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She closes her eyes and shakes her head.
“Tori,” I say gently. “It’s okay.”
She looks up at me.
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me. And you don’t have to apologize to me. I’m the one who made you uncomfortable with that joke I made,” I say. “I know I already said it, but I’m so sorry for making you feel that way. If you want to forget it about and move on, I’m happy to do that.”
A small smile tugs at her lips. “Thank you, Tyler.”
She continues eating her sandwich.
“And hey, if you want to put a stop to this whole fake relationship thing, I understand. Completely.”
She looks at me and shakes her head. “No way. I’m still in if you are.”
I smile at her. “Absolutely.”
She finishes an entire sandwich, then half of another. I’m putting away the rest in her refrigerator when she stops me.
“Wait, can I ask you something?”
I turn around. “Of course.”
She bites her lip like she’s nervous. Fuck, it’s cute. And hot.
“Why didn’t you talk more about the sandwich recipes with your dad and brother last week at the engagement party?”
I shrug. “I didn’t think it was important.”
Tori tilts her head at me. “Come on, Tyler. Of course it’s important. You’re an incredible cook, just like your dad and brother.”
“They’re chefs. There’s a big difference.”
My dad has always been a hardass in and out of his restaurant kitchens. I remember being a kid and proudly telling all my friends that my dad was a famous cook. He overheard me once and stopped me to correct me.
“I’m a chef, Tyler. I went to culinary school to do what I do for a living.”
Even though my dad has softened up a lot in the past few years while trying to reconnect with my siblings and me after a lifetime of being a workaholic absent father, I’ve always remembered that distinction.
Because in the restaurant and food world—in his world—it matters.
Tori looks unfazed. “Maybe there’s a difference when it comes to stuff like culinary degrees, but when it comes to food, taste is all that matters. Or all that should matter. That’s what I think, at least. And your sandwiches are incredible. They’re just as delicious as any dish your brother or dad can whip up.”
There’s an unfamiliar swelling feeling in my chest. It takes a second for me to figure out what it is.
Tori’s proud of me. And it feels really damn good.
“I don’t mean any disrespect to your dad or brother,” she says. “Your dad is an accomplished and talented chef. Gage is too. But don’t sell yourself short, Tyler. You’re just as good as they are.”
That feeling inside of me intensifies.
“Thank you,” I say, hoping she can hear in my voice just how much it means to hear her say that about me.
“I don’t mean to push you or anything like that.” She looks off to the side for a second, like she’s shy. “Your cooking skills are impressive, and your sandwiches are orgasmic. You should share them with the world.”
I hook up my eyebrow as I look at her. “Orgasmic, huh?”
She makes a flustered sound, but a second later she looks me square in the eye and smiles. “Just speaking the truth.”
