She stared at him as she stalked toward him, chin lifted to a defiant angle. “Definitely. If anything, it’s more proof that I’m not…that,” she said with a wave of her hand that looked royal.
He held her gaze for a long moment, thinking of what she’d revealed about her upbringing and having a housekeeper to cook and clean. “Okay, fine. You can help. Wash a tomato for us and slice it up while I get the other stuff.” Hopefully she wouldn’t cut a finger off in the process.
Elias noted Quinley didn’t so much as blink at the order. He studied her as she took in the tomatoes he’d picked up the morning of her wedding. She chose the reddest one, gently plucking it from the attached vine and carrying it to the sink. “You’ve been on your own for a while,” he said, thinking of the additional details the television newscaster had revealed about her. “No cook and housekeeper?”
She snorted. “Definitely not. Ana and I scraped by those early years. Ramen was our friend.”
He busied himself opening the fridge and removing the ingredients before snagging the favorite gluten-free bread he’d made for the trip. Anything baked was the hardest to get right when it came to living the lifestyle, the taste and texture of breads and cakes hard to master.
Things had come a long way over the years, but he’d done a lot of experimenting on his own, and the hint of rosemary and olive oil in his own creation far exceeded the store bought in his opinion. “That sounds like a story.”
“Nah, not really. We were just determined to make it on our own and not accept money from the parents because italwayscame with strings. So that’s what we did. We leaned on each other but paid our own way.”
The tomato was squeaky clean by the time she’d finished, and he watched as she found a knife and began slicing. “Is that why you ended things with your ex? The…strings?”
She paused for a second but then kept slicing. “Part of it. Plus, the bodyguards and the…expectationto look a certain way andneverhaving privacy. I mean, I knew things would heat up before the wedding, but when they zoomed in on my body during my workouts and plastered my ‘problem areas’ all over the internet?”
The knife slammed to the counter as she finished, head down as she glared at the tomato. “I suppose they were used to seeing Rhys with models who were all bones and nothing else. And maybe I could’ve gotten over that after a while, but—theconstantshadowing by the guards and the way Rhys would keep tabs on me while he traveled and did whatever? I know he did it to protect me, but I couldn’t live the rest of my life like that. Not when I didn’t feel… It was too much.”
He frowned when she didn’t finish her sentence but was well able to see how that would make life intolerable. He couldn’t imagine living that way either. Under a microscope and too many watchful eyes. He got sick of all the island gossip sometimes, and that was nothing compared to the things she’d listed. “I’m sorry that happened to you. All of it. No woman should ever be made to feel like that. Or be expected to live like that.”
She turned to face him and leaned her hips back against the counter, her long, elegant fingers curling around the edge of the countertop.
“What about you? What’s your dream? I’m not trying to intrude. We’ve already established that I need to figure out what I want out of my life now that I’ve pivoted, and I’m just wondering…what’s yours? Are you not content with the businesses you have? Is that why you’re looking into starting another, or is it a workaholic-nature kind of thing?”
Sunlight haloed her from where she stood with her back to the window over the sink, turning her golden hair into molten strands of spun fire. Her expression was soft and earnest and full of curiosity, and in that moment, he found himself stilling, relaxing, at being the center of it. “A restaurant,” he said, surprising himself with the admission.
“Really? So part of a franchise? Some type of sports bar or something?”
He shook his head. “No, something unique.” When she stared at him and waited for him to explain, he inhaled and voiced the idea he hadn’t shared with anyone. “I don’t eat out much. I can’t because restaurants typically offer a sad selection of food I’m able to eat, and even if they do, there is a high probability that the food’s been cross-contaminated. I’ve…been toying with the idea of a restaurant that caters to food allergies, takes them seriously, but—it’d be a huge undertaking and exceptionally expensive.”
She canted her head to one side, and he could tell she listened. Really listened. He stilled, reveling in the awareness.
“Go on,” she urged softly. “Think of me as an investor. Pitch it to me.”
He took a few seconds to gather his thoughts and pull them away from his body’s unnerving response to her. “The problem with the idea is that there are so many considerations beyond gluten. If someone is allergic to eggs, for example. That type of restaurant would require a highly trained chef and staff who understood that a mix-up could mean death to someone with severe allergies.”
“But it would be doable, right? If separate equipment was used?”
He nodded. “It’s possible. But that’s also another expense that would have to be considered. Then there are cleaning procedures and training the staff to commit fully to doing them. They couldn’t be watched every second of the day, and one slip…”
Her gaze shifted to the floor as she thought over his words.
“People from all over the world visit the Wilmington area every year. And allergies aside, I have European clients and friends who complain about the additives and chemicals in our foods that aren’t in theirs. I think they’dlovea restaurant like yours as well, so it would be something to consider in advertising. Handling and safety would need to be addressed for sure but…” Her voice lowered as she expressed her thoughts. “That could also be a hiring incentive if you played it right though.”
He frowned at her words. “How so?”
“You don’t think wait and kitchen staff have allergies? Restaurants always give discounts or a meal to their workers during their shift, but if the worker can’t eat the food, what good is that as a perk? A workerwithfood allergies would be even more invested in making sure the food was safe.”
The words were said softly, thoughtfully, and he could practically see her mind whirling like a top as she pondered his idea.
And the hiring aspect? He hadn’t even thought of that. He knew legally he couldn’t require his employees to actuallyhavean allergy, but if the food was geared a certain way and a meal was one of the perks, wouldn’t those with allergies be more likely to apply? Want to work somewhere they themselves felt safe to eat? It made sense. Like a built-in filter system of those caring just a bit more for the required procedures.
Quinley turned and grabbed the plate she’d used as a cutting board, carrying it to the island where he stood.
“That looks homemade,” she said, pointing at the bread.
“It is.”
