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Baptiste butted in between us, saying almost giddily, “This is the one, Cap. This is the dish that’ll finally make you cry.”
Lucian’s fiery eyes flicked up to mine, then back at the bowl. He lightly sniffed the steam coming off the gumbo, then raised a spoonful up to his full lips, parting them slightly as he let the steam wash over his mouth. Then he slipped the spoon in and pulled it out clean, his eyes locked on mine the whole time.
Jeez, that was more sensual than it had any business being.
I gulped and wondered if I’d left all the stove burners on at full blast behind me, because I could swear it just got twenty degrees hotter in my tiny truck.
Lucian set the spoon back into the gumbo and let the flavors settle in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of andouille sausage. The longer the silence stretched, the more I started to worry.
I knew the dish was strong, and had given Baptiste and his crew the spicy gumbo equivalent of a kick to the groin.
But I could tell from the way Lucian was looking at me that he wasn’t affected in the slightest.
In fact, the longer the silence dragged on, the more the corner of his lip quirked up in a knowing smile, like he could see straight into my soul.
Shit.
I didn’t know a damn thing about hellhounds. Was that something they could do? Could he read my mind? Did he know how hot and bothered he was making me?
But one probably didn’t need to be a mind reader to see how much he was making me blush.
“Well, boys,” he finally said, his voice a deep rumble. “I hate to disappoint. But Hell’s not freezing over today.” He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Although…”
Everybody, myself included, waited, unsure just what Lucian was going to say next.
He took one more bite, then nodded definitively. “This just might be the best dish I’ve ever tasted.”
Every one of his men gasped. One looked like he was going to faint. Baptiste stuttered, “C-Cap, you don’t mean that.” He then turned to me, explaining, “He’s not the type to give compliments. He hates every bowl of chili we’ve ever cooked back at the station.”
I gulped yet again, unaware that my dish was being judged by the hellhound equivalent of Gordon Ramsay.
Lucian’s eyes burned into mine as he replied, “I’ll compliment food that deserves it. So, Miss… Gumbo?”
“Z-Zoe. I’m just Zoe. Miss Gumbo is my grandmother.”
“Zoe,” he repeated, his voice practically caressing my name. “You made this from scratch?”
I nodded, my heart pounding from the undivided attention he was giving me. I had never felt so seen, and it was both thrilling and terrifying.
Lucian lifted the bowl up to his nose and breathed it in. “Let’s see… Chicken, andouille sausage, celery, onion, green pepper, tomatoes, okra, garlic, cumin, and a unique Creole spice blend that must’ve been passed down through many generations.”
I felt like he had read me like a book. Or at least read my recipe like one. “Yup.”
“And, of course,” Lucian added, setting the bowl back down on the counter, “there is the Carolina Reaper pepper, which to an untrained palette might be a bit overwhelming. But to me, it adds a bit of a kick that I really appreciate.”
“Th-thanks,” I said, brushing a stray lock of hair out of my eyes.
He paused and sniffed the air gently, before frowning. “Wait… There’s something else.”
I wasn’t sure what else it could be. He had named off every ingredient there was.
Then he leaned closer to the counter, his voice lowering as he took another breath. “Oh,” he said with a curious cock to his head and an amused glint in his eyes. He then said, just low enough for only me to hear, “It’s you.”
“Me?” I whispered.
Suddenly the radio attached to his hip crackled, and a dispatch operator’s voice sounded. “Unit 55, your assistance is requested at the intersection of Canal and Decatur Street.”
Lucian grabbed the radio and responded, his eyes never leaving mine, “Copy. We’re en route.” He made a circling motion with his hand, and all the men around him started gearing up and making their way to the trucks, wasting no time. Lucian sparedme one last look before putting on his helmet and following his crew, leaving me there in a daze.
