Page 48 of The Chef

Frustrated, I drop the menu onto the kitchen counter and rub my forehead. I bite my tongue and glance over at the kitchen utensils laid out before me. I don’t even know what half of them can even do, let alone dare to use them to whip up a whole new batch of best-selling dishes.

I have absolutely zero training in cooking.

Why did I think I’ll ever be able to manage this?

Manage a miracle?

Damn, Dominika. You left me at the most inopportune moment.

I hear the whoosh of the kitchen doors swing open behind me, and I turn to look who it is that’s dared intruded on me.

Bay has entered the kitchen. She’s still wearing the same clothes as I saw her in at the shopping mall earlier. She must’ve come from there to here. I check the clock. It is time for her to start her shift.

Well, there’s no point for her starting now. There are no customers. And no menus.

“Hi,” she smiles at me. I know she’s been extra cheerful with me the past couple of days. I hate it. I hate how she’s trying to make me act all nice towards her.

But I can’t resist her smile, she makes me feel butterflies in my stomach that I can’t control. I’m all fluttery when I see her smile. It’s a very pretty smile, full of sunshine, and I hate how she can make me feel like this.

“Hello, Bay,” I begrudgingly reply. She seems to light up that I’ve acknowledged her.

“How’s the menu coming along?”

“I don’t need your help,” I reply.

“I’m just asking.”

I roll my eyes and drop my shoulders. She’s persistent, I’ll give her that. “Not good,” I say. And that’s the understatement of the year.

“Can I have a look at it?”

Bay doesn’t wait for my answer before she comes strutting over to me. She leans over my shoulder to read the menu. She’s so close I can smell her sweet perfume. She even smells like sunshine. Can this girl get any sweeter? She’s so close it’s like there’s a spark of electricity between us, a tension I can’t avoid.

Who is this girl to inspire such dormant feelings within me?

I’ve never felt this nervous or charged with energy with any other girl, and I’m the guy who’s slept with half of Europe. Supermodels and actresses and nobility - I’ve fucked them all - but none have affected me like this waitress.

What is it with Bay Dover?

I turn to Bay and try to hold in my desire to touch her, to kiss her soft lips. “I need you outside waitressing, not here in the kitchen,” I say.

“There’s no one out there,” she replies, lifting her chin. “I can cook, and I can help you if only you’d allow me to.”

Fine.

“Alright then,” I say, stepping away from her. “Show me your cooking if you’re so keen. Show me your skills.”

“Show you?”

“Yeah,” I reply. “Show me that you can cook. My favorite food is a nice medium-rare steak, how about you rustle one up for me?”

She eyes me suspiciously. “You’re serious?” she asks.

“Oh, yes I am.”

“Right here? Right now?”

“Make me a good steak and then we’ll see how good you are.”