Her throat moves as she swallows. “I’m glad you opened Rye Again. It’s really good.”
“Is that your official review?” The teasing comes naturally, surprising me. “It’s really good?”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s amusement there. “My editor would have a stroke if I turned that in.”
I lace my fingers together on the table. “I don’t know if you read this... but not long after your review of Street Cucina came out, a rival paper asked me to write an op-ed about food reviewers...”
Her breath catches audibly. “Yeah. I read it. It was... fair.”
I stare at her, certain she must be joking. That op-ed was pure vitriol, all my rage over Street Cucina’s death channeled into those pages. I tore food reviewers apart, claiming that they operate as a big brother of sorts, gate keepers who are often failed or wannabe chefs themselves.
“I wanted to hurt you the way you had hurt me.” The words come out flat, honest. “You and the rest of your kind.”
Something flickers across her face—hurt, maybe—before she composes herself. “Noah...”
My hand curls into a fist on the table.
If she’s about to apologize, I don’t want to hear it. Mostly because an apology would make it hard to dislike her, and I need to dislike her. If I don’t then the growing attraction will become even harder to ignore.
“Hey, Noah.” Lawrence’s timing is perfect, his head poking out from the kitchen. “Something is up with one of the ovens. Can you come take a look at it?”
I swallow a sigh. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Alexis.
The kitchen doors swing closed behind me with a soft whoosh. “Which oven?”
“None of them.” Lawrence continues polishing glassware. “You looked like you could use a breather.”
“What? No. I was fine.”
“Eh. It didn’t look that way.” He sets one gleaming glass on the shelf and picks up another.
The sigh escapes this time. He’s right, of course. Talking to Alexis has me wound tighter than piano wire. I was pretty close to taking some low blows if he hadn’t stopped me.
If I haven’t already. Fuck.
She’s acting like a professional, wanting to make this book thing work between us regardless of our past. I need to stop licking my wounds and do the same.
“Thank you, man.” I clap him on the back. “Guess I did need a breath.”
“Anytime.”
Lawrence has been a godsend. More than just the best manager I could ask for, he’s become a real friend.
“What’s got you twisted up?” He sets down his polishing cloth.
I rub the back of my neck. “All of it. I need to stop whining, though, and just focus on the book. Forget about that ridiculous review.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t malicious.”
“No,” I admit. “It wasn’t. It was honest too... I just hate food reviewers all around. They don’t care that no one is perfect. They’re just looking for restaurants to tear down.”
His eyes narrow thoughtfully. “Are you sure that’s Alexis? From the sound of it, she was just doing her job. She tasted the bombolini and wrote an honest review.”
“Yeah... But the whole culture of food review is messed up. She could have talked to me about the dough. Gotten my side of the story.”
He lets out a bark of laughter. “And you would have willingly admitted to using store-bought dough? To a food reviewer?”
I cringe. Shit. He’s got me there.
