“It’s a surprise,” Vincent says, as we drive down an empty street on the far side of town. I try to press him but he keeps tight lipped. I’m not big on surprises and feel anxious trying to imagine what could be so important that he has to drag me from home so early in the morning.

Pulling up outside an abandoned shell of a building, Vincent puts on the brake, leans back, and smiles at me.

“Well,” he says, jerking his chin past me, “what do you think?”

I look out the car window and frown. “What is it?”

“The future.”

Before I can quiz him further he exist the car and walks around to the passenger side, opening the door and helping out.

As he walks up to the entrance of the two story structure, I look up and down the street. Every single building have their windows boarded up and the one Vincent has brought me to has its doors secured with a massive padlock. The place looks condemned.

“Well, what is this?” I ask again, creasing my nose at the dilapidated façade.

“This was supposed to be my first restaurant.”

“A history lesson?” I shake my head and start back toward the car.

“Wait,” he calls out.

I stop and turn around.

“I actually bought it.”

My brows meet. “Really?”

He nods.

I crane my head back, scanning the building from top to bottom. “But . . . it looks so ugly.”

“You can blame trendy downtown for this area deprecating. Damn shame.”

“Why didn’t you open it anyway?”

“Europe called, and the TV show . . . I was too snowed under to fully focus my energy. I always had the intention of opening a place in Portland, but by the time I came back the area had changed beyond recognition. That’s why I opened up the restaurant you now work in.”

“So what are we doing out here now?”

He starts toward an alley that’s just off the side of the building. “Follow me and I’ll show you.”

I stay rooted on the spot. “How about using the front door?”

He stops and looks at me over his shoulder. “Know anyone with a spare bolt cutter?”

I remain mute.

Smirking, he fishes out a small set of keys from his suit pant pocket. “Come on, we can use the side entrance.”

* * *

I cough into my fist and scrunch my eyes closed. The place is covered in dust and cobwebs. It’s also really dark. I have to be extra careful not to bump into anything.

When I compose myself a little, I prize open my lids and see that Vincent also struggles with the run down conditions.

“How long has it been since anyone came here?” I say, spluttering.

“The day I singed the lease.”

“Which was . . . ?”

“2006.”

“What?” I splutter again.

“Are you all right?”

“Oh yeah . . . just great.”

Reaching inside the breast pocket of his suit, he pulls out a small envelope. “These are the original deeds.” He opens it and shakes his head.

“What?”

“Twenty-five thousand dollars for a fifty year lease.” He grins at me. “Not too shabby these days.”

“You got ripped off.”

He walks closer to me, a smile stretching his handsome face. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I still think the place has potential.”

I snort. “Sure.”

“Kind of like the potential I first saw in you.”

A shiver of lust runs up my spine and my cheeks heat. The way his eyes study me in the dark turns my legs to Jell-O. Even now, in this beaten up old building, probably the single most unromantic setting ever, he ignites something deep in my core.

I shake off his words. “Potential like me? Great.”

“What did I say?”

“You’re comparing me to this old place. I’m flattered, really I am.”

He snorts. “You know what I mean.”

I grin. “No, Vince . . . no I don’t.”

“I meant the potential I first saw in the chaos of your efforts. The way you poured passion into every dish you made. You were rough around the edges but I knew you’d make an exceptional chef one day.”

“You think I make an exceptional chef?”

“Come on, what did that critic think? You absolutely slayed that challenge.”

I blush.

He steps closer. “Look at you, even now . . . you just don’t believe in yourself the way you should. You have incredible talent, Mel . . .” He pauses. “In some ways you remind me of myself.”

My face pinches. “I do?”

“Raw talent at odds with nerve-shredding doubt.”

“Doubt? You?”

“It might be hard for you to believe but I wasn’t always so confident. It took someone great to take a chance on me. Granted, we didn’t fuck . . . although he was a pretty good looking guy.”

I laugh.

“Jean-Luc taught me to believe in myself,” he continues. “You endured like I did. You found that courage. Quicker than it took me.”

“All thanks to you.”

“No. Thanks to yourself, Mel. You did it. I just held up a mirror to you, that’s all.”

There is a pause as we both look deep into each other’s eyes.

Even though the place is dark and dusty, all I want to do is rip off his suit slacks and suck on that gorgeous cock of his. Every single moment I spend with him makes me want to devour him. He is sexy, sweet, funny . . . god, he ticks every single box. And that’s not factoring in that older, experienced magic he possesses—like he could fuck me to a climax every time and then protect me and impart his well-travelled wisdom. I could listen to his stories all day.

Ever since the first night we made love, he is all I’ve ever really wanted. I’d sacrifice anything for this man—and that includes the chef’s hat. But that’s the great thing about Vincent; he wants the same as me. His passion transcends what we share between the sheets. He cares about food the way I do. And for the first time, I actually do believe in myself.

Vincent is a gift. Someone sent to complete me in a way I don’t think any other man on this planet could come close to achieving.

I resist my urge to jump on him and begin to look around the place now that my eyes have got used to the dimly lit interior.

It’s large. And Vincent is right, it does have potential.

I used to dream of owning a place like this.

“Come here,” he says.

I stop and snap my gaze to him.

He holds his hand out. “Come here. There is a reason I brought you here.”

Tentatively, I step toward him. When I’m close enough he takes my hand in his and pulls me in.

My heart drums and I feel my core yearn.

His dazzling brown eyes bore into mine. “Mel . . .” Reaching into his pocket, my heart jumps.

Is he?

He places the keys in my hand.

I wrinkle my brow, looking down at them in my palm. “What’s this?” Looking back at him I see his smile pull wide.

“It’s yours.”

I almost choke as I try to find the words.

“This place . . . it’s yours. I can have my team fix the place up within a month. Think you’re up for the challenge?”

“But—” My throat constricts.

“No questions, Mel. This will be your first restaurant.”

“But . . . but what about you?”

“What about me?”

“The restaurant, my job there . . . ?”

He places a hand to the back of my neck and pulls me even closer. “We can be competitors.”

I snort. “Competitors?”

“Yeah. A little healthy completion does wonders for trade. Besides, whoever has better takings each night gets to go on top.”

I snort again and begin to laugh.

“Sound good?” he says.

I calm down slightly and look at him seriously.

He angles his head. “You don’t seem all that impressed.”

“Oh I am. I was just wondering something . . .”

“And what’s that?”

“How about I go on top now?”

His eyes widen.

I smile. “I want an advanced preview of what it will be like for me to ride on your cock. . . because I know one thing . . .”

“Which is?”

“I’m gonna kick your ass every night. This restaurant will be the best. I even have my first hirer in mind.”

He smirks. “Right them, Ms. Melanie Baxter, let me give you a sneak peek. But just a taste.”

I shake my head.

“No?”

“Nope. I want the whole thing. Every course you have to offer.” My hands reach for the bulge in his pants. “And maybe you can throw in two desserts.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Good. You better clear a space for us then. I think we’re going to be here for sometime.”

“I love you,” he whispers.

“What?”

“I love you.”

“Hm.”

He squints. “Something wrong with that?”

“No. I was just thinking the same thing myself.”

At last we kiss again, and it feels so wonderfully familiar.

Love takes time to craft. You have to blend all the ingredients well. Make sure everything works in perfect synergy. Sure, sometimes you’ll break a few eggs to make that omelet. And sometimes things will get burnt along the way. But, like cooking, if you are patient, and you experiment, and you try over and over, one day you get to really make that perfect dish.

Love is just like cooking in that way—hard, sometimes impossible, but when it works it’s unlike anything else on earth . . .

It’s magic . . .

And like anything magical it leaves you wanting more.