Page 93 of Stirring Up Love
“I’ll pay for the extra day. I owe her one.” Quentin’s words echoed in his mind.Sim doesn’t need to be anyone’s life preserver.But she had been. The least he could do was repay her kindness.
“If you’re sure ...”
“One hundred percent.”
After assuring Alisha he wouldn’t hesitate to call her for a ride if Simone kicked him out of the kitchen—a very real possibility, given their history—he opened the back door of the restaurant and found himself inside Honey and Hickory for the first time.
Nineties hip-hop was pumping from a stereo on the countertop, and Simone stood at the prep table in olive-green leggings, an oversize light-gray hoodie pushed up to her elbows as she sliced shallots.
Her movements were fluid, precise. She palmed the pieces off the cutting board and dumped them into the pan. Smashed a bulb of garlic with the flat of her knife, and in went that too. The scent of browning butter and onions filled the kitchen.
His stomach rumbled, betraying his presence, but the music overtook it.
Into another pan went a stick of butter. Yolks into a blender. She turned it on high, then added the butter in a steady stream. Textbook hollandaise. She used a slotted spoon to fish one perfect poached egg out of the boiling water, then another.
A commercial came on, and she leaned across the counter to turn down the stereo.
“I thought you were serving dinner, not brunch.”
She froze, hand on the volume knob. Met his eyes. “You’re supposed to be back in Springfield.”
“Yeah, well, your sister told me how much I’d thrown off your plans. I just came to see if I could help at all. Are you here by yourself?”
She nodded. “For now, but the others will be in later. I’ve got it handled.”
He didn’t doubt that for a second, but couldn’t she see he wanted to help? “What’s the menu? Eggs benedict, and what else?”
She rolled her lips together. “Actually, the eggs benedict are for Honey and Hickory, not tonight. I’ve been toying with the idea of offering brunch, and I came back so inspired and ...” She trailed off, looking sheepish. “Anyway. I never do this. Go off script.”
“Are you saying I broke you?” He tasted the sauce. Divine.
“Ruined me.” But she was smiling. “Anyway, I know we’ve got a lot to talk about, but can it wait until Sunday? I’m sure you’re ready to get home.”
“I am, but I’m the reason you’re in this mess. At least let me help you cook your way out of it. Consider me your sous chef for the day.”
She wiped her fingers on her apron, brows raised. “You’re not asking for head-chef status?”
“In your kitchen? Never.” He wanted to press a kiss onto her lips, imagined how soft and pliant they’d be from the steam. But he wasn’t sure where they stood, so instead he took off his coat and pushed up his sleeves. “Now put me to work like the tyrant I know you are.”
“Finn Rimes, I’ve waited my whole life for someone to say those words.” She handed him an apron. “Suit up, Minion.”
CHAPTER 32
SIMONE
Nose cold, her arms laden with trays of meat from the smoker, Simone used her elbow to open the back door of Honey and Hickory a few hours later. Finn stood brushing a sheet pan full of cubed sweet potatoes with a smoky brown sugar glaze. When the door shut, he looked up at her, and his face broke into a smile so wide it pulled her in like gravity.
She’d never felt such an intense surge of emotion. Irresistible, bottomless. His eyes darkened and his smile slipped into something more intense. He felt it too. How could he not? And where did that leave them?
Trapped under the weight of a deal neither of them wanted but both of them needed. With a future tied up in one another, or on their own. And what lay in between? The unknown, and she hated uncertainty.
Forcing herself to break eye contact, she lifted her chin to the pan of potatoes. “Those will need to roast another thirty minutes; then we’re set.”
Nodding, Finn slid them back into the oven, the hair at the back of his neck curling with sweat above the collar of his henley. The man would walk in here after a night of drinking still looking like sex on astick. How could she sift through all the decisions with him steaming up her kitchen in a henley and apron, of all things?
He closed the oven and shot her a speculative look, the same kind he’d been sending her way ever since the party. Hesitant. Vulnerable.
Her heart tugged her closer, and for once she obeyed, threading her arms around his neck. Giving him the reassurance she craved. “Thank you for staying. I would’ve been swamped on my own.”
