“Seriously?” He grabbed me into a hug, kissing the top of my head. “Now I feel awful.”
I shrugged in his arms. “Don’t. In kitchens we refer to the walk-in as the crying pod. It sort of comes with the territory. Cooking is a high-pressure gig.”
It was just about time to get started on tonight’s dinner prep as we finished packing away the groceries. I pulled out my knives and began sharpening them. Charles watched me, cracking open a beer as he leaned against the island.
“You know,” he said, fixing me with a mischievous grin. “You’re awfully sexy in your element.”
“Yeah? Knives are your kink, huh?”
He laughed to himself. “No, I think you’re my kink.”
I bit hard into my lip, shaking my head. He really did know how to lay it on thick. And it worked every time.
“You should probably go find something else to do,” I told him. “Not sure I can concentrate while you’re standing there.”
“Distracting you, am I?” He swigged his beer and waggled his eyebrows.
“We’ve been over this.”
Charles set aside his beer as I pulled a baking sheet from the shelf. He caught me in his arms, dipping his fingers beneath the hem of my sweatshirt to graze bare skin. That small touch sent lightning across my nerves, thoroughly erasing the careful order of tasks in my head. He picked me up by my waist and sat me on the island.
“You know, I’m going to have to clean this now,” I told him, gazing at his soft lips that curved into a smile.
“Then might as well make it worth the effort.”
Charles stepped between my legs to lift my chin and press his mouth to mine. He kissed me deeply, tongue gently caressing mine. His body was always so impossibly warm. Outside in the snow, or here in the chilly marble kitchen. It melted into me as I ran my hands down his back and pushed my hands beneath his shirt.
The faint clicking of stiletto heels on tiles echoed down the hallway. We shared a brief glance, then quickly broke apart as I jumped down from the counter.
Mrs. Hawthorne burst through the kitchen door to find us both a little red and flustered as I stood there with an empty sheet pan, floundering for something to do with my hands. She stopped short and leveled us both with a suspicious grimace.
“What are you doing in the kitchen?” she asked Charles.
“Just grabbing a snack.”
“You’re not wearing that to dinner,” she said, thumbing her nose at his flannel shirt and faded jeans.
“Of course not. I was just leaving to change.”
“Well, take a shower while you’re at it. Your father has clients coming for drinks later, and I don’t want you walking in there with your hair looking like you’ve been chopping wood under a waterfall.”
Mrs. Hawthorne grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack. “I’m going to lie down. I have a terrible headache from the glare on the slopes.”
At that she curtly turned and left. Charles and I shared a contrite glance before bursting into smothered laughter.
“A delight, isn’t she?” he said. “I better bring her some aspirin and water.”
He kissed my forehead before he left, setting butterflies loose in my stomach that lasted all through the dinner service.
Chapter 26
Dinner service that night went well, I thought. I even prepared a few light snacks that the waitstaff could put out if Mr. Hawthorne and his guests got peckish during drinks later. Back at my cottage, I sat in front of the fireplace in my pajamas with my phone and some mulled wine, posting new photos of my dishes to the Après Brie account. I carefully cropped out any identifying elements of the kitchen, as usual, and added a few cheeky captions. Then I went over my notebook again, checking off final items from tomorrow’s event to-do list.
This would be the largest event I’d ever led. In the past, I’d been a line cook and a pastry chef, but never the sole head chef for so many guests. The current tally was over one hundred and it seemed every day Ali informed me of more last-minute additions. A mix of friends and business associates, I gathered. Honestly, I was growing more anxious as the big day approached, second-guessing my menu and worrying that I’d get so far in the weeds that the whole rickety house of cards that was my timeline to execute the food would collapse.
More wine helped chase those worries away, for now.
I was about to pack it in for the night when someone knocked at the door. I padded over to the front window in my thick, comfy socks and found Charles outside, looking cold and haggard in only a button-down shirt and trousers.
