Page 45 of So Not My Thing
She pointed at me. “Sous chef. And her brother.”
“Your Dylan’s sister?” the server asked me.
“Yes. I don’t usually tell him I’m here until after I’ve eaten,” I explained to Miles. “Otherwise, he...innovates.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing,” he said.
“It wouldn’t be if he was trying to make her something good,” Chloe said. “But he’ll put horseradish in the mashed potatoes or deep fry weird stuff and send it out. He has the soul of an eighth grader.”
“You can tell him I’m here,” I told the server. “He can’t do anything to me now.”
The server left with a smile and a promise to let Dylan know he had visitors, and we picked up our forks, liked we’d choreographed it. Chloe grinned and picked up her table knife to hold it like a conductor’s baton, her hands held up in the universal sign for “hold it,” then she nodded, and our forks all clinked against our plates in a musical chorus as we went after our first bites. I’d gotten a seafood platter and Chloe had chosen a pork chop with apple chutney. Miles chewed and gave a small groan.
“Wow,” he murmured. “He’s good.”
“Agreed,” Chloe said between bites. “It’s annoying. I desperately want to try Aaron’s crab cake, but I also desperately want to keep eating this.”
“I’ll take one for the team,” I said, pulling Aaron’s plate close enough to snitch a bite. It was as delicious as it smelled. “You’re going to want to try that.”
We settled into eating and occasionally offering comments on the food. “Try mine,” Chloe said, tilting her plate toward me. I scooped up a forkful of pork and chutney.
“Oh, wow,” I said, letting the sweetness slide over my tongue. “Try mine.” She agreed that it was good. Actually, what she said was, “That’s good too, damn it.”
“You want to try some of this?” Miles asked.
“Definitely.” I’d been eyeing his since the server had set it down in front of him. He nudged it toward me slightly, and I tried my best to spear a piece of duck and bamboo rice and black-eyed peas, but somehow I’d lost coordination in my fingers and I couldn’t keep it all on the fork.
“I got it,” Miles said, scooping up a forkful and extending it toward me.
Hesitating even for a split second would have made the whole thing feel weird, so I leaned toward him and accepted the bite, something I’d done a million times with Chloe, but this felt different. Much different. As he slid the fork from my mouth, I stopped breathing for a second, the tiniest hitch at how much more intimate that felt than it ever had with anyone else. Not even with ex-boyfriends.
I was thankful I could hide behind eating as an excuse for not speaking. “You might have gotten the winner,” I said when I found my voice again. “You have to try it, Chloe.”
Chloe had no problem scooping up her own bite from Miles’s plate. “Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff.”
“Hey, dummies.” Dylan was walking toward our table.
“It doesn’t suck,” Chloe informed him. It was the best he was going to get from her and he knew it, but he had to twist the knife.
“If that’s your way of saying I’m a genius, you’re right. And you’re welcome.”
“Which of these did you actually make?” I asked.
“Did you get the lemongrass chicken tacos?” I nodded. “That’s me,” he said with a smirk. “And those three are Chef’s, but that dish was my idea.” He pointed to Miles’s duck.
Chloe looked even more annoyed.
“Good job,” I said.
“Thanks, sis. I’ve got to get back to the kitchen, but dinner is on the house. Even for you.” He made a finger gun and fired it at Miles before walking off.
Miles pursed his lips like was thinking about saying something, then flattened them again.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I know I should thank him, but—”
“But you kind of want to murder him instead?” Chloe interjected.
