Page 7 of Fall Surprises
His tone wasn't rude exactly, but it lacked last night's tentative warmth. Fine. I could work with that.
I poured myself coffee and leaned against the counter. There was a hypnotic quality to how he moved, knowing exactly where everything was without looking, the confident flip of his wrist turning pancakes.
Childish laughter echoed from the dining room, followed by a woman's patient voice asking someone to please sit down.
"The family with four kids?" I asked.
"Twin boys who think syrup is a food group, a toddler who only eats orange foods, and an infant who screams if you look at her wrong." Despite his words, fondness warmed his voice. "They're checking out after breakfast. Headed to Glacier."
"Brave parents."
"Or insane." He glanced over his shoulder, wariness crossing his features before he turned back to the stove. "Thought you'd be down earlier. I wanted to go over menus before service."
I opened my mouth to agree, then stopped. The thought landed uncomfortably—I'd told him I'd be down early, then hadn't shown. Hadn't even thought to text. "I had an early call with Raven. She wanted to review tomorrow's schedule."
"The bride comes first," he said, not quite hiding the edge in his voice.
Was he annoyed? Looking at his tight jaw, I realized maybe my emergency wasn't his emergency. In my world, bride panic trumped everything, but maybe that wasn't fair to the people trying to help me.
"But I'm here now, so whenever you have a moment—"
"Can't talk and cook at the same time, Sam. Not when I'm trying to keep four kids and their parents fed and happy."
The way he said my name—with that slight rasp—made my pulse jump.
I watched him plate the breakfast with surprising artistry for kid food. Scrambled eggs formed into small hills, hashbrowns arranged in neat piles, pancakes drizzled with syrup in careful spirals. He even cut one pancake into a smiley face, adding blueberries for eyes.
"That's adorable," I said without thinking.
He shot me a look that might have been surprise. "Kids should enjoy their food. Presentation matters at every level."
Before I could respond, instinct kicked in. This was gold—a grumpy chef making smiley face pancakes. Raven would love it. The human side of the venue, attention to detail.
I pulled out my phone and opened the camera.
"What are you doing?" His voice cut sharp through the kitchen.
"Just getting footage of you working. Raven and Blaze will want to see the chef catering their wedding. This is perfect—"
"Shut that off." He set down his spatula hard enough that it clattered. "Now."
"Gus, this is television content. Prime time. Millions of viewers—"
"I never agreed to be on TV." He turned to face me fully, jaw tight. "I agreed to cook food. That's it. Not to perform for cameras, not to become some character in their reality show circus."
"This isn't about—"
"I don't care what it's about." He jabbed a finger toward my phone. "I came here to get away from that world, from people commodifying every moment for attention. I won't have my kitchen turned into a stage."
Laughter drifted from the dining room, a sharp contrast to the tension between us.
"Fine," I said through gritted teeth, lowering my phone. "If you won't let me film you, I'll photograph the food. The presentation, the plating—that's fair game."
I moved toward the counter where he'd arranged the breakfast plates. The morning light through the window was perfect, catching the steam rising from the eggs.
"What the hell are you doing to my station?" His voice rose as I reached for one of the pans.
"I'm getting photos for the bride—"
