He dimmed the lights to a warmer glow, poured wine and let it breathe, lit the burner under a pan and waited until the heat was just right.
He wiped down the counter that didn't need wiping.
Again.
The cloth moved in slow circles.
Minutes passed.
The back door was fifteen steps away. He'd been resisting it all afternoon. He crossed to it and eased it open.
April was there.
Not at the door, but standing beneath the black awning, her face tilted up slightly, gaze fixed on something far away. Elsewhere. He'd seen that look before, the one where she went somewhere he couldn't follow.
She was here. But she needed a minute.
He eased the door shut again and stepped back into the kitchen. He turned to the prep work. Forced his hands into motion. She needed the choice. He had waited two years; he could wait until she was ready.
By the time the service door finally opened ten minutes later, the kitchen was prepared. The counters gleamed. The pans hung in perfect descending sizes. Mateo stood exactly where he had begun.
Ready for a new beginning.
April
TEN MINUTES AND SEVERAL deep breaths later, April slipped through the heavy steel service door. The restaurant beyond was a ghost town of white linens and flickering candle stubs, but the kitchen was a cathedral of golden light, heavy with scent.
Mateo was there, wearing a black undershirt that clung to his muscular frame, his tattooed forearms dusted with a fine layer of flour. When he saw her, he crossed the space in three strides, took her hand, and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.
"Bellissima," he murmured, his dark eyes sweeping over her. The champagne silk blouse Liam had chosen caught the golden light like jewelry. The slim black trousers made her legs look impossibly long.
“You look ravishing. I look forward to seeing if I can make you moan.” His eyes danced with mischief. “For the food, of course.”
April felt her face heat. "I'm literally just wearing pants."
"You are wearing confidence." Mateo guided her toward the marble prep island and pulled out a stool. "And that champagne silk against your skin? Perfetto. Sit. We don't rush art."
He poured a dark red and handed her the glass.
"To new beginnings," he said, lifting his own.
April laughed and raised her own to clink despite herself.
"To the worst day of my life turning into... whatever this is."
"This," Mateo said, "is a tasting, cara. I need to know what you crave."
He moved to the stove, checking something simmering in a small copper pot. The scent of balsamic and dark sugar filled the air.
"What have you been up to since I saw you this morning?"
April launched into it; Jax's digital sabotage, Arthur's audit wall, the way Chad kept showing up like a pop-up ad she couldn'tclose. She was buzzing with it, the petty victory energy making her words tumble faster.
Mateo let her talk for exactly ninety seconds. Then he turned, wooden spoon in hand, and gave her a look that was pure chef's authority.
"Enough about the clown."
April blinked. "But—"
