Page 74 of The Chef

Sitting out here with Cliff’s arms around me, the waves crashing and the night sky twinkling with stars, I feel protected. Safe.

I never want this to end.

But I know it will.

25

BAY

I puff as I scan through the documents laid out on the desk, my cheeks bulging as I let out built-up air in my lungs. I’m sitting in the manager’s office at Rockpool, checking over everything before the big re-opening this time tomorrow night.

And I’m nervous.

I have to make everything perfect, there can’t be any mistakes here. Rockpool has to survive. It has to make money. I can’t afford to screw this up. This is important.

And I’m freaking out.

I re-check the documents again, quickly skipping through the pages. Everything seems alright, but I can’t be too certain. Just a few little things to tweak in the morning and we should be all set for the grand re-opening in the night.

Fingers crossed.

There’s a knock on the door and Cliff walks in with a smile on his face and a glass of red wine in his hand, his favorite drink.

“How’s it going?” he asks.

“Hm,” I grunt in reply.

Cliff hands me the glass of wine. “Maybe this might help.”

I take a sip, enjoying the strong dry taste. I hand the glass back to him. “Thanks.”

Cliff sits down beside me and takes out his laptop. He boots it up to show Rockpool’s financial records and he scrolls through them, reading. I watch him as he checks each page with his intense stare, ticking off the individual numbers as he scans through them.

He’s so freaking gorgeous. His square jaw, black slightly curly hair, and deep brown eyes are shining from the laptop screen’s glare. His skin is tanned and flawless. He’s just so incredibly beautiful.

What a man.

I reach out and steal the glass back off him, drinking a large gulp before he can protest. I need that wine when I’m sitting so close to him and unable to contain myself from lashing out and getting him to fuck me right here and now. I need the wine to calm my nerves about sitting right next to Superman.

But, despite how much I really, really want to, we can’t have sex. Not now. Not while I still need to double-check everything for tomorrow. Not while Cliff scrolls through the restaurant’s financial records.

I turn back to my documents. I pull out the new menu we’ve printed off and I go through it line-by-line. I check each word.

And then I see it.

“Cliff,” I say. “How do you spell Lemon Posset?”

He looks up at me from the laptop screen. “Posset? As in p-o-s-s-e-t?”

“One T?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure it’s spelled with one T?”

“I’m sure. Why are you asking?”

Well, that’s not what he’s written here.