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“No, I just figured being a caterer, you’d have at least an SUV.”
“This is the car I have.” It came out short, but I didn’t want to talk to him.
He held up his hands in surrender, then opened the back door for the groceries. “What’s for lunch?”
Sheesh, this guy, I wanted him to go away so I could cook. I didn’t want to have social-hour. I didn’t want his body and his face to woo me into giving him what he wanted. I could see right through him and hiskindness. He wanted me to cook for him. Well, too bad. I had the power here, and I wasn’t giving it up for those dimples or anything else he offered.
“Chicken and dumplings,” I said, “fried apples, green salad with balsamic glaze, and chocolate surprise cake.”
“What’s the surprise?” he asked as we carried our loads toward the barn.
“Carrots, zucchini, and half the sugar and oil of a regular cake. Dark chocolate adds enough flavor. You don’t miss the sweet. I make the chocolate glaze with coconut oil instead of butter.”
“You do a lot of healthy cooking?”
“I am not some health-food guru if that’s what you’re thinking. Eating healthier overall is more sustainable than a random diet.” I eyed his lean frame, probably honed to perfection with zero carbs. Screw that. I loved carbs.
“I agree,” he said.
“Healthier is the goal,” I emphasized theer.
We walked through the large room, past the rows of tables, and into the attached kitchen. “Thanks for the help. I got it from here. You take care.”
“I can help, Jo.” He held the door for me, and we headed back toward my lovely Sheila, not so lovely today. She didn’t like the cold, and it had taken more than a few prayer-filled moments to get her started in the pre-dawn hours before my shift at The Elliot this morning. She was making a new squealing sound. I’d have to use the money from today to take her in for a check-up.
Grabbing another load of chafing dishes and ingredients, we went back inside. I didn’t want to be around Lucas more than absolutely necessary, but I needed this job. I’d invested in these pans and other supplies. Money was tight. Starting a new business wasn't the time to let my Southern temper out. I kept my mouth shut and walked.
Lucas paused at the barn’s kitchen door this time. “I was hoping you would reconsider the personal chef thing. I’m eating bag salads and scrambled eggs at home and more meals at my mom’s than is healthy for an almost thirty-year-old man.”
I didn’t have a good excuse to give him. Originally, I just said no, even though I told Emily I wanted more clients. He flashed his panty-dropping dimples again. “Your food is great. I ate at Hill & Ocean often, and it would be a bright spot in an otherwise crappy time if you’d reconsider. What would it take to make it worth your while? How about double your regular rate?”
Why did that sound like something from that moviePretty Womanabout the rich guy and the hooker? Lucas may have had a little Edward thing going on, but I was no Vivian.
“I’m really not comfortable with it since your family already employs me for these farm meals.”
“Even for a hundred bucks an hour?” Shit. “You could upgrade your car to something more reliable.”
My car was none of his damn business. Entitled jerk. But that was a lot of money, and God knows, I needed it. I didn’t want to cook for him or even be in his space. I definitely didn’t want to see his skinny flavor of the month come downstairs in one of his button-down shirts.
“That’s very generous, but I can’t. Perhaps I can recommend someone else. I’ll ask around.” Turning toward the stove, I pushed up my sleeves and exhaled. I started the chicken broth warming, and Lucas watched me from the door for a few beats before he left.
The crews again gobbled up the meal. They worked hard, and I loved seeing people enjoy my food. I was doing my part to make the world a happier place, one serving at a time. I felt Lucas’s eyes on me occasionally. He probably had very little experience with not getting what he wanted. Welcome to it, hot shot.
Only a few slices of cake remained, and Donna took those back to her house. Lucas and his brother Finn appeared to help me take a few things to my car. Finn was a sturdier version of Lucas with sun-bronzed skin, even in winter, and longer hair curling around the edges of his knit cap.
“Thanks for the help.” I nodded to Finn.
“Anytime. Mom’s a great cook, but you’re next level.” Finn paused. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
I chuckled. He was not like Lucas. He radiated something good, and his perma-grin only grew bigger when his girlfriend, Emily, entered the room.
Lucas hung back when Finn headed inside. “Think about the offer and what dollar amount you would need to say yes,” he pressed.
“Is it possible I just don’t want to cook for you?”
“I doubt it. You don’t even know me.”
“I know the type,” I muttered. Opening the car door ended that discussion. It wasn’t polite, but it was the best I could do.
