I stand abruptly, brushing dirt off the butt of my jeans. “Good night, Beau.”
Before he can respond, I slip into the darkness, needing to put distance between us, but the lyrics still flow through my mind, as does the hum of the melody of a song I’ve listened to so many times.
But no matter how far I walk from the campfire, I can still feel his eyes on me.
Chapter Nine
Zander
I’ve been in my fair share of commercial kitchens since my music took off. Chef’s tables in every city, seven-course meals with small flowers put on with tweezers when I’d have killed for a burger and fries.
Romy says her family doesn’t know about us, and I believe her. But that doesn’t mean I’m not on edge. Because if they do find out, they’ll probably boot me off the ranch in a stampede. And I wouldn’t blame them.
Beau said her cousin Jensen wanted to go over the food with me. I’m not picky though, and I’m sure someone already passed along that I’m deathly allergic to shellfish.
When I walk into the back kitchen of The Getaway Lodge, the smell of garlic and butter hits me. It’s like stepping into heaven. Heads lift from workstations, and I get a few polite nods along with a few curious stares. It’s better than the outright gawking that sometimes happens.
I met Jensen during the cookout, but it was a brief encounter since he was running around in all different directions, making sure everything was the way he wanted.
He was dressed casually last night like the rest of us. Today, he wears a chef coat that isn’t the typical black or white, but the kind of plaid you’d find on a flannel shirt. It makes him look more like a cowboy. His shoulders are more relaxed than the other night, and he’s got a pen tucked behind one ear and a piece of paper in front of him.
His eyes lift, and he straightens. “Zander, thanks for coming.” He closes the distance with an outstretched hand. Romy’s family is so welcoming and kind. Something I don’t deserve.
I shake his hand. “The kitchen smells amazing.”
He folds his arms, glancing around as if he can’t believe it’s his. “Took a long time to build out. Now I just stand here asking myself, ‘What next?’”
I nod. “It’s like finishing an album. All that work, all those hours, and the minute it’s out, I’m sitting there wondering what to do next.”
He grins. “Except you make another one. I’m not sure I could do this again.”
“It’s just strumming strings,” I say with a smirk.
He chuckles and pats my shoulder. “Right. Easy peasy. Come on, let’s get your info down.” He leads me over to the counter, slips the pen out from behind his ear, and poises it over the paper. “So, favorites?”
“Anything but shellfish.”
Jensen gives me a look. “Beau mentioned that. How severe are we talking? Like… EpiPen or just some hives?”
“Stab me in the thigh allergic,” I deadpan.
“Got it.” He jots down no shellfish and circles it at least five times. “I’ll bold and highlight once I type this up for all my employees.”
I tap the counter. “Appreciate it. If I die, there’ll be a mob after you.”
He laughs and leans his hip against the counter. “Guess then I’d never be a Food Network star.”
“Career over. You’d be stuck here for life.”
We both laugh, then the kitchen door swings open. I glance over my shoulder and see Romy walk in. Her hair is in a high ponytail, and she’s dressed in faded jeans and a T-shirt that hugs her waist. She has a clipboard clutched in one hand.
She freezes when our eyes lock. It’s only for a second, but I catch the flicker of something before she snaps back into remembering she hates me.
“Oh,” she says. “It’s you.”
I flash her my most charming smile. “Don’t sound so excited.”
She brushes past me without a second glance. “Jensen, when you’ve got a sec, I need to talk to you about Ben and Gillian’s wedding.”
