Page 277 of 7 Minutes in Sea Haven

“That’s a wonderful idea, Kota,” Graham says a little too politely. “But Khaos is no five-star chef. He can’t compete with Cordon—”

“I think he can.”

Graham stares at me unflinchingly before rotating his head toward his son.

Khaos drops the amusement instantly.

“My dad’s right. Crab is out of my wheelhouse.”

“You can make something else.” I shrug. “Steak maybe.”

“Maybe,” is all he says.

“I can’t imagine anything worse than having to eat a ruined fifty-dollar piece of meat in front of the cook.”

My mom is so rude. I barely suppress the urge to sink into the floor and die right here.

Instead, I shoot Khaos an apologetic look.

While Khaos’s head doesn’t move an inch, his eyes shift to the head of the table, his voice clipped as he says, “I’ve never ruined a steak, regardless of its price tag.”

For some reason, my mom finds that funny. She actually laughs, muttering into her glass of wine, “You’re going to make someone a good wife one day.”

I can’t keep the reprimand in. “Mom!”

“Oh, I meant it as a compliment.” She brushes me off with an equally insincere roll of her eyes.

“Just like my old man.” Khaos pats his father’s back.

Graham’s features harden for a split second, maybe even faster, so fast I question whether it really happened, before he pastes on a dopey smile to say, “Just like me.”

Now it’s Khaos’s face that’s stone.

My eyes oscillate between the two men. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to mean or why I’m picking up on the same tension I felt the last time I was in the same room with them. Are they in a fight or something?

“My daughter, however…”

Everybody’s attention swings to my mom.