“Finn?” he said, his voice accented with some flavor of South America.
“That’s me. You must be Rodrigo?”
“Rod,” he corrected. “Nobody calls me Rodrigo except my mother when she’s mad at me. Are you mad at me?”
I chuckled, caught a bit off guard. “No, and I’m not your mother.”
“Thank God.” He grinned and extended his hand.
His handshake was firm, callused, and confident without feeling overbearing. As we shook hands, he held my gaze with an earnestness I found . . . endearing.
“Thanks for coming in, Rod,” I said, gesturing to the chair across from me. “Have a seat.”
He scanned the space with an assessing eye as he sat. “Good bones,” he said. “Needs work, but good bones.”
“That’s what we’re hoping.”
He turned back to me, and something in hisexpression was different from every other interview I’d had that day. He was focused and professional, like he was taking this seriously.
Like this mattered to him.
“So,” I said, glancing down at his application. “You’re applying for the cook position.”
“Yes.”
“Your resume says you’ve been working construction for the last three years.”
“That’s right.”
“Before that . . .” I scanned the page. “I don’t see any food service experience listed.”
“No,” he agreed.
I looked up. “So why are you applying for a cook position? We need someone with experience.”
Rod smiled, just slightly. “Because,” he said, “I didn’t put everything on my resume.”
Chapter 7
Finn
“You didn’t put everything on your resume,” I repeated, trying to keep the skepticism out of my voice.
“No.” Rod settled back in his chair, relaxed. “I figured if I listed my actual experience, you’d think I was overqualified and pass me over.”
Here we go, again, I thought.He worked the line in the jail cafeteria? Or maybe he’d watched an entire season ofTop Chefand thought that qualified him to cook.
I could feel the bullshit coming. It was just that kind of day.
“Try me,” I said, crossing my arms and cocking my head.
“I trained at the Instituto Culinario de Caracas. After graduation, I worked in fine dining in Miami for ten years—La Perla, Cielo, Casa Vera. I made it to head chef at Casa Vera before I burned out andmoved to Tampa for a fresh start.”
I blinked.
My mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.
“You were a head chef at Casa Vera.”
