I looked at the window and saw a beautiful burger sitting on a plate, perfectly assembled, with aside of what looked like fried plantains that weren’t on the menu I’d approved.
“That’s for the hottie, isn’t it?” Jacks said.
“Stop calling him that.”
“What should I call him?”
“Chase. His name is Chase.”
“Ooooh, you know his name.” Priya’s grin grew wider. “That’s adorable because you’re chasing him.”
“I hate all of you,” I groused. “And I’m not chasing anybody. I’m serving him a damn burger.”
I practically ran to the kitchen window and grabbed the plate. Rod was at the stove, already working on something else, but he glanced over his shoulder.
“Let me know what he thinks,” Rod said.
“You want me to ask?”
“No, I want you to watch his face when he eats it. You can tell everything from someone’s first bite. Look for an involuntary smile, even a small one. People can’t help but smile when food is good.”
“That’s not creepy at all.”
“It’s chef knowledge. Now go. The plantains are best when they’re hot.”
I grabbed a beer from the cooler, balanced the plate, and headed back across the bar to Chase’s booth.
He was absorbed in his papers, his pen flying across the page as he read, his brow furrowed in concentration. He looked exhausted and stressed . . . and unfairly attractive for someone who’d clearly had the day from hell.
I set the plate down in front of him. “One Brady Burger and, uh, those aretostones, fried plantains. They’re not technically on the menu yet, but Rod—our chef—wanted you to try them.”
“Thanks,” Chase said, still looking at his papers.
I didn’t move.
I knew I should’ve walked away and let the poor man eat. I should’ve stopped standing there like a creep.
But Rod had said to watch his first bite.
So I hovered . . . and stared.
Chase finally looked up, his pen pausing above a new paragraph. “Is there . . . something else?”
“I just—” I fidgeted with the bar towel still over my shoulder. “I wanted to see how you like it—the burger. It’s just that everything’s new, so it’s all kind of a test, and we need to know if—” I was rambling. I was rambling. “If the food is good, you know, for customers. You’re our guinea pig.”
Chase’s mouth twitched. “Your guinea pig?”
“That came out wrong.”
“No, I like it. Guinea pig feels very scientific . . . ifa bit squeaky. You don’t need me to squeal as I eat, do you?”
My mouth opened, then closed.
Chase grinned, looking like he was enjoying tormenting me almost as much as Priya and Mark had.
He set down his pen and picked up the burger, examining it like he was studying evidence. “Okay, let’s see if I survive this experiment.”
He took a bite.
