Page 20 of Fall Surprises
I moved into position beside him at the center island. His kitchen team worked their stations while Gus orchestrated everything, plates lined up waiting.
"Sauce," he said, sliding the first plate toward me.
I picked up the squeeze bottle he indicated, adding careful dots of cherry gastrique around the duck breast he'd just positioned. He was already reaching for the next protein, his movements economical and sure.
"Microgreens there." He nodded toward the small container of delicate greens. "Just a small handful, to the left of the duck."
I placed them as directed. He slid another plate into position. I reached for the sauce bottle without being asked. Our bodies navigated around each other in the tight space—him turning to plate the duck, me stepping in with garnish, neither of us colliding despite the confined quarters.
The stove's heat wrapped around us. Butter sizzled in a pan. When Gus reached across for another plate, his shoulder brushed mine. Rosemary and thyme clung to his whites, mixing with the scent of the gastrique—tart cherry and black pepper.
He glanced at me as I finished the garnish on the third plate. Our gazes held for a beat—just long enough for me to notice the way the overhead lights caught gold flecks in his green eyes—before he grabbed the next portion of duck.
We fell into a pattern. Him plating the protein and vegetables, me adding sauce and final touches. No words needed. Just the quiet choreography of two people who'd learned each other's movements, who knew instinctively when to step forward and when to give space.
His hand steadied mine when the sauce bottle sputtered. My fingers brushed his when we both reached for the same microgreen container. Working in his space, moving in syncwith him—it felt more significant than plating food had any right to feel.
"Last one," he murmured, sliding the final plate into position.
I added the garnish, stepped back. Surveyed the line of plates—each one a small masterpiece of autumn colors and elegant composition.
"Good?" I asked.
"Better than good." He echoed my earlier words, his voice soft. "You're a natural at this."
"I had a good teacher."
His team began carrying plates to the dining room. Gus and I stood there in the sudden quiet, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him, neither of us quite ready to step away.
"Thank you," he said. "For jumping in."
"We're a team, right?"
"Yeah." His jaw relaxed, his mouth curving slightly. "We are."
Diana's voice carried from the dining room—"Let me get a shot of the food before anyone touches it!"—and the moment broke. I slipped out of the kitchen before anyone could rope me into another photo opportunity.
I managed to eat my own plate in stolen moments between putting out fires—Raven needed more wine, Blaze wanted to know if there was whiskey, Stormi asked where the restroom was with a tremor in her voice that suggested she might be crying. The food was delicious, though I barely tasted it, my mind still in that kitchen with Gus.
As dessert was being served, the producer cornered me in the hallway.
"The corn maze," Diana said without preamble. "I want everyone to go. It's content gold—cozy autumn, small-town charm. America will die for it."
"It's on the schedule for after dinner," I confirmed.
"Good. Make sure the lighting is right. Tony's bringing his portable kit. And I want couples to pair off." She made air quotes. "Raven and Blaze, obviously. Maybe Jett and Stormi. That could be interesting."
Stormi's red-rimmed eyes at dinner flashed through my mind—the way she'd excused herself twice, returning each time with fresh makeup that couldn't quite hide her distress. "I'm not sure Stormi—"
"Let me handle the narrative." Diana leaned closer, her breath smelling of Chardonnay. "You just get everyone there. I'll make sure we get what we need."
After dinner wrapped up, Diana herded everyone toward the waiting vans like a particularly efficient sheepdog, ignoring protests and excuses with practiced ease.
Raven and Stormi disappeared upstairs with their glam teams to fix their faces—"We can't be filmed looking wrecked!" Blaze needed another drink first. Jett wanted to know if there would be bottle service at the corn maze.
"It's a corn maze," I said with every scrap of patience I had left. "In a field. There will be hot cider."
"Oh, like homemade?" Raven reappeared, makeup flawless, holding her phone at selfie angle. "That's so aesthetic! Stormi, we need footage of us drinking cider!"
