Owen shrugged. “Ez needed help. I’m happy to offer my palate.”
I looked at Ezra, who smiled blandly. “Then why am I here?”
“I needed both of you,” he said.
I held back a snort. The guy was good, I’d give him that. There was no way this wasn’t payback for forcing him and Brie to work together on this event. Truthfully, if anyone should be here helping him make these decisions, it would be her, not me.
But I digress. With Owen’s warmth seeping into my side despite the few feet between us, his heavenly male scent combining with the various dishes Ezra had in the works, wrapping me in a warm, comfortable blanket, I wasn’t going to complain.
“So what’s first?” I asked.
“The first course is appetizers, and I’m planning on offering three of them so there’s a bit of a selection. I was thinking pumpkin deviled eggs, stuffed mushrooms, and bacon wrapped Brussels sprouts.”
Owen groaned next to me, low and long. The sound shot straight between my thighs, settling there like a pulse. Hell, if I was going to have to put up with that the entire time we were here? I wasn’t sure I’d survive.
“And what were you thinking for the wine?”
Ezra moved around to the side of the island, where several bottles of CD wines were grouped together, shuffling things around until he came away with a bottle of bubbly.
“Prosecco,” he said, holding it out to me. I accepted it and poured Owen and myself each a small glass.
A moment later, Ezra settled a long, narrow plate in front of each of us, each topped with an egg, mushroom, and Brussels sprout.
“So, before you take a bite and are like, ‘what the fuck, Ez,’ the deviled eggs aren’t actually made with any pumpkin. They’re justmade tolooklike a pumpkin in the way I piped the yolk mixture, darkened it with a few drops of food coloring, and added that little piece of chive to look like a stem.”
With a flourish of his hand, he instructed us to proceed, and I didn’t need to be told twice. Deviled eggs were one of my favorite appetizers. Normally I’d stuff the entire thing in my mouth in one go, but I wanted to savor this. As I bit off about a third, flavors exploded on my tongue. The bright, tangy yolk, mayonnaise, and Dijon mixture. The slight bite of the paprika. The smooth texture of the egg white with the creaminess of the yolk—it was divine.
Owen once again made that noise in the back of his throat, and I glanced over to find his entire egg gone, his cheeks bulging. Once he’d chewed and swallowed, he said, “Fucking hell, Ez. Are you sure I can’t convince you to come work for me?”
Ezra cut me an apologetic glance, as though it mattered to me whether he stayed at CD or went to work at Birdie’s. “I’m happy here,” he said.
“Job is yours whenever you want it,” Owen said, turning his attention to me. “No offense.”
“None taken,” I said, chuckling softly at the glob of egg yolk mixture that had settled on the corner of his mouth. Before I could stop myself, I reached up and brushed it away, my thumb snagging his soft, plump lower lip to the side. And without thinking, I popped my thumb into my mouth, sucking it clean.
“You missed some.”
Owen didn’t react, only stared at me for several long heartbeats before dropping his eyes back to his plate, suddenly engrossed in the next appetizer offering.
Naturally, the mushroom and Brussels sprout were equally as delicious as the egg, and I told Ezra so, agreeing the Prosecco was the perfect pairing for all three—something light and effervescent to complement the heavier foods.
Even as we continued to eat, panic coursed through me over what I’d done. I’d crossed so many lines, touching Owen like that, and the way he refused to look at me indicated I’d made him uncomfortable—something I’d never forgive myself for. Why hadn’t I kept my hands to myself? What was it about this man that had me ignoring all the red flags begging me to turn back?
Owen himself wasn’t a red flag. In fact, as far as men went, he was the biggestgreenflag I’d ever seen. Everything about him urged me to pass GO, to collect that two hundred dollars.
But that wasn’t our relationship, and Owen wasn’t a prize I could take for myself. Eventually, he would belong to someone else. I had to content myself with being nothing more than his business partner and friend.
“Next,” Ezra said, returning my attention to the task at hand, “we have butternut squash soup. The squashes are sourced locally, which is something that’s very important to me, as you know,” he added to me. “I’m trying to use local ingredients wherever possible, but I’m also trying to keep recipes relatively simple. I want to show the great citizens of Apple Blossom Bay that creating beautiful, delicious, restaurant-quality food doesn’t have to be difficult or expensive.”
I nodded, completely on board with that plan.
My family was an outlier on the peninsula. The people of this area were firmly middle class. They worked hard for their money and lived comfortably if modestly. The fact that Ezra—a relative newcomer to the area and someone I knew was well-off thanks to the behemoth salary he’d received at his previous job—recognized this and wanted to make these dishes accessible warmed my heart.
“How much are you selling tickets for?” Owen asked.
“Fifty bucks,” Ezra said. I already knew this, but the amount was still staggeringly low—the wine alone would eat up a sizable chunk of any budget had the winery not been donating all of it.
“I’d like to match however much you make,” Owen said.
