“Exactly.” I press and hold the ‘Cancel’ button for three seconds. The machine beeps, the display flashing green. “Now. Watch. Press ‘Steam,’ wait for the light to turn,thenpress ‘Start.’”
She watches intently, nodding as the machine hums to life, steam hissing softly inside the glass chamber. “That makes sense. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I expect her to leave now, to go back to her station or the sink. But she doesn’t. She lingers, looking around the kitchen as if she’s waiting for something else.
“Is there anything else?”
She looks back at me. “Oh. No. I was just… I have to get to the dishes. The lunch rush left a backlog.”
I glance at the sink. It’s piled high with sheet pans and mixing bowls.
Fallon usually tackles this before he leaves for his deliveries, but he had to run to the docks to pick up the fish order. Eli is at the grocery store restocking produce.
Which means I’m the one left here with her.
“I can help you,” I find myself saying. The words are out of my mouth before I can consult my brain.
She shakes her head quickly. “No, it’s okay. You’re the head chef. You shouldn’t be washing dishes.”
“I don’t mind,” I say, rolling up the sleeves of my chef whites. “Idle hands, and all that.”
I don’t wait for her to argue. I walk over to the sink, grab an apron, and snap it on. I hear her hesitate for a second, and then the soft sound of her footsteps following me.
We work in silence. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly, but it’s charged. I can feel her presence next to me.
I try to focus on the task at hand—scrubbing the burnt cheese off a baking sheet—but I can’t help but notice how gorgeous she is.
The way the water splashes against her cheek as she rinses a plate. The way her hands move.The way she smells…
It’s distracting. It’s unprofessional.
I am almost grateful when my phone starts to ring on the office desk.
“I have to get that,” I say, ripping my gloves off. “If you need help with anything else, just tell me.”
“Thanks, Knox,” she says.
I freeze for a fraction of a second. The sound of my name in her mouth… there’s a thrill that zips down my spine that has absolutely no business being there. I nod curtly and escape to the safety of the office.
I close the door and pick up the phone. “Blade & Butter, Knox speaking.”
“Knox! It’s Ruth Evans.”
I smile, relaxing instantly. Ruth Evans is a sweet-faced older Omega who owns the antique shop on Main Street. She’s been a loyal customer since we opened.
“Ruth. How are you?”
“I’m wonderful, dear. Listen, I have a favor to ask. My niece is in town—just graduated from university in California—and the whole family is coming in to celebrate. There will be fifteen of us.”
“Fifteen?” I do the mental math. “That’s a decent crowd. We can certainly accommodate you. When were you thinking?”
“This Friday evening? Around seven?”
“Friday is doable. We’ll just need to finalize the menu.” I pull a notepad toward me. “Does she have any preferences? Allergies?”
“Oh, she’s not picky at all,” Ruth says. “But she is quite fond of spicy food. Loves a good kick. And she’s been raving about this truffle oil pasta she had in Napa, though I know that’s a bit out of season. Whatever you can come up with, Knox, I trust you. You’ve never steered me wrong.”
