My dad glances at me a few times as we eat in silence. “If you were planning on spending that money on something important, you can pay the rent next week.”
It’s not as if I can admit to my dad I was planning on using some of my first paycheck to buy some expensive lingerie.
“I’m fine, Dad, but thanks for offering.”
“Of course, mija.”
“Should we open the champagne?” I ask when I’ve drained my glass of beer. “I have something to celebrate, too.”
“Do you?” my dad asks as he reaches for the frosty bottle and begins peeling away the gold foil.
“Yeah, I start training in the kitchen next week.”
My dad eyes me suspiciously as he works on loosening the cork. “So soon?”
“Yeah, you said it yourself. The opening went well, and that’s the deal I made with Ethan.”
“Your boss.”
He doesn’t phrase it as a question. He’s reminding me that Ethan should not be referred to as Ethan. He’s my boss. A subtle but significant difference.
“Yes, the deal I made with my boss was that I would get to train in the kitchen if the opening went well.”
It occurs to me that the deal Ethan and I made in front of Minka’s apartment, when he begged me to come back to work at Forked, was that I could be promoted in ninety days instead of six months. But he never promised I’d get to work in the kitchen if opening night went well. That was something Ethan offered more recently, but my father doesn’t need to know those dirty details.
My dad puts down his spoon and sits up straight so he can look me in the eye. “Why are you blushing when you talk about him?”
“What?” I say, reaching up to touch my cheeks. My skin is indeed on fire. “I’m not blushing. This soup is spicy!”
His mouth is pressed into a hard line. “Don’t lie to me, Alice. Are you—” But before he can finish his question, his phone starts ringing. He slides it out of his slacks and sighs. “Hello?” he answers as he rises from the table and heads toward the kitchen door to take his phone call outside on the back patio.
I hold my breath until he’s gone, then I turn to my mom. The smile on her face catches me off-guard.
“What are you smiling at?”
She shakes her head. “Opening night went well?”
I shrug, unsure where this question is leading. “I guess. Why?”
“Tell me about it. Tell me everything.”
I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Only if you promise to talk some sense into him. I know he thinks there’s something going on between me and Ethan, and there’s not.”
She nods. “Sure. I’ll talk to him.”
By the time I’ve finished telling my mom about opening night—everything except the kiss—my soup is cold, but I don’t care. I hardly feel hungry anymore.
“That was nice of him to stand up for you like that,” my mom says, grabbing my bowl as she takes hers to the kitchen.
I follow behind her. “It was. It… It felt really good to be taken care of without being expected to give something in return.”
She places the bowls in the sink and turns to me. “You mean, unlike the way your dad takes care of you?”
“I didn’t say that. I know you guys can’t afford to support me. And dad takes care of me in his own way.”
She tilts her head as she studies me. “He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?”
“Of course he does. He’s my dad.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not talking about your dad.”
My mouth goes dry as my mind clambers for a response to this, another half-truth, but I’m drawing a blank. I’ve never been able to lie to my mom.
She knows. She always knows.
“It was just a kiss,” I insist.
She smiles as she places a gentle hand on my arm. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your dad.”
“I promise I’ll be careful.”
My mom waves off my promise. “Be careful when you step on a wet floor. Don’t be careful with love.”
I smile at this reminder of one of my mom’s favorite sayings.
“But you have to promise me one thing,” she says, fixing me with a serious expression.
“What?”
“Promise me if he hurts you the way Edward did, you’ll twist his huevos into a pretty bow.”
“Jesus Christ, Mom. You should try using some Spanish words other than the curse words.”
She shrugs innocently. “It’s the first words your dad taught me. They stuck.” Grabbing both my arms now, her gaze bores into me. “Promise me.”
I roll my eyes. “Trust me. If Ethan hurts me, I’ll turn his huevos into scrambled eggs.”
She nods with approval. “That’s my girl.”
As she takes me into her arms, I can’t help but think about the Le Cordon Bleu internship I’ve yet to tell Ethan or my parents about. If I don’t come clean soon, I may be the one who breaks hearts this time.
Chapter 15
ETHAN
Misty rips the order ticket off the printer and secures it with the clip in front of Alice. Then, she turns toward the swinging double doors as a server enters the kitchen to pick up an order.
“We need runners!” she shouts at the server. “Tell Ollie to pace the tables. We’re getting killed back here.”
Without hesitation, Alice glances at the two tickets in front of her and shouts out a request for venison, duck breast, and a Tomahawk. All the while, her hands continue stirring butter into the plum sauce she’s preparing for our last order of duck breast.
Warner returns from the walk-in cooler with the meat she requested. “Only one Tomahawk left.”
“86 Tomahawk!” Alice shouts at Misty, who shoves her way through the double doors to find Ollie, who will warn the rest of the servers.
My chest fills with pride as I watch Alice and Mario confer on
