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“I don’t care. Cover me in flour if you want, as long as you love me back.”
She smiled up at me sweetly. “I do love you back.”
“I don’t suppose you get off work anytime soon?” I murmured against her lips.
“Not until after dinner. I’m counting the days until I don’t have to be here from sunup past sunrise.”
“Come to my house when you get off. I want to show it to you. I’ll make you dinner.”
She arched a brow, surprised. “Oh, you will?”
I grinned. “With an assist by my mom.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. You deserve the world, Shea. I want to show you how great it feels to be cared for. The way you make me and my kids feel.”
“Okay, don’t make me cry,” she said. “You won me over already. No need to make me weepy.”
I kissed her again. “I guess I should let you get back to whatever you’re working on.”
“Chicken potpie.”
“So I’ll see you tonight?”
She nodded, her eyes bright with happiness.
“I can’t wait,” I said, wishing I didn’t have to leave.
At least we wouldn’t be apart for long. I had a lot of lost time to make up for, and I could hardly wait to get started.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Shea
ONE MONTH LATER
“Change two teaspoons of brown sugar to three,” I said after tasting the butter sauce I was trying to perfect.
“Two to three. Check.”
Holt stood next to the stove, a clipboard in hand, as he took the recipe notes I needed to get my cheese ravioli with butter sauce recipe just right.
Before I’d even finished working out my two-week notice at The Sleepy Moose, Holt had come up with an idea I was excited about: teaching cooking classes. He’d found and bought a downtown building that had been vacant for a couple of years and was planning to oversee its renovation.
I had plans to teach kids’ classes, host themed cooking parties and teach aspiring cooks how to make staple recipes. And the best part was that with the business plan Holt had created for me, he’d shown me that I could afford to bring Nina with me.
Somehow, he’d convinced Keller to partner with him financially on this venture, even though Keller was still disappointed I’d turned him down.
“What does this need?” I asked myself out loud.
“It’s usually salt,” Holt answered for me.
He’d been my sous-chef of sorts all week, taking notes and making quick runs to the grocery store for more ingredients when I needed them. And, of course, taste testing. He and the kids were all over that job.
“My salt is good and I don’t want garlic or lemon juice in this. I think we need to see how it tastes with the ravioli.”
I plated four servings of the cheese ravioli I’d made this morning and topped each with some sauce.
