Her hands stilled. “Why would you say that?”
“Dinner with candles and music goes hand-in-hand with romance.”
Tonya scrunched up her nose. “Sorry to burst your bubble, there will be no romance tonight. I usually light scented candles to mask cooking aromas, and listening to music always relaxes me.” She patted his shoulder again. “If you’re looking for romance, then you should join an online dating site. I know a few guys who met their future wives like that.”
Gage was unable to form a reply as he replayed her suggestion. “Do you really think I need to go online to find romance?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Well, I don’t. Would you go online to find someone?” he asked her.
Tonya shook her head. “No. I don’t like the idea of someone hiding behind a much too perfect to be true profile, and then when I get to meet them in person I’m ready to run in the opposite direction.”
He angled his head, meeting eyes that reminded him of pools of dark, rich coffee. “At least we can agree on that.”
A hint of a smile played at the corners of Tonya’s mouth. “I’m willing to bet we will agree on a lot of things. After all, we’re both chefs.”
“True.” Gage nodded. “I can’t believe you’d want to cook when you’ve spent most of the day on your feet.”
Tonya went still. “I like cooking for others, but I love cooking for myself.”
“Is there anything I can help you with?”
A beat passed. “Would you mind standing in as my sous chef?”
Gage bowed gracefully from the waist. “I’d be honored, Madame Chef. What’s on the menu?”
“Asian shrimp cakes with avocado-wasabi sauce, a mixed citrus salad with red onions and escarole, and hazelnut gelato for dessert. I’m going to give you an apron so you don’t stain your clothes.” Tonya opened a narrow closet and took out two bibbed aprons, handing one to Gage.
“Did you make the gelato?” he asked, as he slipped the apron over his head.
“No. Hannah knows how much I like gelato, so she bought some for me. I’ll be right back, so don’t run away,” she teased.
He watched her leave the kitchen, and seconds later the house was filled with the melodious voice of Sade singing “The Sweetest Taboo.” Gage wanted to tell Tonya that he couldn’t run away even if he wanted to. There was something about her that so intrigued him that he wanted to know what had happened in her life to make her who she was today. She had more than her share of confidence—a trait she needed in order to become successful in what was still a man’s profession. And in addition to confidence, she projected an air of independence, like a badge of courage.
He washed the fruit and then emptied the bag of shrimp into a bowl of cold water while he waited for Tonya to return to the kitchen. Opening and closing drawers and cabinets, he selected knives, spoons, plates, a grater, bowls, and measuring spoons. Then he examined the inside of the refrigerator and discovered it was fully stocked. All of the ingredients needed to make the shrimp cakes were stacked on a plate when Tonya returned dressed in a pair of gray sweatpants and an oversize white tee. The baggy attire concealed her curves.
“What do you want me to begin with?” he asked her.
“I’d like you to please peel, devein, and finely chop the shrimp, and then toast two tablespoons of sesame seeds.” She opened a cabinet and took out a bottle of sesame oil. “I found a Vietnamese vendor at the market who has an extensive inventory of Asian products. He stocks wasabi rhizomes, powder, and paste, and many other things I need for my Asian-inspired selections.” Tonya handed him a cutting board after he cleaned and patted the shrimp dry with a paper towel.
Gage finely chopped the shrimp and placed them in a mixing bowl. “Are you planning to offer the same tapas every night?”
“No. Other than the more popular local dishes on the menu, I want to offer special tapas every night. Tuesdays will be Spanish and/or Caribbean-inspired dishes. Soul food Wednesdays, barbecue Thursdays, fish Fridays, and Asian Saturdays.”
He gave her a quick glance. “What about Sunday and Monday?”
“I plan to close on those days.”
Gage silently applauded her. Preparing breakfast for the inn’s guests seven days a week and serving dinner guests at the supper club for five was certain to be exhausting, even with a fully staffed kitchen. “If you want to operate a supper club, then should I assume you’ll provide some type of music?”
Tonya nodded. “I’ll offer prerecorded music Tuesday through Thursday, and a small combo playing live music on Fridays and Saturdays.”
“I like what you’ve come up with.”
Tonya halved an avocado and scooped out the fruit with a tablespoon. “You do?”
Gage stared down at her staring up at him. “Of course I do. Why would you believe otherwise?”
