God, he’s handing me banter on a silver plate, but I still can’t bring myself to engage with him. Then I remember what Ashton said about getting quotes from the chefs. I haven’t been able to get any so far. They were all busy with the lunch rush. Now I have a chef right in front of me.
“Can I quote you on that?” I ask as I take a bite of the burger. Instantly, I’m hit with the umami flavor of beef. The combination of cheese, pickles, and Thousand Island dressing creates the perfect amount of salt, fat, and acid, easily complementing the crunch of the griddled patties. I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips, but I sure as fuck regret the second it happens. Craig’s eyes flick to my mouth where I’m sure there is all kinds of burger debris. I quickly grab my napkin before he can do or say anything about it.
Wiping away the sauce and cheese from my mouth, I swallow the last bit of the burger and take another sip of wine.
“Sure,” he replies, his eyes still fixed on my mouth.
“Thanks. This is…” I swallow again. “It’s honestly one of the best smash burgers I’ve ever had.”
“Only one of?” he asks, clearly fishing for even more praise.
Another polite laugh.
I take one more bite, just for good measure, and then jot down the rest of my notes on taste and flavors. Craig looks like he’s going to say something—most likely something I don’t wantto hear—but luckily the waiter comes over to ask how everything is. Craig shoots him a look that could melt iron, and the guy starts to shuffle away, but I call him back.
“Everything is great, but I’m afraid I can’t finish all this. Would you mind boxing it up for me?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” I look back at Craig, who is all smiles again. It doesn’t escape me how quickly he was able to flip that switch. Even despite that, it would be so easy to go home with him tonight. To use his body as an escape. To let him use mine. On paper, he’s my exact type—tall, assertive, muscular. But something about him rubs me the wrong way.
I learned early on to trust my instincts. It’s something I have always wondered if my mom had done. Did she ignore the red flags? Or did she simply not see them? I may not be into long-term relationships, or short-term ones for that matter, but I always vet my sexual partners. If I have even the slightest hesitation about a man, I don’t sleep with him. I wish I could say it’s always been that way, but I’ve certainly fucked my fair share of douchebags before adopting this philosophy.
So when Craig leans in closer and makes a gesture to swipe the check that the waiter just set on the table, I quickly throw my credit card on it and hold it out to a different waiter nearby, who looks momentarily surprised but takes it nonetheless.
“Well, this has been nice, but I really should get going. I’m sure you have to get back to the kitchen as well,” I say to an equally shocked Craig. I stand up and gather my things. He’s still looking around like he’s not quite sure how everything transpired so quickly. The waiter comes back with my check, and I sign the receipt, making sure to leave a generous tip. “See you around,” I say as I push in my chair and walk around the table toward the entrance of the restaurant.
“Wait,” Craig calls after me.Dammit. Too slow.
I huff but turn around all the same. He reaches out and grabsmy forearm. I look at his hand. He looks at it. We both stare at it for what feels like hours before I move backward, and it falls to his side.
“I’d love to take you out sometime.” He clears his throat. “You know, on a real date when I’m not working. I’d need your number for that, though.”
He flashes that cocky smile again, having recovered from the embarrassment of my rejection in record time.
I blink. “Oh, um.”C’mon, Allie. Think of something.
Fortunately, a flustered-looking woman chooses that exact moment to come running out from the kitchen and whisper something in Craig’s ear. His eyebrows rise in alarm, and he curses.
“Shit, I gotta run,” he says before he follows her back into the kitchen.
Well, that was divine intervention at its finest.
I fly out of there as fast as my heels will take me, not daring to look back.
The meat hangoverthat ensues the next morning is catastrophic. I feel like I’ve eaten my weight in ground beef and quite honestly, I don’t ever want to see a patty of any kind for at least a month. Unfortunately, I still have one more burger to taste and it requires that I drive all the way out to the Baybridge Inn. It’s this super fancy boutique hotel in the town on the other side of Emberfield. Baybridge is one of the wealthiest towns in Connecticut, and I typically have no business going over there, but I have been to the inn’s restaurant on a few dates. Usually with finance bros from New York who want to impress me. I’m not impressed by wealth, but I can’t complain too much. The inn’s restaurant is pretty damn good.
Skylar told me that this is the first year that they have enteredthe Burger Week competition. Previously, they couldn’t be bothered to stoop to the level of burgers and silly newspaper competitions, but apparently, the new GM thought it would be good publicity. With deadlines fast approaching for the week, Skylar isn’t able to make the forty-five-minute ride to the inn, so it’s all on me. At least it will be another few hours without having to deal with Mr. Sunshine-From-Hell.
Ashton texted me last night after my run-in with Craig to see how burger research went. When I didn’t answer right away, he texted again. His texts got increasingly manic, and I almost felt bad until I remembered how he not only berated me in front of Skylar but then had the nerve to throw Space Buns in my face, saying howsheis capable of doing her job and insinuating I’m not. Fuck him. And fuck her. They can have each other. I hope she asks him out and has fun with his micro dick.
Except it’s anything but micro. Not that I’ve seen it up close or anything, but straining against his suit pants while he…no, I’m not thinking about that night.
I look over at the clock. It’s almost nine. The inn doesn’t open for lunch until noon. I should go into the office first to work on my article, but I can easily do that from home before I head out. I quickly get dressed, throw on some sheer makeup, and shoot off a text letting Ashton know that I’ll be working from home before heading to Baybridge. He responds immediately.
Ashton: So you are still alive. Thought maybe you finally pissed off the wrong person and your murderer was reading your texts without replying.
Nope, still here. And I don’t have read receipts turned on, but nice try.
