He laughs, opening one side of a set of black double doors with his back, letting me walk in first.
But as I do, the kitchen goes silent. Only the sound of the doors swinging closed can be heard as I come to stand next to Chase.
Well, this is awkward.There are too many sets of eyes on us and quiet swallows of wine happening along the family-style table.
I tug the sleeves of my sweatshirt over my hands while lifting my face to Chase’s.
Without any form or formality, he says, “Fellas—Evie. Evie—fellas.”
I give him an empty laugh before I turn my face back to theirs, raising a hand and waving hi. But I immediately start laughing because, like an explosion, cheers erupt, along with whistles, before suddenly everyone’s up on their feet, coming to greet me.
What is happening?
Chase steps away, throwing me to the adorable wolves as I’m pulled into handshakes and hugs. So many people are introducing themselves and kissing me on both cheeks. And although I’m good with names, it’s a little overwhelming ... but in the best way.
I find his eyes, watching him watch me before he walks to the other side of the table smirking. Maybe because I’m asked a slew of questions that sound more like statements.
“Have the lamb ... Do you love lamb? Have the lamb.” ... “Red wine ... not white. Yes?” ... “Why it take you so long to finally come here? It was too long.”
The last question is said with an accent. Chase’s voice interjects casually, “Lasciatela stare. È qui ora.”(Leave her alone. She’s here now.)
Hot.Wait, was that Italian?
Because his friends are what I imagine a bunch of Italian grandmas would be like. The man who spoke last laughs, waving his hands in the air before giving me a wink.
This is wild. Oh my god.
Out of nowhere, a chair is produced, and a plate of food appears. One of the guys, who introduces himself as Felix, whips a napkin in his hand, dusting off the seat, before another someone takes my hand and I’m seated, the aforementioned napkin placed in my lap.
I laugh and say thank you, but I barely get it out before a glass of wine is poured and placed in front of me, with too many voices saying, “Eat, eat.”
Chase stands at the other end of the table, handing the wine bottles off one by one while staring at me. I smile as a cork pops and his glass is filled.
He lifts it, quieting the table. “This has been a helluva journey. It’s been blood, sweat, and tears—”
“Most of them from Gage,” someone jokes, and they all laugh.
Who’s Gage?I have no idea, but I laugh too.
But Chase just smiles. “Here’s to our first supper ... and to all the people who understand that food is more than restaurants and money—”
“But we like that too,” another guy bellows to more hoots and hollers.
Chase raises his glass higher. “It’s about old friends”—he looks at me—“and new ones. But most importantly, it’s about family.”
Everyone raises their glasses high, cheering, but I’m silent because Chase Beckett is really starting to get under my skin. And not in the way I’m used to.
Maybe real friends aren’t the worst idea after all.
The night moves slowly, but it’s still over too fast.
God, I wish I had two stomachs. We dined on the whole menu.
It was a final tasting, and damn, was it tasty.
Between the caviar-topped scallops and the poached cod in the most insane orange sauce that felt like I was eating a creamsicle, I was in heaven. But the pièce de résistance was slices of wagyu with potatoes that are three hundred dollars a pound called la bonnotte.
I’m ruined for life. He’s literally made it impossible for me to put anything in my mouth other than him ...
