I rolled my eyes at the obvious heroworship Wyatt still had for Killian. “All right, all right. I’ll be picky too.”
“I appreciate that.”
Wyatt went back to work and I walkedover to the spread he’d laid out on the counter. Different entrees on varying plates,bowls and platters covered the stainless-steel countertop. Everything wascooked to perfection and visually appealing. Wyatt had taken a menu and turnedit into a stunning piece of art.
I loved to paint and draw. I mean,really loved it. My favorite thing in the world was to take a blank canvas andbring it to life, to make it something more than it was. I saw the world invibrant colors and interesting angles. I saw people in expressions I wanted tomake immortal, and poses that could be painted. I wasn’t an artist, not really.But creating something with my hands gave me a deep sense of purpose andmeaning.
That was how I felt about Wyatt’sfood. And Killian’s and Vera’s, and all of these friends of mine in the foodindustry. They didn’t just cook something. They created something—somethinginspiring and lasting. They didn’t just add spices; they built flavor profilesthat would never be forgotten. They didn’t just throw together ingredients;they painstakingly crafted the most perfect dining experience possible. Eachdish possessed the perfect bite.
They were artists. And I respectedthem deeply for what they did.
I picked up a skewer with a hunk ofmeat, a roasted tomato, and slice of cucumber drizzled in a white sauce thatseemed familiar. Shoving the entire thing into my mouth, I moaned into my hand.“Is thisthesauce?” I asked aroundthe too-big bite.
“Yeah,” Wyatt called over hisshoulder, knowing what I was talking about without having to look.
“These for sure then.” I moved on tomini wedge salads with bacon and blue cheese crumbles, and fresh mozzarellaballs wrapped in prosciutto and basil with a tomato puree for dipping. Therewere meatloaf meatballs, and buffalo chicken smothered French fries. There wereeven house made sausages wrapped in some crispy dough and sliced to bite-size thatbasically tasted likemore please.
I stared at the spread again,shocked and overjoyed and near tears. “Oh, my gosh, did you make all of herdishes?”
Wyatt sounded distracted when heanswered, “The ones I could remember. I did some of Killian’s too.” He glancedat me over his shoulder. “With my own spin of course.”
“Wyatt, this is amazing. And so muchmore than I was hoping for. You’re a genius!”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Are you kidding? They’re going tolove everything. Every single thing.”
He ignored my compliments. “So howmany people are you thinking?”
“I’m not sure. Vera only has liketen people on her side. Killian is the popular one.”
Wyatt’s staff laughed like I’d tolda joke. But it was the truth. Maybe Vera was a generally more pleasant personthan Killian, but she’d never had a wide circle of friends. And I was prettymuch her only remaining friend since Derrek had spent so much time isolatingher. For as grizzly as Killian could be, he knew a ton of people. Sure, most ofthem were in his industry, but they were still the kind of acquaintances thatgot invites to an engagement party.
Wyatt laughed at one of the jokesanother chef made about Killian’s popularity and how the only reason he had somany friends was because they were too scared of him to decline. Then he said, “Well,let me know when you have a final number so I can shop for enough ingredients.”
I picked up a tiny dessert cup.Yum!Chocolate mousse.“I sent out like fifty invitations to Killian’s people. Do you think they’llall come?”
Wyatt’s head bobbled back and forthas he thought about it. “I’ll plan for that many. Someone will take homeleftovers.”
I licked the remaining chocolate offmy lips. “I volunteer as tribute. Also, when you’re done grocery shopping letme know what the total is and I’ll pay you back.”
He waved me off. “Don’t worry aboutit.”
This wasn’t the first time we’d hadthis conversation. He had decided to be obnoxiously stubborn. “Seriously,Wyatt, you’re already making the food. At least let me pay for it.”
“Not happening,” he murmured.
“I’m paying you anyway. Even if Ihave to guess the total.”
Wyatt turned around, his eyestwinkling and a grin pulling at his lips. “What’s your guess?”
“My guess?”
“Guess the total.”
I looked at the food on the counterand calculated it times fifty and then considered my own personal grocery bill.“One hundred dollars.” The kitchen staff laughed again. “Uh, two hundreddollars?” They kept laughing. “Ten thousand dollars!” I really hoped notbecause I would need to hit up those paycheck advance places if that was thecase.
Four more dishes passed Wyatt’sinspection and then left the kitchen in a flurry of waiters dressed in black andswinging doors. “How are you going to get them here and keep it a secret?”
