She gave a small shake of her head, her dark hair, loose for once, sliding over her shoulders. “I’m not. Come on in.” Her gaze dropped to the bag he carried. “What’s in there?”
“Have you eaten?”
“Not yet. I was going to ask what you wanted.”
He followed her through the wide hallway and into a showroom-quality kitchen. White marble tops, sleek gray cupboards, shiny chrome fittings, and a huge fuck-off stainless-steel range cooker with red knobs.
“Jesus Christ.” He almost wanted to step out again because him just being in the room made it look untidy.
She frowned, following his gaze. “Ah, you like the cooker? I was told Wolf was the best.”
He walked over to it, ran his fingers across the spotlessly clean surface. “How much use does she get?”
“Not much. Buthelooks good.” She picked up a handful of leaflets, the only things on the marble island. “Here, you get to choose the takeout.”
He stared down at them. “You know there are apps for this?”
“I’m not that old. But sometimes I prefer to choose my food by scanning a leaflet rather than staring at a small screen on my phone.”
“This is what you live off?” He shook his head and put the leaflets back on the island. “You need to start taking better care of yourself.”
She jutted out her chin. “I run every morning.”
“Great. But what are you putting into your stomach every evening?” He lifted the bag onto the countertop. “Lucky I came prepared.”
She peeked inside. “Pasta, tomatoes, olives, garlic, fresh herbs,” she said, pulling the contents out one by one. “Chicken breasts. Something in plastic containers.”
“Crab lasagna from the restaurant. You can put it in the fridge for another day.”
“Yes, Chef.” She smirked and carried it over to the floor-to-ceiling cupboards, one of which turned out to be a huge fridge-freezer. “Did you make it?”
“Of course.”
“One of your menu ideas from Nantucket?”
“No.” He shifted on his feet. “Aaron decides the menus.” Pride swelled inside him. “But he said Felix used some of my ideas once I’d left.”
“That’s great.” She popped the lasagna into what looked like an empty fridge. “But isn’t your boss using them in the bistro too?”
Suddenly he couldn’t look her in the eye. “I’ve not mentioned them.”
“Why not?”
His neck felt hot. “He owns the place. He doesn’t need ideas from me.”
“How do you know if you don’t show him?”
Shit. He’d not planned on this conversation. “Look, Aaron’s...” He searched for a word that wouldn’t make him sound like he worshipped the guy. “Hell, he’s a god, all right?” He marched over to the range cooker, crouched down, rummaged in the cupboards next to it, and pulled out a set of gleaming steel pans with the stickers still on. “Now, let’s take these pans and see what your titan of a range cooker can do.” His comment was met by silence, and when he turned, he found Olivia watching him pensively. “What?”
“Aaron might be a god now, but he was once a guy learning his trade, just like you are. And no doubt without the responsibility of being a single parent.” Her gaze locked onto his, steady,compelling.
He gave her a wry smile, set a pot of water on the range, and turned on the burner. “You’re saying I should man up and talk to him.”
She smiled. “I’m saying you should do what anywomanwould do and talk to him. Now, can I help with anything?”
He couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken an interest in him, in what he was doing; it took him a moment to shift gears. “You can get us both a drink and tell me about your day.”
She opened a bottle of red wine, filled two glasses, and slid onto one of her fancy white leather and chrome bar stools. “I didn’t think we’d do this.” She waved between the two of them. “I thought we’d go straight to sex.”
