Page 7 of Good Taste
“At least it’s not super hot or super cold out.” Taylor tries desperately to keep my spirits up. I want to let her, but I’m so frustrated I could scream. “If we’re going to be stuck somewhere, at least it’s temperate.”
I grunt in response. Her eyes fall to her hands, folded neatly in her lap. We’re back in the dining room. There’s more natural light and the off-chance that a passerby will see us would be a lifeline for help.
I feel so helpless, unable to stop pacing back and forth. Moving from the kitchen back to the dining room on a steady loop. Taylor just sits there in the corner booth.
“All this food spoiling as we speak.” I murmur. “Hundreds of dollars wasted.” On cue, Taylor’s stomach growls and something clicks in my head. “You’re hungry.”
Taylor’s teeth sink into her full bottom lip. “Yeah, a little.”
“Perfect.” I grab the flashlight and gesture toward the kitchen. This is something I can control. “Let’s try the gas.”
The burner clicks on instantly. “Thank God!” I let out a long exhale. “What do you want? I’ve got ingredients for chicken, veal, a steak?—“
“Grilled cheese.”
“Excuse me?”
“That’s what I want. I want a grilled cheese sandwich.”
My mouth hangs open. I have to work not to laugh. “I’ve worked my ass off to create a perfectly balanced menu.” I step to her, towering above. “And you want a grilled cheese sandwich?”
Without shame or apologies, she nods her head. “Yes.” She looks so beautiful, stoic and strong. Even in this dire situation, her composure is graceful.
A grilled fucking cheese.
“You got it.” I head to the cooler and pull out the ingredients, stopping along the way for a loaf of bread from the local bakery we had as a sample. “It’s going to be the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had.”
“I’m pretty skilled at making them.” My head snaps in her direction.
“Are you saying you want to make me one?”
“No way.” Her long, silky hair falls over her shoulders like a curtain. “I’m in the midst of a great chef.” She leans in closer, takes the one of the three blocks of cheese out of my arms. “I just want to see if you perform better under a little pressure.”
“Cute,” I say, and begin greasing the cast iron skillet with butter, then get to work compiling the sandwiches. After a few minutes, Taylor breaks the silence.
“You’re whistling.” She bites her lip to stop from smiling. God she’s so adorable.
“I have a habit of doing that.”
“My mom always said it’s the sign of a happy person.” She leans against the counter, watching me work. “I guess cooking makes you pretty happy, huh?”
“I’m a chef, Taylor.”
“But not everyone does what they love. Some people can only afford to do what they’re good at. To find the balance of passionandwork. For some people that’s the dream.”
“What’s your passion?” The soaking wet sandwich sizzles in the skillet. “Not waiting tables, huh?”
“Ha. No.” The lantern accentuates the shadows in her face, showing off her high cheekbones. “Numbers.” I don’t say anything, shocked to hear it, not sure why. “Surprised?”
“A little.”
She lets out a sigh. “I went to school for business and finance. There’s no gray area when it comes to math. It’s comforting.”
“I couldn’t live without a little gray area.” I twist sideways, leaning against the counter, facing her. “That’s what recipe building is all about. Experimentation. Trying and failing.”
“So is math.” She grabs a piece of cheese from the cutting board. “And the ultimate satisfaction comes from finding the perfect solution.” She pops the cheese in her mouth, savoring it. My cock twitches in my pants. “I assume cooking is actually a lot like that, too.”
Speechless, I can only nod. For the first time it truly occurs to me that we’re alone, trapped in my restaurant and I’m cooking for her. This bombshell of a woman, who I’ve been trying to keep out of my mind is now the only thing I can concentrate on. Her breasts in that v-neck. The way her jeans perfectly hug her curves. I bet she tastes better than anything I could cook up.
