Confused, I look her up and down, and then follow her line of sight to the table in front of me.
A menu is lying there.
Laminated, half the size of a poster, the menu takes up a good chunk of the table.
“The printer’s options make no sense, do they?” I ask Lex.
“They really don’t.” She stamps a foot in agreement.
Picking up the giant thing, my eyes scour to see what it is she’s waiting for me to register.
“Heights Bites,” I read out. “Locally sourced eats. Ask about our daily specials.”
That’s new.
“The new logo looks good,” I muse.
“What else?” she prods.
I put the menu down and let my eyes feast on her instead. “You look good,” I tell her in a low voice.
She blushes, reaching out to pull the menu back up and block her figure from my sight. “We have to be at my sister’s office in fifteen minutes. Don’t start with that.”
“I could change your life in five,” I tell her, voice laced with promise.
“Just look at the menu, Chef.” She sounds exasperated, and my dick likes when she gets worked up.
And calling me chef? She’s asking for it.
My eyes go back to the menu, so I can get back to her quicker, but they catch on a new column on the right side.
“Salt + Spice?” I read aloud.
Peering at her above the menu, she just nods, beaming at me in excitement.
“Is this what I think it is?” I ask her.
“Keep reading and see,” the brat tells me.
Problem is, my eyes are a little blurry right now and it’s not that easy.
“You read it to me,” I tell her, thrusting the menu at her.
“Salt + Spice at Heights Bites,” she obeys. “By Executive Chef Wilder Amante.”
I’ll never get tired of hearing those words out of her mouth. But seeing them on a menu?Che cazzo, it’s a wet dream.
“House-made pesto tortellini,” she reads off the title and a short description.
One that I’m ninety percent sure was in an email I sent her suggesting the dish months ago.
“Not your mama’s meatloaf,” she continues onto the next item.
“Are these my fucking dishes?” I ask, voice shaking.
She nods, but doesn’t stop reading them out, line by line, until she gets through every recipe I’ve ever suggested in this place.
Every single one that had been shot down.
