Page 33 of Sing For Me

I frown. “You’ll have to clarify.”

I’m rewarded with a pinkness rising to her cheeks.

“I mean no PDAs.”

“Describe a PDA.”

Her cheeks darken further as she realizes I’m teasing her. I grin.

Reese folds her arms. “Don’t try to kiss me.”

I frown as if considering this.

“Eli.”

“Okay,” I say. “Fine, I won’t try to kiss you.”

She blinks as if she wasn’t expecting me to agree so quickly. “Good.”

“Good. Now, you done talking about kissing? Because I really do have to go.”

The corner of Reese’s lips turns up just briefly before she narrows her eyes and points to the door.

When I emerge from the room, I fix a professional expression on my face, willing the staff staring at me to turn away. It isn’t easy while I’m trying not to grin like a fool.

CHAPTER9

Eli

TRACK:Graham Nash, “Better Days”

The first day of shooting starts off smoother than I would have imagined.

Then again, it’s not my kitchen. It’s Reese’s. But she still manages to handle it with grace.

Because of course she does.

The setup is fast—the crew sweeps in and soon there are lights and boom mics and cameras everywhere. It was Reese who suggested they use the unused stage at the end of the restaurant as storage for all their set pieces and equipment. It’s a giant space, hidden behind a curtain, and is actually a huge benefit to the show and the restaurant, because it means takedown each day takes a quarter of the time it would than if they were hauling everything out into trailers. It also means that with early morning filming, the restaurant can open as early as lunchtime every weekday.

It’s genius, really, and it was all Reese’s idea.

I try to meet Reese’s eye, to figure out how we’re going to be with each other today. Today will set the tone for the whole show, I think.

But she disappears into the shadows. Then Neil is there, with Kelly at his side, both of them energetic, springy in their sneakers. Neil’s in Chucks that match perfectly with his dark designer jeans and ridiculous snakeskin blazer, black shirt, and bolero tie. His larger-than-life personality perfectly matches the energy of everyone in the kitchen, and by the time the clapper goes off and he’s exuberantly welcoming viewers into the sixth season ofChef’s Apprentice, I’m as caught up as everyone else in the magic of the moment.

The contestants vying to win are the most diverse group of people I’ve ever seen. There are twelve of them in total, though each episode—filmed over the course of a week—will see two of them eliminated. The oldest is Hélène, a Haitian woman in her eighties. The youngest, Kelly explains to me, is eighteen-year-old Cruz who’s in it to win it, and as serious as a priest.

I’m stiff around Kelly, noticing how she stands closer to me than she has in years. How her black T-shirt and jeans fit her like a glove, her dark hair up in a ponytail that shows off the angled edges of her cheekbones. Her proximity would have made me knock-kneed at one point. She knew that then and she knows it now. But now it’s like she senses her power has waned with me. Because every time I take a step sideways, she follows. Not immediately, but suddenly I’ll realize she’s only inches from me once again. It’s strange and slightly unnerving. It makes my chest swirl with confusion. The hold she used to have on me is different now. It’s like I’m looking at it from some slightly removed space. Like I’m outside myself when she’s there.

I keep looking for Reese, but I only catch glimpses of her in the distance. Chatting with her staff as they move about the kitchen, trying to prep for the restaurant opening while half of them are still gawking at filming. I try to go and talk to her at one point, but Kelly’s there, suddenly, smiling. “Eli, meet Hélène.” I have to practically look to the floor to find the tiny woman, with close-cropped silver-threaded hair and a wide, toothy grin.

“Merde!” she exclaims. “Everyone on TV is so handsome!”

I laugh, despite myself.

“Eli is one of the owners of the hotel, Hélène,” Kelly says.

“Ooh, rich too!” she says.

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