorish behavior. I wanted to explain away his disappointment with me being offered a full kitchen. What was it with men and trying to keep me locked away? Fury boiled in my belly, spreading with acid-fueled frustration through my blood.
Killian shook his head, adamant. “I knew this was going to happen for you. I just didn’t realize it was going to happen so soon.”
“Well, not everyone thinks I have an issue with salt,” I bit back. I was so done with defending my career to egotistical maniacs. Done. Over it.
But before my head could explode with irrational anger, I breathed out slowly, realizing for the millionth time that Killian wasn’t Derrek. That maybe my defensiveness could be dialed back until I heard him out.
Killian’s open gaze bored into mine. “Is that what you want then? Bianca?”
I nibbled on my bottom lip, before answering honestly. “It’s what I thought I wanted, before Foodie. But now I don’t know what to think. Honestly, at this point, I’m just happy to have been considered.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
His tone caught me off guard, and I leaned away from him, afraid I’d pissed him off and not able to squash the instant reaction to run and hide. “What do you mean?” I whispered.
Not catching my panic attack, Killian sat up straight and leaned forward. “You’re not a consolation prize, Vera. You’re a phenomenal chef. Ezra figured it out in the shortest amount of time, but soon the entire city is going to be buzzing with your name. There will be more offers for kitchens, more head chef positions to choose from. I’m glad you’re happy to be considered, but think bigger… better. Don’t just take the first thing thrown at you because that’s all you think you’ll ever get. Decide what you want in life. What do you want out of a kitchen? If Bianca is what you’re looking for, then take it, but don’t do it because you’re afraid there won’t be anything else. There will be, Vera. There will be everything else.”
I stared at him, not knowing what to say or think or feel.
“I’m just saying, decide what you want. You have options.”
I blinked. “Like what?”