“You can’t go over there.” I lay a hand on her arm. “Don’t be a stalker.”
She applies her lipstick and runs her fingers through her hair, ignoring me.
“Erin, let the man work.” Sin tries for understanding. “We can admire him from afar.”
Several leave their tables—partners, family, and dates be damned—and are lining up around the kitchen counter. The hostess approaches the mob, directing them to stand at the order window. The design is deliberate. The counter isn’t for orders; it’s for the gaggles ogling and attempting to harass the chef.
“Shit.” A hard glint flashes in Erin’s eye, already sizing up the competition. “Let’s wait till it dies down.”
Sin and I nod in agreement, diving back into our divine meals. Though in my mind, there’s nous. I’m not going over there. Not a chance in hell.
No surprise, the lineup neither dwindles nor dies. No sooner do they return to their tables than new ones join the line. It’s amusing to see some of them shamelessly flirting and lingering well after the chef has said hello or given an autograph.
At one point, the hostess interrupts, pulling the chef away from the groupies to talk to him. Her back is to the dinersand he is front and center.
Holy moly.
During their conversation, his gaze sweeps across the room, passing over our table. Our eyes connect for a heartbeat, maybe two. A sudden, intense flutter spreads out from the center of my chest.
Then it’s over. He moves on.
Relieved, my lungs start to function again, and I drink in every detail of his beautiful visage. I’m not a religious person, but I could worship his face. I’m so engrossed in my greedy perusal, I don’t notice when, a beat later, his roving eyes swing back to me.
Our gazes lock once more and my breath hitches, palms becoming clammy. All noise, movement, even the air comes to astandstill. His full lips twitch, sliding into a subtle grin, widening to a bright smile complete with two panty-melting dimples.
Heat rises from deep within me, multiplying like wildfire, and my heart threatens to pound right out of my chest.
Just as quickly, our bond is broken once more when the hostess leans in to say something. He abruptly reverts to her with a curt nod and turns his back to the room.
What just happened? I’m bereft and force myself to look anywhere but at the kitchen. At him.
This is silly. He’s young, and here I am, getting worked up over a glance. Maybe I’ve gone too long without sex.
Erin scrutinizes me. Sin does too, although hers is more with an amused expression. They were watching. Terrific.
Refusing to acknowledge a thing, I dig into my unfinished meal, although I fail to keep my eyes on my plate. I find myself glancing in his direction repeatedly and sometimes, our eyes even meet. When they do, he pulls a full shit-eating grin, dimples and all, as if to say he caught me red-handed. In each instance, I’m inevitably the first to waver and turn away.
Through this all, his adoring fans continue to line up, and though I’m unable to hear what he says to them, he appears polite and adorably friendly, but nothing else.
“That’s it, I’m going. I have to meet him. Who knows? Maybe I’ll tempt him with my own delights.” Erin waggles her brows suggestively.
“You should go too.” Sin points her fork at me. “I saw the way he was checking you out and the looks you were giving him.”
“I think the wine is messing with your eyesight.” I snort.
She grins. “You’re allowed to enjoy the attention. You’re not dead.”
I glare at her, but the truth hits a nerve.
When was the last time I felt…noticed? Desired?
It’s easily been more than a decade. And with the separation, I’ve buried myself in work and trying to hold it all together—for Cassidy Designs, for Drew and Paige. For myself.
I haven’t let myself fantasize about anything remotely sexual. Let alone entertained the possibility of something real, if even a fun, flirty, fling.
Despite all that, I stand. “I’m going to the restroom.”
I don’t wait for a reply, needing a break from Erin’s theatrics and Sin’s all-too-perceptive gaze.
