Deliciously Sinful (9 page)

“But—”

“No!” She put out her hand. “Shut up. You work for me. You’re my”—she poked herself in the chest—“
my
employee. Now get out to the kitchen and start prepping. We have an early crowd here. We’re old and boring, remember?”

He was just staring at her.
It was an act.
He’d been a playboy since the second he’d gotten here, and she’d let him get to her. Why? Because he had
Danger
practically tattooed all over his arrogant face. She thought she’d tamped down that desire of hers long ago.

Now she wasn’t sure. Not one bit.

Obviously, she’d been wrong. She should just jump out of an airplane and get it over with. Because free-falling ten thousand feet through the sky was certainly safer than letting Nick Avalon anywhere near her.

She glared at him. “Get to work.” Turning, she spun on her heel and stalked away. It was then she realized she’d had her sandals on the entire time. He hadn’t even bothered to take off her shoes.

H
ere you go, Dad.” Jesse placed her father’s order on the table. “Butternut squash ravioli. Nick made it. It’s delicious. I tried some earlier.”

Her dad looked up and smiled. It made Jesse’s heart hurt. Every Saturday night, he came to the bistro at 6:00 on the dot. He always sat alone, at the table he’d so often shared with her mother when she was alive.

“Bon appétit.” Jesse pasted on a reflection of his fake smile, turned, and went back to the kitchen.

“How is he?” Phoebe stuck two order tickets on the wheel hanging from the ceiling and spun it.

Jesse looked back at her dad, who was cutting a single ravioli with a knife and a fork. “The same.” She faced Phoebe. “Do you think he’ll ever meet someone?”

Her aunt’s eyes went soft as she touched Jesse’s shoulder gently. “When he’s ready.”

“What if he never is?”

“Oh, honey. Then that’ll be his decision.”

Jesse sighed. “I guess you’re right.” Anyway, she really wasn’t sure how she’d feel if her father did, indeed, meet another woman. She wanted her dad to be happy, but no one could ever replace her mother.

With a sigh, Jesse glanced around the restaurant. The three other servers were busy, and Nick was sweating away at the big stove. The place was busier than it normally was on a Saturday night. But it was still unchanged. Same patrons, same decor, same…everything.

Jesse wanted out. She envied Nick and his background, and his stories about living in Los Angeles. And his awesome knowledge about food. She imagined his life in L.A. She pictured his chic apartment on the beach, the exciting parties, and the endless choices of things to do. It all sounded so cool.

It all sounded so unlike what she was used to. Redbolt wasn’t exactly swimming with culture. She was sick of the same coffeehouse, the same grocery store, the same routine. The same people.

More than anything, Jesse craved more. That’s all she knew. She wanted more.

“Jesse!”

Spinning, she saw Nick glaring at her beneath the warming lights. Yeah, he could be cool, but it was easy to see that he was a shark in the kitchen. She really didn’t want to piss him off.

She plucked two plates off the hot counter. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, well, sorry won’t get this food to the tables, poppet.”

Nodding, she headed toward the table and put the plates down. “Here you go, Rachel. And there you are, Rick.”

The thirty-something couple smiled at her. Their San Francisco–based Internet start-up company had gone public a few years back, and they’d settled on a ranch about fifteen miles out of town. Jesse knew they were gazillionaires, but you’d never know it from their laid-back manner and casual dress. And every Saturday night, they came in for their standing 7:00 p.m. reservation.

“This looks delicious,” Rick said, gazing at his vegan shepherd’s pie.

Rachel picked up a fork and looked at her rosemary crepes. “What makes it all the more amazing is that our own Phoebe grew most of this right here on her local farm.”

“Yup,” Jesse said. “Phoebe is pretty amazing.”

“That she is.”

Jesse glanced over to the object of their praise, who was currently talking with the chef. Phoebe and Nick were head-to-head, trying to look casual but obviously fighting about something.

Well, that wasn’t unusual. They were always fighting over something.

“Enjoy,” Jesse said before heading back to the kitchen. She went straight over to Nick and Phoebe.

Nick had his hands on his hips and was leaning down to get right in Phoebe’s face. “Who the fuck books ten reservations in the span of twenty minutes?”

Phoebe didn’t back down. “What do you care? We have the space!”

“Yeah, but we don’t have the fucking backup,
boss
. There’s only one chef in this back room. Me!”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass who the chef is. There’s only one
boss
in this place, and that is me!”

“The manager should know how to space reservations.”

“Hey, buster!” She poked him in the chest. “For some reason, we’re getting a lot more patrons since you’ve been here. I’m just trying to accommodate the demand.”

Jesse couldn’t help but be entertained by their disputes. She’d never seen her parents fight, not once. But watching Nick and Phoebe go back and forth like this, it was fascinating. Like watching professionals play tennis. Every night was Wimbledon.

Eventually, Phoebe tugged Nick into a corner where they continued their bickering, only now in furious whispers.

Why was she comparing Nick and Phoebe to her parents? That was strange. They were nothing like Jesse’s parents, and they certainly weren’t “together.”

Nick had leaned right into Phoebe’s face. Jesse could still hear them.

“Well,” he said, “learn how to space out reservations before you piss off all your new money. Can’t you see your waiters are getting buried, and the kitchen’s in the weeds?”

Jesse bit her lip. All that was true. She and the three other servers had been rushing around all night trying to keep up. She’d personally handed Nick more tickets in an hour than she usually did all night.

But she’d never say anything to Phoebe.

Nick, obviously, had no qualms about standing up to the manager. He waved Phoebe away.

“Now, leave the kitchen to me and go help out your waitstaff.”

Jesse sucked in an astonished breath. In all the time she’d known her aunt, she’d never seen anyone, not once, give Phoebe a command.

And Phoebe looked like she was going to explode. Her cheeks were red, and her deep-brown hair seemed to be unraveling from her braid in angry spirals. Her green eyes looked ready to throw sparks at Nick.

“Um, Nick?”

They turned their glares to Ethan, a shy seventeen-year-old with bright red hair.

“What?” Nick barked.

“A-a customer was wondering if he could get the butternut squash without the caramel almonds.” Ethan’s blue eyes were wide, and he looked scared.

“Hell, no!” Nick said. “The almonds are perfection. They make the dish.” And then he turned his back on all of them and went back to the stove.

Phoebe was staring at him. After a minute, she turned to Jesse. “He likes the almonds?”

Jesse shrugged. “Um, I guess so.”

“That’s strange.”

“Why?”

Phoebe shook her head. “Earlier he said he only liked walnuts.” She shook her head. “Obviously, he was just trying to mess with me.” And then she grabbed a plate and headed into the front room.

Astonished, Jesse gazed after her. Phoebe had done it. She’d taken an order from Nick Avalon.

“Excuse us. Mr. Avalon?”

Wiping his brow, Nick looked up as he set two plates under the lights. A man and a woman stood on the other side of the counter. Both looked to be in their mid-thirties, and both were beaming at him.

“Yes?” he said.

The man said, “We just wanted to compliment you on our outstanding dinner.”

“Yes,” the woman said. “I’m Rachel, and this is Rick. We’ve lived here about five years now.”

“Pleasure,” Nick said.

Rick leaned a bit closer. “I can’t tell you how happy we are to have a chef such as yourself move to Redbolt.”

“Yes.” Rachel’s smile got bigger, and it seemed genuine. “While we absolutely love living here, we have to admit the one thing we miss about living in Silicon Valley is the food.”

“Right,” Rick said. “And your shepherd’s pie is absolutely the most delicious thing I’ve had in ages.”

Rachel actually clapped her hands. “And my crepes. It was better than sex.”

“Hey.” Rick gave her a friendly nudge. “I take offense to that.”

Rachel grinned at her husband. “Well, I suppose you can try to make sex better than those crepes. Maybe I’ll let you attempt it later tonight.”

Nick stared at the couple. Redbolt got stranger by the minute.

Rick cleared his throat. “Anyway, we just wanted to tell you how much we enjoyed our meals. Thank you.”

Nick wiped his hands on the dishtowel tucked into his belt and held out his hand. “I appreciate it. Nice to meet you.”

After Nick shook their hands, he watched them exit the front door. They seemed to be actually complimenting his cooking, and not in the ass-kissing way he was used to. For some reason, the interaction had brought him a small amount of satisfaction. Although he really didn’t want to care what the townspeople thought of him, he couldn’t help but appreciate the compliment.

In fact, as he glanced around the dining room and observed the crowd, he had to acknowledge there was a much different vibe here than at any restaurant he’d cooked for in L.A. People were laughing, talking, and sipping wine. No one was wearing designer clothes or obnoxious jewelry. No one was here to be “seen.”

These were the locals, here for the wine and the food. And apparently, they liked what Nick was producing. Enough to sincerely thank him.

“You okay?” Jesse grabbed the two plates from under the lights.

He turned to her. “Yeah. Why?”

“I dunno. You’re just standing there. You never just stand anywhere.”

He took a sip from the small glass of tequila. Funny, he realized he’d been too busy to actually drink any of it; the glass was still nearly full. “I’m good,” he said, and went back to the stoves.

The last customer left just after ten o’clock. Phoebe didn’t want to admit it, but Nick had been right. She had overbooked the restaurant. They’d been running around like insane people trying to fill all the orders. Luckily there had been only one set of irate customers—a couple traveling to explore the great redwood parks of Northern California—who had gone bonkers when they were forced to wait thirty minutes for their table.

The clientele locals understood the place was abnormally busy and took it in stride. Also, giving complimentary glasses of a local wine helped relax most of the more surly customers.

The servers were doing the final cleanup. With a deep breath, she glanced around the bistro. Despite her mistake, they’d come together. Nick had turned out every plate, and despite his grouchy demeanor, he’d done his job. And she had to confess he’d done it well. Very well.

She watched him as he cleaned the back kitchen. Every so often he sipped from his ever-present glass of tequila, but she hadn’t seen him refill it in the last few hours. He’d kept his eyes on his work, looking up briefly to take a ticket or answer a server’s question.

For once, he didn’t seem to be bouncing off the walls. He was focused on what he was doing. His leg wasn’t doing its jackhammer routine, and his fingers weren’t tapping any available surface.

Now he was scrubbing a stainless-steel counter. He had tiny headphones stuck in his ears, and he appeared to be enjoying himself. He seemed lost in what he was doing, so Phoebe stole a moment to watch him.

Beyond the sleeves of his black T-shirt, his arms were sturdy. For such a lean man, he had well-defined biceps muscles. She couldn’t help the flutter that landed in her belly when she remembered exactly how those arms had felt holding her. Strong and safe.

What the heck was she thinking? Nick Avalon was anything but safe.

“I haven’t seen you look at anyone like that since Bear.”

Phoebe whipped her head around to face Steve, who’d just finished sweeping. “What do you mean?” she asked. But she felt her face flush.

“You know. Bear? Your high school sweetheart? The one you were engaged to?”

“Steve. What’s your point?”

“My point is, I think you have a crush.”

“I do not.” Maybe if she said it enough times, it would be true.

“I heard a rumor Bear’s back in the country.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. His mom stopped by the store and said he was in New York or something, and might be home for a visit.”

“I hope he can make it by.” And Phoebe meant it. She’d always considered Bear one of her best friends.

As a food research scientist and activist, her ex-fiancé often came and went. That was one of the main reasons they’d called off the engagement. Bear needed to see the world. Phoebe had ties to home. She didn’t begrudge him his travels, not one bit. In fact, she respected his decision to help the world.

Phoebe wanted to do that, too. Just at home. With her farm and her bees and her summer students.

“Are you okay, Phoebe?”

Her gaze drifted back to Nick. He was still lost in cleaning and his music. “Yes, I’m fine, Steve. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. I worry about you.”

Turning, she smiled at her brother-in-law. “I’m wonderful. Life is good.” And it was true. She was a modern woman, in charge of her body. She didn’t need Nick, Bear, or anyone else. She could take care of herself and not be needy. Sometimes she had sexual urges. (Nick was an urge. An urge, by definition, is temporary and goes away.)

She gave Steve a hug. “Really. I’m great. I couldn’t be happier.”

Steve wrapped his big arms around her, and she enjoyed the comfort of her family in that one embrace.

Eventually they pulled apart. She noticed Nick and Jesse were the only other ones left in the place. It was time to lock up and go home. Phoebe was taking the keys from the pocket of her apron when the jingle of bells hanging on the front doorknob caught her attention.

She jerked her gaze up. Her breath hitched as the most beautiful woman Phoebe had ever seen in real life walked into her restaurant.

“Hello! Anyone here? I’m looking for Nick Avalon.”

Blonde, petite, gorgeous, and perfectly made up, she reminded Phoebe of Goldie Hawn in her thirties.

Jealousy, pure and simple, coursed through Phoebe’s veins. It was like a river. She couldn’t stop it from rushing. The feeling was unfamiliar, and she didn’t like it, but it was powerful.

Phoebe approached her. “I’m sorry. We’re closed for the night. Can I perhaps make a reservation for you for tomorrow?”

The woman smiled brightly, and Phoebe thought her lips were just a bit too plump. Still, there was no denying her beauty.

She held out her hand. “I’m Sherry. I’m looking for—” Squealing, she ran to the bar and slapped her hands on the surface. “Nick!”