Page 72 of Long Shot

“What else today?”

“A new chile relleno. Pasilla peppers, stuffed with crab and chorizo and cheese. We’ll make fresh pico de gallo and roasted garlic cream to top them.”

“Sounds awesome.”

With my hands busy chopping, slicing and shredding, my nerves settle. I give the others direction of what to work on preparing for the lunch crowd and they all enthusiastically get to work, listening intently, eager to do what I ask of them.

God. What more could I want? I pause in my work for a moment to close my eyes and be grateful and appreciative for this opportunity.

“You okay?”

Cade’s deep voice has my eyes springing open. Immediately, my skin tingles everywhere and my belly flip-flops at seeing him—his shaggy blond hair hanging in his eyes, his blue eyes warm with concern.

He has to show up just when I close my eyes for two seconds to breathe a sigh of relief.

I shake my head “I’m fine. Really.”

“Sure?”

“I’m sure.” I set my hands on my hips and lift my chin. “Other than somewhat annoyed that you told everyone about what happened to me.”

His eyes shadow. “Oh. Uh. Yeah, I did.” He eyes me. “I thought it was better to be up-front. If we tried to hide things and pretend it was something else, they’d wonder. They’d talk. And that would be worse.”

I sigh. “Yeah. You’re right.”

His tense features relax.

“Everyone’s been great.”

“I know you hadn’t said anything about what happened in New York, but I figured they’d understand more if we were just up-front.”

“You’re probably right,” I agree with a wry smile.

“I did wonder about you.” He keeps his voice low, standing close enough that I can smell his fresh outdoor scent. “All the time.”

I bite my lip. “Yeah?”

“I wondered why you were here. Why you were a chef who didn’t want to cook. And I wondered . . .” He lowers his voice even more, his mouth near my ear. “. . . what you taste like and what kind of noises you make when you come.”

I stare at him, my body flashing hot. Then I lift a hand and give his broad chest a mini shove. “You said nothing would change here at work,” I whisper. I bite my lip and give him a look up through my eyelashes, because damn, he makes me hot and I want to hear more, but we agreed—we have to keep things businesslike here at Conquistadors.

“Right. Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head, a rueful smile tipping up his lips. He holds up his hands and steps back. “I came to see how you’re doing. But also to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. We’re closed for the day, so everyone can have family time.”

I know that.

“Beck’s going to be with Hayden and her aunt and uncle. Marco’s going to be with Carrie’s family. I’m going to be alone.”

I lower my chin. “Me, too.”

“Come to my place for Thanksgiving dinner. I’ll cook for you.”

“You can cook?”

“Sure. Nothing fancy. We can watch football.”

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