“Says the better one?” I folded my arms.
“I deserve that.”
“I know. That’s why I said it. Now if you’ll let me go, I have to figure out how to cookandserve the customers.”
Frisco unbuttoned his shirtsleeves and rolled them up, baring his olive-skinned muscular forearms. “I can help.”
The image of an elegant Frisco toting plates had me laughing even through my panicked state. “Nah, I can’t have you serve. I’ll figure it out.”
“Don’t be an ass. I…I can cook.”
“We don’t serve omelets.”
He rolled his eyes and popped me on the nose, then ran his finger gently down my jaw to rest under my chin. “I’m aware.”
Did he justboopme?
“Frisco.”
“Torre.” The momentary grin faded and he sobered. “I promise, it’ll be okay.” He squeezed my arm, and before I could take a breath, brushed his lips over mine. “Take me to the kitchen.”
The truth was, I had no choice. I had to put my trust and faith in a man I didn’t know.
“Follow me.”
I walked him into the kitchen and watched his intent gaze scan the chaotic scene. Poor Luis, the only cook left, was stirring sauce, sautéing chicken in a pan, and checking whatever was in the oven. Wild didn’t begin to describe his appearance.
“Luis, I’ve brought you some help.”
He crossed himself and threw us a futile attempt at a grin that failed spectacularly.
“You’ll have to bring him up to speed—”
“Torre, get out there and start taking orders and serving drinks. Luis and I have it under control.” Two long strides brought him to the cook’s side, and my mouth hung open when he grabbed an apron, put it over his dress shirt, picked up a knife, and began to chop an onion effortlessly. Perfectly.
Professionally.
“What the—”
“Go, shoo. Get out there and be useful.” Frisco brandished his knife, and with a flourish, returned to chopping. He drew the spices and herbs toward him and began to issue directives to Luis, who listened, nodding his head rapidly, a relieved smile spreading over his face. Luis laid out the pounded chicken cutlets, and Frisco started to season them.
“Torre.” The door flew open, and Ricky, Val’s cousin, burst into the kitchen. “Who’s taking the orders? People are beginning to look pissed out there.”
With one final glance over my shoulder at Frisco and Luis, whose heads were bent together over the stove and skillets, I sent up a prayer to whoever was listening and followed Ricky to the dining room.
* * *
Three hours later, I closed the door after the last customer walked out, and collapsed onto a chair at the nearest table. “Jesus Christ. I’ve never been so terrified and exhausted in my entire life.”
Laughing together, Frisco and Luis came out of the kitchen, and I couldn’t help noticing how bright-eyed and lively Frisco looked. Even sweaty from the heat of the kitchen, with his hair caught in a net and the dirty apron covering him, I wanted to jump him. I didn’t know whether to be angry with myself or enjoy being close to him.
“Have you heard from Mike?” Ricky asked.
I checked my phone. “It took them two hours to be seen, but yeah. Jasper needed ten stitches, and he said the knife missed the tendon by less than half an inch. He’ll be out at least a week, though. Mike’s on his way here now.”
Frisco pulled his hairnet off and sat next to me. He stretched out his long legs and rolled his shoulders, groaning. “Good thing Mike could take him right away.”
Luis stuck out his hand. “Frisco, you saved our asses, man. And thanks for all those tips. I’m gonna try them out.”
