“Anyway,” I continued offhandedly.“He’s already forgotten about me. And I plan to do the same. If I startworrying about him andLilou, I’ll forget why I’mhere and what I’m trying to do.”
“And what is that, Vere?”
I hated the concern in her voice.She was being lovely and a good friend, but the only thing I heard was my resoundingfailure. Her worry reminded me of where I was, where I’d put myself and whythis converted Airstream was now the closest thing I had to redemption.
“Comfort food.” I chose to be obtuseeven though I knew what she was asking. “I’m trying to make fancy comfortfood.”
I felt Molly’s eyes on the back ofmy head, but I refused to turn around, opting to do more prepping even thoughwe hadn’t had a customer in twenty minutes.
“Not every guy is him,” she whispered.
I immediately knew she was nottalking about Killian Quinn. I turned around, unable to back down from thisfight, but stubbornly steering it in a different direction. “The big ones are.Every top chef I’ve met is just like him. Arrogant. Pretentious. Snobby.They’re all intolerable.”
“Him who?” Molly asked gently.“Killian Quinn? Or Derrek?”
Bitter fear coated my tongue andslid down my throat, making me feel queasy and unstable. I hated his name,hated the memories that imprisoned me and the threat I felt behind them. Still,I answered, “Both.”
Her tone became scolding, and herface pinched with equal parts concern and reproach. “Don’t lump them together. Noone is like Derrek.”
“That’s true.” Hot tears pricked thebacks of my eyes and my nose stung as I forced them back, down into the deeppit of my repressed emotions and fears that were too scary to face. “He’sdefinitely one of a kind.” I glanced back at Molly, not even trying to hide theraw feeling scraping through me. “Or at least according toGastronomica.”
She rolled her eyes. “Hacks! They’reall hacks. Which is why your transition to a food truck is so genius. You’llshow them.”
And by them she meanthim.
God, I hoped she was right.
“He’s cute, though.”
I whipped around, knife stillclutched in my hand. “What?”
“Killian Quinn,” she said quickly,carefully.
My knuckles were stretched, bleachedwhite with the tightness of my grip. Realizing my reaction was more than overthe top, I tried to shrug casually. I was jittery from our conversation,exposed and itchy in my own skin. I said the first insult that popped into myhead. “That beard is gross.”
She turned to look atLilouacross the plaza. “That beard isnotgross. You’re a bad liar.”
“I’ll introduce you two,” I teased.“I think he really respects my opinion.”
Her laugh eased me back into normalhead space, and I sucked in a deep, steadying breath.
“Not for me, silly. He’s not mytype.”
“You have a type?”
She ignored me. “You don’t thinkhe’s hot?”
I stared down at the potatoes I’dstarted to dice into itty bitty pieces that couldn’t be used for anything. I decidedto tell her that he’s too obnoxious to be hot, but that was just another lie.And when I moved back home, I promised Molly I would always be honest with her.No more secrets between us.
No more dangerous half-truths.
No more lies. Period.
“Sure, he’s hot,” I reluctantly confessed.“In a purely obvious way. He’s like the kind of glossy hot that looks good inmagazines. Except when you meet him in real life, and he starts talking, heloses all of that necessary airbrushing.”
“So, you’re saying you wouldn’t datehim?”
“Date him?” I laughed. “Hardly. Andnot just because I’ve sworn off men for the rest of all eternity. He’s too…He’s too familiar. I don’t want a guy like Killian Quinn. I want the exactopposite of him.”
