The bartender sets my wine in front of me in a fancy glass and smiles, his eyes lingering. I return his smile, then turn back to the kitchen because I’m completely enamored.
“Wowza, Amber. Those are some pretty spectacular legs you’ve been hiding.”
My face heats with the energy of a thousand suns and I nearly topple my drink, but Knox scoops in and stills my hand.
“Whoa, there. I don’t want to have to replace another spilled drink.” He laughs as though he thinks he’s actually funny.
He’s not.
“Knox.”
“Rowan.”
I down my drink in one swallow and lift my finger to the bartender. He nods but raises his brows at the bane of my existence standing behind me.
“Does he need your permission to serve me?”
He slides onto the seat next to me, white chef’s jacket absolutely pristine against tanned olive skin. His aqua eyes dance as they take me in. From. Head. To. Toe. “Not at all. He wonders if we’re a thing because he was interested.”
“You got all that from a raised eyebrow?”
He chuckles and leans in close. “Amber, I saw you the minute you stepped across the threshold. He was flirting with you before I walked up. You just couldn’t tell because your covetous eyes were trying to steal the hearth.”
I huff and fix my mouth for the denials, but I can’t lie about it. “It’s lovely.”
He smiles wide, eyes crinkling. “It is pretty great.”
“Your idea?”
He has the nerve to look sheepish. Whoa, does Knox actually have some humility deep down under that haughty covering? “T’was.”
“Very nice.”
“Not that I’m complaining, but what brings you here today?”
“Just scouting the filming.”
He furrows his brows. “Really?”
“Haven’t you heard? We’re back in. They’re coming to our place tomorrow.”
He freezes and stares with wide eyes. Then he slowly melts and grins. “That’s incredible. How?”
I shrug because I really don’t want to explain how we’re in by default. He’ll find out soon enough though. I’m shocked he didn’t already have all this information. I could have sworn he had the inside track. “The Ortizes dropped out. Personal reasons.”
“Well, whatever the reason, you deserve to be there. I tried calling the restaurant to tell you, but…”
“I figured you were calling to gloat. After all, you did say you didn’t need to beat me.” I rotate my chair away, putting my back to him.
He spins my chair and reaches for my shoulder, thinking better of it after I give him a stern look. “You misunderstood me. That’s not what I meant at all. You’re an exceptional chef. I just wish your confidence matched your talent.”
I blink. And stare. Then I ease my hand over my mouth to keep it from dropping open.
This time he takes the liberty of squeezing my knee. “I have to get back to the kitchen, but order whatever you want. It’s on me.” He winks and leaves.
All I can do is stare after his retreating back. His fine, beautiful back.
*
Have I mentioned Sundays are our busiest days? Although I no longer work at Smothered in Love, I am today for the B-roll footage. It’s still Sue’s kitchen, but she’s being gracious and letting me run it just for today. Not that I don’t think her cooperation is altruistic, but if we win, it benefits her too. If we lose, we’re back to square one and will more than likely lose the restaurant.
I can’t help but think how stubborn Mama’s being. She benefits the most. Keeping the restaurant means holding on to her health insurance, something she needs now more than ever. Matter of fact, I don’t benefit at all anymore. Like LeBron, I’m taking my talents elsewhere. I’m just not sure where yet, but hopefully winning Restaurant Family Feud will open doors for me. Okay, maybe I benefit a little too.
Mama came in while filming—looking more fatigued than the last time I saw her—took one look at me, Hannah, and Wyatt playing it up for the cameras, and walked into her office, slamming the door. Hopefully that wasn’t captured, but more than likely it was and will be exploited for ratings. I can see the narrative now—matriarch and owner kicked off competition by her own family.
As the camera crew wraps, I take in our tiny restaurant. I’m proud of it and how far it’s come, but it’s no Everheart Bar and Fine Dining. Not by a long shot. Our B-roll footage against theirs will be a little embarrassing.
I take off my chef’s jacket now that the show crew is leaving and I no longer have to pretend that I work here. I need to finish packing since we leave tomorrow night and we’ll be there almost a week. I definitely won’t be taking that sundress Knox was ogling.
And as if I conjured him straight from the bowels of hell, in he walks, all smiles and charm, greeting the camera crew as they exit the restaurant. He exchanges words with the second-unit director and they both laugh.
I cross my arms and narrow my eyes as Knox approaches.
“Rowan.”
I’m not playing that game today. “What were you saying to the director?”
“We were just laughing about when Weston showed him his fan fiction yesterday. He actually wants it included in background.”
Oh, okay. I guess that’s fine. “Why are you here, Knox?”
“Jeesh, you’d think after drinking a bottle of our best Cabernet and eating the most expensive lobster and filet mignon on the menu yesterday, you’d at least have a kind word for me.”
“You said to order whatever I wanted.” I learned petty from the best. Unfortunately, I ended up having to Uber home because I was miserably full and drunk. My car is still in their parking lot.
He grins wider and shakes his head. “That I did.” His aqua eyes sparkle.
“You still haven’t said why you’re here.”
He
