Page 52 of What I Like About You

Chapter Eighteen

Fizzy.

That was the only word Zara had for how her head felt as she and Dalton stealthily made their way to the kitchen from the staff dorms. Her body felt almost effervescent, like she was riding a champagne buzz. A feeling she never, ever wanted to end.

By the time either one of them had remembered that they had made a pizza, it was too cold to eat it. But after three rounds of "polishing the silver,” as her mother would put it, they were too hungry to think of much else. The lunch offerings were fabulous, but that had been what felt like forever ago at this point.

The fact that she was entirely naked under her pool cover-up was only adding to the thrill of this adventure. She’d realized shortly after Dalton suggested they sneak over to the kitchen to find some leftovers that she hadn’t actually packed a change of clothes. No part of her had thought that she wouldn’t be returning to her own room after the excursion, leaving her now with just her still-damp swimsuit and her T-shirt dress cover-up. Thankfully she’d opted for this one, rather than the black mesh she’d also considered this morning.

“We’ll head in via the back alley,” Dalton said as he led her through the pool area. There was a surprising number of people still hanging out considering it was close to nine thirty. Zara would have thought most of the guests would be over at The Casbah by now. “Kitchen closes at nine, but there might still be some later diners.”

“We’re not breaking any rules by doing this, right? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“A, you’re a guest, a VIP one at that, so no, you won’t get anyone in trouble. And B, we do this all the time. Promise,” he told her, as he opened a door that led into the kitchen.

The smell of fresh bread overwhelmed Zara as they walked into the big industrial kitchen. For what was certainly a major epicenter of activity for most of the day, the space was relatively quiet at the moment. A middle-aged gentleman in a chef’s coat stood behind the massive stove, shuffling something in a pan with a spatula. He looked over his shoulder briefly, a smile lighting up his face.

“Well, hey there, kids. Just in time for a snack!” the man said in greeting.

“Is that grilled cheese?” Dalton asked, walking over to the man and slapping him on the back.

“It’s my grilled cheese. Back off,” Kyle called out. Zara turned quickly to her left to see Kyle and Drea sitting at a large wooden table off to the side of the kitchen. So much for sneaking into the kitchen unnoticed.

“Don’t worry, dude, I’ll wait my turn. Besides, yours is way too plain for me,” Dalton said. “Miller, I’d like you to meet someone. This is Zara Wellington.”

“Well, how do, young lady?” Miller said, wiping his hand on a rag and extending it toward her. “I’m Miller, and it’s wonderful to finally put a face to the name.”

“F-fine-finally?” she choked out, shaking Miller’s hand. She wondered what on earth he meant by that statement. Had her name been mentioned before? What had Dalton said about her?

“Miller is one of my uncles,” Drea said, looking up from her phone where she was frantically tapping out a message. “And I may have mentioned a couple hundred times how excited I was that you were coming for the opening of Cherish Spa.”

“Oh,” was all Zara could say in response, looking over to the two men she was standing next to, curious if their expression would betray what Drea offered up. Either both men had damn good poker faces, or it was the truth. A rush of relief washed over her, although she wasn’t entirely sure why. Would it have been so bad if Dalton had mentioned her?

“So, Miss Zara, how do you take your grilled cheese?”

“Pardon?”

“Miller makes the best grilled cheese. Three different kinds of cheese, his house-made herb bread, and then whatever extras you want. Kyle is a purist, so just bread and cheese. Drea likes hers with tomato and bacon. I do tomato, bacon, and jalapeño.”

“Wow,” she said, impressed with how such a simple sandwich was turned into something so gourmet. “Tomato and bacon sounds good.”

“Regular tomato or sun-dried?”

“Oh, sun-dried, if you have it.”

“You two have a seat—they’ll be ready in a moment.”

Dalton took Zara’s hand and led her over to the table as if it were an everyday occurrence. Part of her felt slightly awkward, as if she were intruding somehow, but no one seemed to be acting as if she wasn’t welcome.

“This is a rather large chef’s table,” Zara commented as they sat down. With Drea to her right, Dalton sat on her left, placing his arm around the back of her chair.

“That’s because it’s the family table. I’ve eaten pretty much every meal of my life in here,” Drea told her.

“Do your parents work here too?”

“They did, but they passed away when I was a baby. I was raised by Miller and my other two uncles.”

“I’m sorry about your parents,” Zara replied, not knowing what else to say. She hadn’t meant to drag the conversation down. Good one, Z…