Page 9 of Don't Remind Me
He nodded as he opened the cooler and pulled out a lemon along with a small knife and cutting board. “It’s just regular tap water that our system filters, chills, and carbonates,” he said, slicing the lemon in half, then into smaller wedges with the ease and speed of someone clearly comfortable with a blade. “Saves us money on bottled products, and it’s better for the environment.”
He put two wedges on a saucer and placed it in front of me, then slid the rest into a plastic container and marked it with tape.
“Thanks.”
His mouth tilted up, and I found my eyes glued to his lips.
Stop it.
I tore my gaze away, snatching a lemon slice and squeezing it into my glass before he could notice the heat rising in my cheeks. Not great, but nothing I couldn’t recover from.
“So your fundraiser,” he said, setting aside the cutting board and leaning his forearms on the bar. “I thought we should start by reviewing your food budget.”
I nodded, lowering the water glass from my lips as I finished my sip. “I was thinking that too.” I flipped open my binder and pulled out the budget, along with the menu I’d selected from the hotel caterer, my muscles relaxing a bit as I settled into the familiarity of my job. This I knew how to do.
I placed the papers in front of him. “I know it’s a tight budget for four meals, but I was able to make it work with the hotel’s menu. I thought we could keep the same food items to make it easier since we know the ingredients are cheap enough.”
“We could,” he said as he studied both pages. His face stayed neutral, making it too difficult for me to read his thoughts on the idea. “What are the four meals?”
“The first night is a cocktail hour with hors d’oeuvres. Day two includes breakfast and lunch during the speaking panels. Then, the last day is the fundraiser gala dinner.”
He nodded along, then studied the pages another minute. “This is actually more to work with than I expected. We can definitely plan out something nice.” He flashed me a smile that deepened the lines around his mouth. “Should be fun.”
The corner of my mouth rose at the boyish look on his face, something in my chest lifting with it. “Fun? You mean you won’t be bored by the lack of scallops or caviar or whatever other expensive products chefs love these days?”
He straightened and folded his arms, a quirk creasing his brow. “Are you implying all chefs are snobbish? Or are you too good for caviar?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Not too good for, just baffled by. I mean, fish eggs? Really?”
Laughter rolled through his chest, full and deep. It set off an explosion of giddiness that settled low in my core.
“But seriously,” I continued, my body easing into the conversation. “I don’t blame chefs for wanting to play with expensive ingredients. I just can’t offer you that luxury here.”
He lowered his folded arms to the bar and peered at the menu. “I really don’t mind. I like the challenge. Plus, it’s similar to a concept I’m working on for a new restaurant, so this gives me a chance to fine-tune it.”
I leaned in, mirroring his pose. “What concept is that?”
“I’m aiming for accessible fine dining. I want to serve average people elevated food that doesn’t cost three-hundred dollars a plate.”
“Isn’t that what you do here?” I asked, glancing around the dining room. “Ardena’s prices aren’t that high, are they?”
“No, but they aren’t cheap. Still too high for most of our staff if we didn’t give them a discount. And this is more casual fine dining. I want a place where college students who have never experienced more than an Olive Garden can try something new. For the mom working two jobs to be able to bring her kids out for a special meal at a fancy restaurant without having to worry about making rent late. I want to expose as many people as possible to the kind of food that changed my life. Food that I never would have been able to experience if I hadn’t stumbled into the back of a kitchen and started washing pots.”
Passion spilled from his every word and made it impossible to look away. It called to the echo of longing rattling around inside me that had spent the last nine years searching for a passion as strong within myself, a purpose for what I was doing. It was only now that I was working at HBC that I’d started to find it.
When he realized I hadn’t responded, he dropped his gaze, almost bashful. “Anyway. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to pull it off. It’ll take impeccable budgeting and management to keep that sort of operation in business, but…yeah.”
“I think that sounds amazing,” I said honestly.
He glanced up, his sharp blue eyes catching mine as his lips lifted. “Thanks.”
I thought back to that boy at the Christmas party and the listlessness in his eyes. Not a trace of it stared back at me now. Our gazes held, and I didn’t feel a chainsaw in my chest or cold clamminess in my palms. My body was loose, my mind quiet for the first time all weekend.
Did I ever feel like this around Alec?
The moment I thought it, my stomach turned.
“I used to date Alec,” I blurted, the words spilling from me without conscious thought. “In college. We were together. Used to be, I mean. We’re not anymore. Obviously.”
