“Lead the way, fellow foodie,” Elena said, happily leaving her receptionist’s desk behind.
They went to a nearby restaurant called Delia’s. The second Elena walked in, she knew it was exactly the sort of place she wanted someday. It was small and pretty and smelled divine. The air had a relaxed vibe the way it does in a restaurant when everyone is working in flow. That usually only happened when the manager knew exactly what she was doing. Elena could practically hear the gears turning efficiently in the kitchen, even with a full house out front.
“Do you think it’s gonna be a long wait?” she asked Lissa.
“Not for us.” She caught the maître d’s eye and he winked at her past eight other people ahead of them. He held up his hand, beckoning.
Everyone turned and looked at Elena and Lissa. The tiny woman parted the crowd like the Red Sea as she saidexcuse meover and over, and Elena followed in her wake.
“Table in the back?” the maître d asked, though he looked like he already knew the answer before Lissa confirmed it.
“As always, Pete,” she said as they wove between the tables, and to Elena’s astonishment, through the kitchen doors and to a little table set and ready for them off to the side and out of the way of the kitchen’s hustle and bustle.
“Pete, this is my new friend, Elena. I think she likes food as much as I do.”
“Impossible,” Pete said, smiling at Elena. “But I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt for now.” He grinned and bowed and added, “Welcome to Delia’s and enjoy your meal.”
The table was set up so that both women could watch the kitchen. As Elena sat down, she realized Pete had not left them menus. She looked at the door leading back to the dining room. “Oh, I think he forgot—”
“Nope, no menu for us.” Lissa patted the tabletop. “We are at the tender mercies of Delia now.”
Elena smiled. “I am so glad I met you.”
Lissa beamed. “Same.”
“So, how do you rank the VIP treatment?”
Lissa looked toward the kitchen and gave a chin lift toward a woman Elena assumed must be Delia, watching over a line cook’s shoulder. Her hair was hidden under a navy-and-white calico bandana that matched the full apron over her chef’s whites. As soon as Lissa caught her eye, Delia nodded, patted the cook on the arm, and headed for their table.
“Dee and I went to culinary school together. I dropped out when I realized I was way more skilled at appreciating food than actually making it. Dee graduated and worked her way up to the restaurant goddess she is today. But she never forgot her bumbling little friend.”
“I heard that,” Delia said when she reached their table. “Half my recipes wouldn’t exist without your refined palate, girl, so shut the hell up.”
Lissa introduced Elena to Delia. “I am in awe of your kitchen even before I’ve taken a bite,” Elena said.
Delia raised an eyebrow. “Really? Why’s that?”
“I worked in kitchens for years. Yours is a well-oiled food-making machine.” Elena pointed to the line. “Look at how they’re working in-sync. That doesn’t just happen. It’s so easy to get in each other’s way. You’ve even got the lefty on the far end where he won’t bump into the righties.”
Delia looked at Lissa. “Bring her back anytime,” she said as she returned to her domain. After that, plate after delectable plate found its way to their table. Elena leaned into the buzz good food always brought her. And Delia’s dishes were exceptional. Elena’s mind went to work on deconstructing the food—especially the meat dishes—so that she could recreate them for Camden. Only if the opportunity arose, of course.
Delia briefly stopped back at their table to ask their opinions at the end of the meal, and Elena was happy to give hers. Delia only nodded, holding her cards close to her vest, but Elena got the feeling she took her suggestions to heart.
Back at her desk, Elena patted her stomach. “Thank you so much for taking me out to lunch, Chica. Next one’s on me, I insist.”
“It’s a date, fellow foodie.” Elissa waved before disappearing back into the bowels of the IT department. She’d told Elena over lunch she hoped to wrap things up tonight because tomorrow, the pipe promised to be killer at Malibu and she didn’t want to miss it. Surfing was an even bigger passion than food for her new friend.
Just before tucking her phone away, Elena answered Camden’s text:
I appreciate you wanting to hang in the kitchen with me at the party, friend! Hope you feel like being my food Guinea pig cuz I wanna experiment.
Each time she went to hit send, Elena stopped and read the message over one more time. On the fifth attempt, she bit her lower lip, blew out her breath, deleted the word friend, and sent it before she could change her mind again.
Seven
“Not gonna lie, Jake,” Camden said between sips of beer as they leaned against the half-wall on Bette’s back patio, “my week sucked bright green monkey balls.”
“Not gonna lie, Cam,” Jake answered, “but that was obvious to everyone at Watchdog.” He took a swig of the hoppy, fancy-ass beer Camden brought as his ‘dish to pass’ per usual for Bette’s Backyard Bashes. Camden would set up his Tequila Sour station at the bar later when more guests arrived and those in the know clamored for it. He wouldn’t be drinking one himself—the minute the Bennetts walked through the door, he was unofficially on the job. Gina and Costello were already there, Costello mingling and Gina standing statuesque in the shadows, though immediately friendly when approached.
