“What’s the name of the other chef?” he asked, though he already knew.
“The one he was yelling at?”
Ivor nodded.
“That’s Rowan. He’s a complete sweetheart and doesn’t deserve to be treated the way he is here.” She grimaced. “Ishouldn’t have said that.” She set down plates in front of them both. “Rowan made these desserts himself, so you’re in for a treat. Chef Angler likes to take credit for the recipes, but between us, Rowan is the real talent in that kitchen. You’ll have to try his limoncello tiramisu next time.” She kissed her fingertips. “It’s perfection. But the Astrid you ordered is just as good.”
Ivor looked down at the layered cake, and his mouth watered. He waited until she left before taking his first bite.
It was a good thing she’d left because the moan he released was positively sinful.
A light sponge cake was complemented by a creamy layer of vanilla custard and a tart layer of raspberry jam. The smooth finish was green marzipan. The burst of flavors on his tongue made him give a shiver of pleasure, and he quickly took another bite.
“Looks like I should have ordered that,” Emory muttered before he tried his crepe. He moaned, too. “Nope, I’m happy with this. Damn, if that guy is the talent here, I wonder what we could do to lure him back to Seattle so we could eat like this all the time. Dinner was good, but this dessert is out of this world.”
Ivor didn’t reply because he was too busy inhaling his Astrid. He’d had this before—the first time in the nineteen thirties—but this one far outshone all those before. The rich creaminess was absolutely perfect. As someone with a voracious sweet tooth that rivaled his taste for sex, Ivor had had his fair share of desserts over his many years, but this one beat out all others.
He waved their server back and promptly ordered several more desserts off the menu. She gave him a startled smile and rushed off. Yeah, he didn’t look like he indulged in sweets, but his supernatural body burned off calories quickly, so he could afford to indulge.
And indulge he did. He tried a salted caramel pie, a lemon ricotta cake, and some chouquettes. When he finally set his fork down, it was to find his friend grinning at him.
“You and that sweet tooth. I’d be sick if I tried all those desserts, but from your expression they are all excellent.”
“He definitely has to move to Seattle.” Ivor patted his thankfully flat belly as he leaned back in his seat. He looked back at the door to the kitchen, hoping for another glimpse of Rowan. He hadn’t even thought about how they were going to approach him when he got off work—all he could think about was the strong pull he felt toward the man.
Emory folded his arms on the table and studied Ivor. “From your reaction to him personally, I’d say you have ulterior motives as well.”
“You did notice he was looking at your wings, right?”
“I didn’t.” He swung his head around to look toward the kitchen. “He’s one of them?” He looked back at Ivor with one blond eyebrow raised.
“Definitely.”
Emory rubbed his hands together. “Oh, isn’t this a fun, new intrigue. I take it you’re calling dibs?”
Ivor’s frown was instant. He fiercely hated the idea that Emory could be intrigued by Rowan. “You’re not even interested in a soulmate.”
“I’m surprised you are. How could that even work for you?”
And that was the problem. It couldn’t. All of a sudden, the over-indulgent desserts turned to a lump in his stomach, because he knew the truth. He’d once tried to have a relationship with a human, and there’d been disastrous results. So he might be interested in the pretty, freckled human, but he could never be faithful to one soulmate.
Not without killing him.
Chapter Four
Rowan
Rowan said goodbye to the other chefs who’d stayed to clean with him and shrugged on his coat. Still, the bite of cold shocked as he left the heat of the kitchen. It was a sharp sting on all the exposed parts of his skin. Even piercing to the lungs.
He loved this small resort town, having lived here most of his life, and at this time of night, the cozy street was quiet. During the day, it was filled with tourists who came for the wonderful cafes and shops, and especially the galleries. The town was known for its art as well as Haystack Rock, which stood two hundred and thirty-five feet tall. And sometimes, like the night before, Rowan’s late-night company was the occasional elk who wandered through the town.
But tonight, all was silent. He wrapped his coat tighter around him and hurried in the direction of his apartment. He only lived three blocks from his work, so he didn’t bother driving, though he always had his keys on him. He gripped the cold metal in his pocket, wishing he’d remembered his gloves.
His mind was still occupied with thoughts of that beautiful superhuman in the dining area earlier. There had beensomething about him, about the way he’d looked at Rowan. It had filled Rowan’s stomach with butterflies, made his heart race. They’d stared at each other as if they recognized each other, which was ridiculous since he’d never seen the man before in his life. He would have remembered.
Normally, he’d scoff at the idea someone like that could be interested in him, but the desire on the man’s face had been so fucking blatant. Not just interest, but outright desire.
Nobody had ever looked at him like that.
