“Sounds good. I’ll carry your things for ya,” Kyler offered.
Camila almost told him not to bother, but as she juggled her purse, sunglasses, house key card, and carry-on bag, she figured she may as well let him get her large suitcase up the steps. And what a gorgeous case of stairs they were. Stained stone lined with clay pots and flowering plants.
“I’ll be happy to take you to the market for any food items you might need,” he assured. “Cyree said she gave you my number?”
Camila nodded. “Yes. And she also had the kitchen and pantry stocked during my flight. We should be good for a while, but I’ll let you know. Thank you.” She spun around as Kyler reached the top of the stairs behind her. “I can take it from here,” she said with a nod.
“I guess this is as good as place as any.” Kyler set the suitcase onto its wheels and nodded to the french doors. “I hear they’ve got these crazy blinds that shut out all the sunlight and make it feel like night when it’s day.”
“Huh. Who would want that?” she asked, realizing she couldn’t see past the glass.
Kyler shrugged. “That’s a good question. You got the key?”
She slipped her sunglasses onto the top of her head and held up the card with a grin. “Got it.”
Kyler held her gaze for a blink, something in his eyes causing a stir of warmth to surge through her. He was attractive, she realized, admiring his kind eyes and finely trimmed beard. He was younger than her, probably nineteen or twenty, while Camila had hit her mid-twenties just a month ago.
“Thank you, again,” she said. “I’ll um…reach out when I need you.”
“Please do,” he said with another nod, then hurried back down the steps.
Camila was about to wave the key card over the lock pad when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the tall glass door.Oh.She should definitely check to make sure she looked all right.
A quick step back allowed her to see from the tips of her highlighted hair to the sandals she wore on her feet. She’d decided on khaki, knee-length shorts, her cream-colored button-up blouse, and her favorite gold chain, which may as well be tattooed on her since she rarely parted with it.
She reached into her purse, applied a quick coat of lip-gloss, and gave her cheeks a pinch. There—nice, presentable, and professional. The latch gave way at the magic wave of her card, and Camila wasted no time dragging her suitcase inside. But what was this? It was black as pitch.
In fact, as she closed the door behind her, the waning streak of light disappeared completely. “Guess Kyler was right,” she mumbled, tugging the door back open. She used the outdoor glow to find the nearest light switch and flicked the thing on.
Bright, welcoming lights flashed into life, illuminating one of the largest kitchens she’d seen. An array of the finest industrial appliances stood beneath rustic, rock-covered arches, matching the Italian theme of the home. Stone tile flooring accented the dark glazed oak of the cabinets, while a massive slab of marble covered the center island. She counted out the number of stools tucked up to the bar and gasped as she got to eight.
She’d already been musing on certain dishes she could make, but this place was inspiring an entirely new menu. A thin herb bagel with fresh, fragrant pesto, sundried tomatoes, and slices of soft mozzarella topped with a balsamic drizzle. Or maybe a pancetta and goat cheese frittata with caramelized onion and roasted potato wedges.
Camila had texted Cyree to see if her new boss had any food allergies she needed to be aware of. He hadn’t, which was wonderful. The only other thing that might interfere with the menu options was the dreaded picky eater. One guy refused to eat tomatoes in any form. No pasta sauce, pizza sauce, or even barbeque sauce, which was usually a safe one even for kids.
Please don’t let him be like that.
A recollection of James Benton shot to her mind. The ridiculous way his face had scrunched up when she’d mentioned the quail egg. “What a jerk,” she mumbled under her breath. And just why couldn’t she leave the incident in the past where it belonged? It happened—so what? Did that mean she had to relive it time and time again, make herself sick over an incident that was virtually beyond her control?
Enough already.
From this moment on, Camila would vow to keep that part of her past in the past. She sucked in a deep breath and made a slow circle around the kitchen that put her prior dream kitchen to shame. Several unique details added to the appeal.
The mortar and rustic bricks supporting the archways and edges. The charming copper hood over one of the stoves. And what was this? A pot filler—one of those long, retracting faucets tapped right into the wall high enough to fill the tallest pot; she’d always wanted one in her own kitchen.
A rush of gratitude swept through her. And excitement too. Her time here would be prosperous, she’d see to that, but she’d also take time to enjoy the sights, sounds, and aromas along the way.
Tonight she’d prepare a classic:carrillada de cordero—Braised Iberian Pork Cheek with Port Wine and Honey. She could almost smell the rich, savory flavors of the sauce as she sautéed the shallots, peppers, and onions.
Now to see if her new employer was here.
“Excuse me,” a voice came from behind. He’d spoken low so as not to startle her, she could tell by the tone, but it had made her jump all the same.
Camila pressed a hand to her heart and gasped. “You scared me,” she breathed while spinning in place.
“My apologies,” the man added to it, but Camila was too distracted by the shocking sight before her to even hear what he was saying. Dark hair, blue eyes, and well defined jawline. While all those things were adding up to a familiar face, it was the brooding look in his brow that made it official.
Her body reacted before her brain. Face warming. Chest tightening. Pulse crouching at the startup line, ready to bolt at the gunshot.
