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I raised my eyebrows at her.
“Lucas, another?” Jake asked.
“Nah, whatever Chuckanut beer you have on tap.”
“Comin’ up. You guys want food?”
I nodded.
“Here’s a menu,” Jake said. “I’ll grab your drinks and be right back.”
Jo looked at me. “What’s with the eyebrows?”
“I just never thought you’d let a man, or anyone, choose for you,” I said.
“Why would you say that?”
“You’re …” She squinted at me. “independent,” I said.
“I can still be independent and take advice from others, especially if those people are experts on the topic. Like say, a bartender, and what whiskey to put in my cocktail.”
I raised my hands. “I didn’t mean anything bad.”
Jo swiveled her seat toward me, and her eyes softened. “Sorry. That was a little harsh. I’m quick to get defensive sometimes. You already had a bad day. I can be kinder.” She scanned the menu. “What looks good to you?”
I scanned her face. No makeup. Just thick lashes and rosy, plump lips. She had changed into black yoga pants and a long brown tunic sweater to midthigh. She probably thought it was modest. It wasn’t. Not with the rounded softness underneath, and I let my eyes wander a bit while she read the menu. I’d seen what she was trying to hide, and that image had my dick at half-mast.
“In the interest of deferring to the experts. What looks good to you?” I asked.
“I’m going standard burger. That’s one thing that’s not the same when cooked at home. Something about a burger and fries in a bar on a chilly night makes it taste so much better, don’t you think?”
“I do.”
Jake returned with our drinks, and we gave him our orders.
“What’s it like to eat out as a chef?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you look around the room or the menu and consider what you would change?”
“Rarely. Cooking is a craft of the heart. The food, the restaurant, if done right, reflects who the chef is. It sounds a little woo woo, but it’s true. Some foods taste different because of the chef who made them, and others can’t duplicate them. Exhibit A, the almond cake. Micro-bacteria on a particular person or in a particular kitchen can impact the quality of bread. At least a lot of pastry chefs think so. Maybe that’s the science for what we call cooking with love. Some foods made by particular people in particular places taste better.”
“I’m not sure I want to know about bacteria in my food from the person who cooked it,” I said.
“Ha. Fair enough. The mysteries of human chemistry and biology.” She laughed and swept a thick curl behind her ear like she did the night of Dan’s Father’s Day celebration. The move exposed the column of her neck again, and I wanted to press my nose there, under the fall of her dark, silky hair. That was one mystery of human chemistry and biology I wanted to explore.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned. Kennedy, an old … acquaintance. “Hi Lucas,” she purred, then glanced at Jo. I saw a flash of something before Jo straightened, sitting a little taller.
“Am I interrupting?” Kennedy asked.
“Actually—” I said.
“I’m happy to see you tonight.” She leaned closer.
“Kennedy, this is my, my friend Jo. Jo, this is Kennedy. We used to know each other.”
“It hasn’t been that long, Lucas. I’d say we still know each other.”
