“It’s not poisoned. I promise,” a deep voice says above me.
I look up, and sure enough, Craig Holder is towering over me in his crisp white chef jacket, his dark curls held back from his face by a red checkered bandana. He crouches down like he’s about to talk to a child and slings his hand casually around the empty chair on the other side of the table.
“I’m—yeah, no, it looks amazing.”
Damn it, Allie. Get it together.
“So we meet again,” he muses, flashing his megawatt smile and gesturing to the chair on which his hand rests. “May I join you?”
“I guess.” I shift in my seat and cross my legs.
“I assume this isn’t your first burger of the day?” he asks as he slides into the chair.
“Seventh,” I admit.
He chuckles. “They forgot to tell you about Burger Week, huh?”
How does everyone in this town know about this except me?
“Yeah, something like that.”
“I can describe it to you if you want,” he offers.
“Thanks, but I’ll try it. I just…need a minute.”
“Take your time.”
His eyes bore into me and I swirl the glass of Grenache I ordered just to have something to do with my hands. The maroon liquid sloshes and forms tiny bubbles as it moves. I bring the glass up to my nose and inhale the scent of sweet red cherriesand the subtle notes of white pepper before I tip it back, savoring the velvety liquid as it slides down my throat.
“So you’re into wine, huh?” Craig asks. “That was quite the demonstration. Most people just throw it back.”
“Yeah, I save that for tequila. Wine is meant to be savored.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” he says, his eyes turning a shade darker. “You look like you know exactly how to savor…things.”
I nearly choke on the last bit of wine in my mouth as I set my glass back on the table. Damn sulfites. Normally, a comment like that would have me spewing obscenities or coming back with an equally suggestive line of my own, depending on my mood. Even though I find Craig sexy as hell, I can’t seem to muster any interest in verbally sparring with him. It wouldn’t be nearly as fun as messing with…nope, not going there. I decide to change the subject instead. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he says, not skipping a beat.
“What did you mean when you said we would be seeing more of each other if I got the food writer position?”
“Oh, I’m a guest writer forThe Lantern. I write a monthly column with cooking tips and tricks. Sometimes I throw in a recipe or two. I was actually on my way to meet with Theo to see if I could get more involved when we met in the parking lot that day.”
“Oh…that’s great,” I say as I jot down a description of the burger in my notepad.
“Are you taking notes on me?” Craig drawls, a slight seductive edge to his tone.
“No, I’m just—” I notice his sly grin. “You’re joking.”
“It’s something I do once in a while.” He leans in closer and whispers, “Just don’t tell my staff. I have to maintain my scary persona.”
I have to admit, his flirting isn’t the worst I’ve encountered, but there’s something about him that’s starting to remind me of Gaston fromBeauty and the Beast. He’s a littletoosure ofhimself. I find confidence sexy, but thinking you can get in my pants just because you’re a hot chef doesn’t sit right with me. Granted, his muscles do go on for days.
So did Gaston’s…
“Your secret’s safe with me,” I say, mostly out of obligation. “I think I’m ready to try that burger.”
He pushes the plate closer to me. “Bon appétit,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “No pressure. You’re just sitting across from the chef who slaved away for days hand-grinding local beef and getting the topping ratios just right.”
