Page 31 of Finding Yesterday
“I’ve learned a lot.” I smile. I’m not lying. I have learned a lot, and not just about folding napkins or cleaning bathrooms.
“Great.” Jack’s face twists in surprise. Then he claps his hands together. “I think it’s time you get some training in the kitchen.”
“That would be amazing.”
“But do you mind staying for a bit after close?” He puts on his name tag. “I need the uninterrupted time to teach you how to make a Fine Bone steak.” A bright smile spreads across Jack’s face. “Like you said, in case of emergency, okay?”
“I can stay a little late.” I nod, playing it cool, but it takes everything in me not to do a cartwheel, right in the kitchen. Of course, I’m excited to see Jack and finally work with him. Especially since Pops has been torturing me.
It’s not because Jack looks gorgeous right now, with his soft brown eyes, sandy hair with the spike on top, and barely visible goatee.
Or how you can see the outline of his muscles through his T-shirt. Or the way his jeans hang perfectly over his cut, long legs. Nope, it’s not those things either.
Whatever the reason, I must really want this because the rest of the evening creeps along, and I’m beyond glad when the restaurant finally closes.
When Jordan and Nick head out the door, The Fine Bone is all ready to open tomorrow morning thanks to all my prep work. Pops is packing up to leave when Jack comes over and says, “Ready?”
“Yes!” I fight the thousand-watt smile off my face. “I’m excited to make a steak.”
“Wow, now that’s not something I thought you’d say.”
“Well, I’ve been properly trained.” I glance over at Pops, and he’s got a proud smile on his face.
“I’ll see you two troublemakers tomorrow.” Pops waves before disappearing out the kitchen doors.
Jack approaches the oven. “The key is the temperature.” He punches in three, five, zero. “It has to be perfect. For medium, it must be a hundred-forty-five degrees when you remove it from the oven.” He has a meat thermometer and shows me how to use it, not that I didn’t know. I’ve used one, but it’s been a long time.
When Jack takes out the raw steaks, he has a look of fear on his face as he puts them in front of me. He doesn’t realize how much I love eating them, and that for me, being a vegetarian is a constant war within my own conscience. And I’m certainly not telling him that. But I have gotten a little more immune to everything at the restaurant this past week.
I guess I have Pops to thank for that too?
“It’s gotta have a nice sear before you bake it.” Jack takes out a cast iron skillet. I watch him move around the kitchen, and it’s almost like a dance. He knows precisely where everything is, but it’s not just that. It’s the way he moves. He rocks back and forth as he stands over the stove. Relaxed, smooth. The quick saunter to the pantry and back. Like he knows just exactly what to do.
He does.
“Of course,” I reply to something, I’m not sure what. I realize I forgot to listen to him.
“See how the oil is smoking?” He points above the skillet. “That’s what you want. It’s gotta be very hot.”
“Very hot.” I nod, staring at his profile. His defined nose and lips contrast the rest of him, which is a wall of solid. “Got it.”
After Jack transfers the steak to the oven, he says, “Now we just wait five minutes for medium.”
He leans back against the counter, and I realize I’ve never thought cooking was sexy before. Which is weird, because Hudson and I cooked together all the time, and I don’t remember it ever being like this. But there’s just something about Jack. His rich, baritone voice. His lazy grace.
As I watch him, it’s hard to imagine that anything could ever rattle him. Maybe that’s why he’s a famous chef and I’m not.
But I know better than to think he’s had it easy. I reflect back to what happened to both of us, although we were young and I’m not sure he was close with his grandmother. But why did he freeze when he looked at Daisy’s shed? Did something else happen to him in Blue Vine?
I notice the room is filled with a hazy smoke from the cooking, and I reach over and turn on the industrial fan. “That reminds me. Where are all your fire extinguishers?”
“Great question.” He shows me all of them then says, “There’s more. Come with me.” He walks over to the closet, and when he opens it, he points to a handle on the wall that’s covered by a code box. I lean closer to him to study it, and his scent, notes of sandalwood, tickles my nose. My brain fuzzes as he continues, “If things get out of hand, this is our fire suppression system with dampers in the ducts. This is obviously a last resort. It’ll squirt foam crap everywhere. The code is 4671, and you’ll want to memorize it. Why don’t you give it a try?”
“Sure.”
When we switch places, his hard chest and broad shoulders smash into my back, and the heat of his body seeps into my clothes. “Sorry,” he mumbles, chuckling.
My temperature rises and breath catches. “No problem.” Trying to keep my mind on track, I turn to face him when I say, “You’re very prepared.”
