Page 5 of Freedom's Kiss
Chapter 3
Olivia stood board straight as the bubble of her personal space popped. The smell of the night clung to the chef’s body. Hints of citrus, jalapeño, fry oil, and hard work cooperated to overpower her senses. She’d been aware of him the whole time they’d worked together, an intuition of where he’d be, what he’d be doing, and what he’d need. She’d anticipated his every move. Except this one. Not that it was unpleasant, but men she’d just met didn’t usually hug her so tightly. It left her unbalanced.
He stepped back, his grin a little sheepish as he tucked a hand into his jeans front pocket. All night he’d oozed confidence, even when she’d walked in on him when he’d been about to turn everyone away. A decision he’d made, and once decided, one he was ready to back. Until she’d forced him to reevaluate the situation because the game had changed. Namely, once she’d ingratiated herself onto his team and turned his business from a solitary affair to a partnership. If only she could convince him she was vital to the success of Southern Charmand, by extension, him. She could really use this job. And experience, since he was willing to share his kitchen. Something the chefs at Seasidewould never do. Her ears still rang from the butt-chewing she’d been handed for simply touching Alejandro’s knives.
“Uh, sorry about that.” Adam knocked his hat up off his forehead, leaving a red line and crease where it’d sat. His light-brown hair curled around the edges of the mesh webbing on the sides of his NAVY cap. “I come from an extremely effusive family. Blame them if the way I just said thank you was inappropriate.”
It was. A bit. But she wasn’t offended, so she changed the subject to make him a little more comfortable. Could only help her case when she begged a job from him. She pointed to his hat. “You served?”
He lifted the cap off his head and rotated it to see the front. A look of pride washed over his face. “Nah. My baby brother. Fighter pilot before an accident took away an arm and a leg.”
Wow. Talk about a dump of personal info. And how was she supposed to respond? “I’m so sorry.”
Adam smirked and stuffed the cap back on his head. “Don’t be. He’s in England now with the woman he loves doing a job he loves. God brought him through.”
Olivia shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Idleness made her uncomfortable, and they were nearing her threshold of being still. She snagged a rag draped across the sink and wiped down the prep space.
Adam tugged the moist cloth out from under her hand. “You don’t have to do that. You’ve helped me more than you can know tonight. No way my Good Samaritan has to suffer clean-up duty.”
A perfect segue. She clasped her fingers together, twisting, the movement a release to her pent-up energy. If only she could wrestle the rag away again. “Speaking of helping…”
Adam turned on the faucet and plugged the bottom of the sink. “Yeah?”
This is it, Olivia. Your chance. Seize it.The same speech she’d given herself before she’d barged into his truck earlier. Contrary to what the man in front of her might think given the events of the night, she wasn’t usually this daring. But she was tired of being passed up, and if she didn’t take a step and grab on to the next opportunity with a death grip, she was afraid she’d never get a chance to work in a real kitchen, show the world what she could do with a few simple ingredients and a lot of heart.
She pushed her shoulders back and raised her chin, forcing her gaze to meet ice-gray eyes. Though in color that description might be right, their depths held no coldness that term conjured up. Instead there was only warmth and the sparkle you’d see from silver. So maybe his eyes were silver? But who had silver eyes?
Her challenge mirrored from his open gaze, as it had all evening, and pushed her forward. “I think we can benefit each other.”
He pushed the handle of the faucet down and turned off the flow of water. After setting the food containers to soak, he turned and resettled his full attention on her. “I’m listening.” And he was. Everything about his body language said she had his full attention. No skepticism. No annoyance that she detained him or impatience because he needed to get on to the next thing. Those expressions she knew and knew well. They’d met her every time she’d approached the head chef about a job in the back of the house. Something in the kitchen. She’d have been satisfied with kitchen assistant and willing to work her way up to line cook and, if she held her breath, sous chef. All she wanted was a chance. But every time she knocked on those doors, they slammed in her face.You’re a good server, Alejandro would say.Stick to what you know.
“Olivia?”
Her zoned-out gaze refocused. Right. Adam. Food truck. Now wasn’t the time to drift off to la-la land. Carpe diem and all that. She swallowed hard against nerves and locked her knees. “As evidenced by the crowds today and those of the past week, you need—”An employee. Help. A partner.“Me.”
The side of his lip twitched. “I need you?”
That’s not what I meant.Olivia groaned in her mind. No backing down now though. If she backpedaled, she’d lose whatever ground she held and seem not as in control and confident as someone in the kitchen needed to be. Even with her limited time behind the closed doors of the kitchen as she’d entered and exited to pick up food headed toward hungry guests, she knew one thing. A cook who crumpled under pressure, who couldn’t stand the heat, quickly found herself without a job.
“Yes, you need me.” She pinched the seams of her pants that ran along the outside of her thigh, reminding herself not to show her antsiness, her need for perpetual motion. “You’re practically in the weeds the moment you prop up your window for business.”
His brows dipped over his eyes. “In the weeds?”
A chef who didn’t speak the language? Interesting, but not enough to pull her off course. “You know, falling behind in serving the customers. Not able to catch up.”
“Right. The weeds. I seem to live there, don’t I?”
Yes, but she wouldn’t insult him. “Your food is great, and the word is going to spread. Lines are only going to get longer, but if you can’t meet the demand, you’re going to lose business.”
“Which is where you come in.”
She let her legs unlock as her face relaxed. The door was opening, not slamming and locking in her face. “Exactly. I can run ahead and take orders. Help with expediting.” Dare she push it? “Maybe even assist in the kitchen with prep work or anything else you need done.” Maybe even add her own items to the menu. People other than her friends and family tasting her creations. But she’d bide her time. He needed to hire her first.
He rubbed his palm against his jaw, and she held her breath. She’d take consideration over a flat-out no. “I can give you references if you need them, but I promise I’m a hard worker. Always punctual. You can depend on me—I swear.”
If that didn’t reek of desperation, she didn’t know what did. What happened to the confident facade she’d had going?
“It’s not that. Here, hold on.” He moved toward the fridge and pulled out the pitcher of tea. Lifting two paper cups from their stack, he nodded to the side entrance of the truck. “I need to get out of this box. Can we talk over there by the picnic table?”
