Page 84 of Falling for the Grumpy Bad Boy

“Thank you,” Clementine said quietly.

I turned to find her standing close. She looked almost sad.

“You don’t need to thank me,” I said. “You earned it.”

“You could have let him take his spot back. It would have been easier, more traditional. No one would have questioned it.”

“Maybe. But it wouldn’t have been right. You’ve been doing very well, Clem. I’m not taking it from you.”

She looked at me like she was trying to decide if I was being honest. I could see her processing not just what I had done but what it meant. I hoped she understood I valued her contributions enough to potentially complicate my relationship with Conroy. I proved I was willing to break from tradition to ensure she got the recognition she deserved.

“Still,” she said softly. “Thank you.”

We stood there for a beat too long, the air between us charged with all the things we weren’t saying. I found myself leaning slightly toward her. She was wearing a clear lip gloss that made her lips look plump and juicy and so ripe for kissing. I wanted to run my tongue over those perfect lips. Her perfect little body fit so well against mine. I needed⁠—

“Chef?” A student’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. “Can you check this soup? Tell me if I used salt instead of sugar.”

I blinked and stepped back, suddenly aware that half the kitchen staff was watching us with varying degrees of interest and amusement. Clementine’s cheeks flushed pink, but she maintained her composure as she moved back to her station.

“You better be able to tell the difference, son,” I said, my voice rough. “The rest of you, keep it up. Service starts in two hours.”

The kid’s soup was good, although I had serious questions about his taste buds. The rest of the prep passed in a blur of controlled chaos. The storm outside intensified, rattling the old windows and making the lights flicker occasionally, but everything ran well. The choir’s voices provided an otherworldly soundtrack to our work.

“Chef Voss?” Father McKenna, the cathedral’s priest, appeared at my elbow as I expedited the first course. “The parish council wanted me to extend an invitation. When service is complete, we would love for you and your team to join us in the main sanctuary for dinner. As our guests, not our staff.”

I blinked in surprise. In all my years of professional cooking, I had never sat down to eat my own food alongside the people paying for it. The kitchen was my domain.

“That’s very generous,” I said carefully. “But we’ll still have breakdown and⁠—”

“Already handled,” he interrupted with a smile. “Our volunteers will take care of cleanup. Consider it our gift to you for bringing such an amazing meal to us.”

An hour later, I found myself in the unfamiliar position of sitting at a candlelit table in the cathedral’s main sanctuary, still in my chef uniform but no longer working. The space was breathtaking.

Clementine sat beside me. She laughed at something one of the guests had said. She was magnetic in this setting, drawing people to her with an effortless charm that made everyone feel like they were in on some wonderful secret.

“The beef was extraordinary,” the woman across from us was saying. She was a food critic from the Chicago Tribune whose opinion could make or break restaurants. “But that sauce? I’ve never tasted anything like it. The depth of flavor was remarkable.”

“That’s all Clementine,” I found myself saying. “She developed the reduction, balanced the acidity. I just tried to stay out of her way.”

Clementine’s head turned toward me in surprise, but I kept my attention on the critic, watching her make notes in the small notebook she’d discreetly placed beside her wine glass.

“Fascinating,” she murmured. “And how long have you been cooking professionally, Clementine?”

“Not long,” Clementine admitted. “I’m still learning. But Chef Voss has been an incredible mentor.”

The conversation flowed around us. I found myself only half-listening, distracted by the woman beside me. Clementine in her element, I realized. Not just in the kitchen, but in the world. I was pretty sure she could sit down and talk with total strangers anywhere she went. She had a way of making them feel special. She had a gift that went beyond technical skill or culinary knowledge. She cooked with heart.

I felt something I hadn’t experienced in years.

Peace.

For once, I wasn’t thinking about the next course or the next critique or the next crisis that needed managing. I was just present in the moment and grateful for the strange journey that had brought me to the table sitting beside Clementine. She made everything better just by being in the room.