“Are you kidding? I’m irritated, notcrazy!”
She waggled her eyebrows at me, andwe dove in. I tried to explain the dishes to her so she knew what she waseating, but she didn’t care about the individual components of each plate. Shejust wanted to eat in peace.
So, I let her. Meanwhile, Idissected every single thing in front of me, studying it, examining it…enjoying it. Killian wasn’t just a good chef, he was a phenomenal one. Icouldn’t help but picture those strong fingers of his, carefully crafting eachdish, putting it together with all that dynamic focus, refusing to let even onepeppercorn fall out of place.
The meal wasn’t simply sustenance.It wasn’t even as simple as a memorable experience. This was a work of art, themasterpiece in front of me reaching all five senses and even further than that,down into my soul where I would remember this meal for the rest of my life.
Everything was perfectly cooked,perfectly crispy, perfectly moist, perfectly whatever it needed to be to makethe flavors explode in my mouth and burrow deep down in my bones. Braisedrabbit legs, creamy truffle risotto, slow-cooked bone-in duck breast with figsauce, succulent filet with duck fat fries, golden trout with leeks andpineapple and heirloom tomatoes.
This wasn’t just a meal, it was areligious experience. I would never be the same after this, unequivocallyaltered by the sheer genius of each bite.
I tried to ignore the warmth bloominginside my chest. Killian wasn’t trying to rub his food in my face; he had givenme a gift. Only I didn’t understand why.
When we were halfway through ourmeal, the table looked more like a massacre than an elegant evening out. Atingle of awareness prickled the back of my neck. I suppressed the urge to run.I wouldn’t be able to hide my admiration or trick him into believing I wasanything but completely enamored. With his food.
Only his food.
He pushed through the kitchen door,striding through the dining room with domineering steps. His gaze went straightto our table. Straight to me. His mouth was all but hidden behind his fullbeard, but there was a satisfied smile sitting in his eyes. He didn’t have tosee my reaction to know how I felt.
He already knew it. Before he’d evenstepped foot outside of his kitchen.
And I just sat there staring at him,shivery and impressed and awestruck.
He owned this restaurant. Maybe notliterally, he had a boss after all. But he commanded it. He was the captain,and this was his ship.
This was his empire, and he was theking.
Patrons swiveled to watch him movethrough the narrow aisles. Everyone recognized him, if not because they alreadyknew who he was than because of his presence—because you couldn’t mistake himfor anyone besides the man in charge.
He walked directly over to us and bythe time he reached our table, my mouth was dry, and all the delicious food I’dinhaled had been turned to dust in my stomach.
I was nervous. And slightly turnedon. It was so out of place and ridiculous that I wanted to face plant in myrisotto. Instead, I pasted on a charming smile and said, “You stole my tzatzikisauce.”
His green eyes flashed withsurprise. He gestured at the half empty plates on the table. “So what are yougoing to steal from me?”
I had already decided on about ahalf dozen things, but to him I said, “I don’t need to steal anything from you.I’m good.” His gaze narrowed and I knew he didn’t believe me, but he didn’tcall me on it. “Have you met Molly?” I asked him.
“Not formally.” He turned to her.“Hi.”
She took his hand, eying him warily.“Hi.”
“Molly this is Killian. He’s thechef I keep telling you to call the cops on. The one that keeps stealing all ofmy dishes.”
He turned back to me, fire in hisgaze. “Inspired.”
“What?”
“My sauce is inspired by your cutelittle meatballs. It’s plenty different, and you know it.”
His admission of truth was such asurprise that I momentarily lost the ability to speak. When I finally found myvoice again, I said the first stupid thing that came to mind. “Where’s yourcharcuterie board?”
Killian’s eyebrows shot to hishairline. “Excuse me?”
“They’re all the rage,” I pointedout. “Doesn’tLilouwant to be on trend?”
His lip curled back in disgust. “Liloulikes to go against the grain, not with the masses.Risks get you noticed,Delane. Or were you planningon cooking chili dogs for every meal?”
Before I could argue with him,another man called his name from a short distance away. “Killian.”
