Food was a necessity. She shouldn’t have skipped breakfast, but she got up late and it was Monday and that meant she had a corner coffee delivery for Bert and his friends. And with her weird work schedule, her body clock was all wonky. The last week had been crazy busy with events every day. Staying up way late and getting up again early for the next round.
“Marlee.” Now, he was barky again.
She gave an internal eye roll. “Yes, chef?”
“You didn’t answer my question.” He stalked closer, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead.
She batted it away. “I’m fine. Starving, that’s all.”
Using the inside of her elbow, she brushed a stray hair that had fallen from the side of her hairnet.
No touching of the hair with fingers when in the kitchen. Eli’d made that clear on her first kitchen day.
“I’ll go grab something when we’re done with these,” she said.
Jase kept Lothario at the flower shop next door while Marlee was in the kitchen. Lothario loved it there. Customers lavished him with attention, and he wasn’t stuffed in Eli’s office. Once she finished these, she would grab the sandwich she’d made that morning—she hadn’t burned the peanut butter and jelly—and go hang out with her dog for a while.
“You’ve been doing your inhalers and stuff?” Eli asked, like he had been the one managing her asthma for all these years.
Of course, she’d been doing her inhalers and “stuff.”
“Yeah,” she replied.
Eli stared at her for a moment. She stared back, making it a point to exaggerate the motion. He might be the chef, and he might be her husband, but he was also being super weird.
His sneakers squeaked against the sealed cement floor as he turned, grabbed a take-out box, and dished up a heaping mound of chicken divan. He didn’t take time to carefully put the slivered almonds on top like Marlee had been doing. Like hetoldher to do. Nope, he got away with just slopping a handful on top.
Marlee glared at his back and went back to flicking the almonds.
At least they didn’t have to serve at this event. This was a drop and go, and then she could sleep for three days. After that, she’d have a girls’ night with Velma, Heather, and Claire. Then she’d come back and muddle through again.
“Eat.” He pushed the open tray toward her, a fork sticking out the top.
She raised her eyebrows at him. Yes, she was starving. No, he did not get to boss her around. Even when the bossing was something she’d actually want to do.
“Please,” he said softer.
Fine. She’d eat. But only because she was really hungry. She reached for the tray. The room went a little wobbly, like when she couldn’t breathe and the dizzy spells started. But she could breathe just fine.
Tired and hungry and working her butt off. It’s times like this she missed money.
Not enough to go live with her parents or—God help her—Scotty until the divorce was final. But enough to wish she had some green bills in her wallet beyond the ones with an Andrew Jackson.
“Stool.” Eli was all barky again. He should just go hang out with Lothario and they could bark together and hump things.
Ack. No.
Visions of Eli in those positions were strictly off-limits. Especially barky Eli in his bandana and chef’s jacket.
Marlee started to move to go grab the stool Eli wanted. He touched her arm before she even got a step away. “Not you. The stool’sforyou.”
Oh, well, that was kind of sweet.
Mark, his sous-chef that day, handed over the stool.
Eli gently guided Marlee to sit, like he hadn’t been grouching at her about almonds three minutes earlier. Before she could reach for the fork, he had a slice of chicken speared at the end of it, waiting at her lips. She slid her gaze to him. Totally ridiculous. He was being totally ridiculous.
Still, Eli in his chef gear feeding her? She opened her mouth, closed her eyes, and bit into the chicken as soft as butter with creamy sauce, almonds, and asparagus. There was definitely a visceral response going on inside of her to this food. If it was true that she could burn anything—and oh boy, it was—then it was just as true that Eli could cook anything. She didn’t moan, but damn, she came close.
