Page 3 of Good Taste
Damn, it’s been a philosophical day.
I huff out a laugh to spite myself, then head to the cutting station. I have to prep some basil for the pesto drizzled pork chops. My mouth waters thinking about it. As I drench the leafy herb into a bowl of cold water, my mind’s still on the curvy redhead who nearly ran me over. I wonder what her favorite food is. What I’d cook for her if I had the chance. To see her smiling face enjoying something I cooked makes me hornier than I care to admit.
“No,” I say it out loud, pulling my hands from the bowl.
I am going to work my ass off today and not get distracted. The restaurant’s the thing, theonlything. I will not allow myself to stray from the task at hand, because falling into a fit of lust for one of my employees is definitely not on the menu.
Chapter Three
Taylor
The bus pullsalong the curb and I’m still a block away. “Wait!” I yell and run my ass off to catch it. It’s not like the city. Here, if you miss the bus you’re shit out of luck for at least another fifteen minutes, and that would make me late. Considering tomorrow is the grand opening and everyone’s on edge, it would be a fate worse than death in their eyes.
Luckily, the sweet human getting on saw me and held the door until I made it, red-faced and sweaty.
I express my thanks and head to the back. I say a silent prayer of thanks that a solo window seat is open, and take the opportunity to decompress before the tense environment I’m about to walk into.
The rest of the waitstaff have the day off, but I need the money. So, I’ve decided to go in and do some extra side work—folding napkins, polishing silverware—to ensure I can make rent by the end of the month.
Outside, a giant flock of birds make their way across the sky. I press my face closer to get a better view. I’ve never seen anything like it. On the street, two dogs bark ferociously at each other. What’s with today? Something feels off.
I exhale a long cloud of fog onto the window, then trace a heart with my fingertip. It’s impossible not to think of Nick when I do it. There’s a charge in the air when we’re in the same room. Why wouldn’t there be? He’s exactly my type: tall, buff, and in charge.
My stomach clenches. All the memories of my ex that I’ve been trying to suppress flood my mind. It was innocent at first. Me, an intern at the investment agency. Him the CFO. Good with money, and even better with his hands. But he cheated on me and then, to cover his ass, told the company I’d been the one to initiate a relationship and that I’d actually been stalking him.
My fists ball in my lap. Imagine that;mestalking some asshole who practically begged to fuck me. I’m an idiot, but life’s full of lessons. The utmost in this case being, do not fuck your boss.
I worked my ass off waiting tables to pay for college so I could even get a job like that and in a flash—snap!It all goes down the drain. If he hadn’t tarnished my name, I’d move to another agency, but here I am. Waiting tables in my hometown because I can’t afford to do much else.
I’m so lost in thought, I nearly miss my stop. I grab my bag, rush out of the bus and head toward Green Valley Bistro. The cool mountain air sends a chill through me as I clutch my scarf and pull open the front door.
“There you are.” Stasia turns on her heel, her hair swaying like an old Vidal Sassoon commercial.
“I’m not late.” I glance at my phone.
“No, but I’m in desperate need of coffee.” I glance at the paper cup in her hand. “It’s empty, if you must know.” I open my mouth to respond but she brushes past me. “I’m aware I have a problem. Nick needs help with prep. His sous called out with the flu, wouldn’t you fucking know it.”
Oh God. For the second time, I open my mouth to speak, to object, to tell her I should do anything but be alone in a room with him, but am ramshackled by Stasia’s frantic, girl-boss energy. “And he’s in a mood. Good luck. See you soon.”
Just like that, she’s out the door.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I smooth my jeans and take a deep breath. I can do this. I’m a grown ass woman with more impulse control than I give myself credit for. So what if my panties nearly melt down my leg when I look into his warm eyes? That every night this week I’ve been dreaming about him with nothing but his chef’s jacket on? That each of those said dreams end up with me pulsing from climaxing in my sleep?
So what, indeed.
I head to the kitchen. Stasia’s right; Nick’s in a fury. He stands with his back to me. Shoulder blades flexing hard beneath his white t-shirt as he works to chop something on the cutting board.
He’s such a giant beast of a man. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were a professional athlete before becoming a chef. His dark blonde hair is even more mussed than usual. I want to wrap him in my arms and kiss away his worries.
No! No, no, no.That’s the opposite of what I want.
He sets the knife down abruptly, and grabs a nearby towel, pressing it to his face, then turns around, realizing I’m standing in the room with him. My heart sinks. His eyes are filled with tears.
“Are you okay?” I ask, stepping toward him.
“What?” He looks confused, but quickly shakes it off. I even get the slightest half-smile from him. He shakes his head and meets my gaze. There…that look. I’m dripping fucking wet just making eye contact with him.
