Chapter Two
I parked at Cycle Life, the bike shop my best friend’s brother, Vann, owned. I’d stupidly worn heels today and my feet ached as I hurried across the street to Lilou, one of the hippest restaurants in the city. It was the perfect spot for an engagement party for two of my very favorite people.
Especially since Vera and Killian had met there. Or technically, in the parking space where I’d just left my car. Basically, this area was very significant to their relationship and future wedded bliss.
Vera and Killian had hated each other at first. He’d been an arrogant asshole, and she’d been scared to trust anybody after her scumbag of an ex had spent years abusing her. My heart squeezed thinking about that time. Vera was so content now. She’d found a happily ever after that would last forever. But I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her every time I thought about her and Derrek together.
She still wore the scars from her relationship with him. Even if Killian was amazing and thoughtful and kind. I sometimes wondered if she would ever be completely over that time in her life. It was my goal to help her wholly move on. I was the biggest advocate for her happiness.
Which was why I’d volunteered to head up her surprise engagement party. Volunteering to oversee was not one of my brighter moments, but I wasn’t going to leave it in Vann’s hands. Her ultra-healthy brother would have hosted it on some mountain biking trail and served granola bars for appetizers.
Not that I was any better at food than him. Vera and Killian were the master chefs. I told people I loved burnt toast because I was physically incapable of making it any other way.
And that’s why I enlisted our other good friend Wyatt to help me out with the menu. Plus, he’d somehow convinced his scary boss to let us host the event at Lilou, but only because the cranky restaurateur, Ezra Baptiste, was also Killian’s best friend.
Once I’d made it to the side door of Lilou, I typed out a quick text to Wyatt.
I’m here.
Then I paced back and forth for five minutes while I waited for him to open the door. My feet ached from wearing heels all day and a headache had formed around the base of my skull. Despite my Black Soul victory, I needed today to be over.
I thought about my earlier conversation with Emily. She loved to go out to celebrate work wins. But honestly, success stressed me out. I did not feel like the competent graphic designer I pretended to be. There was too much pressure to do whatever it took to get the best jobs. And then there was always that feeling of my work not stacking up to my coworkers. I had to prove myself in every single task and I couldn’t escape the pressure to always be interesting and innovative and unique.
I preferred to celebrate alone, with a bubble bath and bottle of wine. Or paintbrush in hand, in front of a blank canvas. The last thing I wanted to do was go out to a crowded bar and talk about all the ways I got lucky enough not to crash and burn. I’d much rather enjoy the excitement by bringing it to life in vibrant colors and paint-covered portraits and artistic expression.
The side door swung open and Kaya poked her blue-haired head out. “He’s so pissed at you.”
I ignored Wyatt’s edgy sous chef and her gloating. Her favorite thing in life was pissing off Wyatt, so me showing up an hour and a half late and right in the middle of hectic dinner service was probably the highlight of her day.
Stepping inside Lilou’s kitchen was like walking into a tornado. People were everywhere, working on prepping, cooking and plating all at once. Stainless steel surfaces were covered with dishes, and perfectly executed food, and oh so sharp knives. Wyatt stood in the middle of the flurry, tall chef hat covering his buzzed head, tattoos peeking up over the collar of his pristine chef’s jacket.
He had changed a lot in the last few months. When Vera and I first met him, he’d been more relaxed, way more laid back. He would always come visit us at Vera’s food truck that used to park at Cycle Life and together we’d gang up on Vera, always teasing her about Killian.
But since Killian had left Lilou to open a restaurant with Vera, Wyatt had stepped up as executive chef and lost his ability to chill. He was all drive, meticulous precision and serious career mode now.
To be fair, he basically worked every second of every day, so work mode was also life and survival mode. But I missed my friend that liked to joke around and steal food when Vera wasn’t looking.
“Wash your hands,” Wyatt barked at me.
I realized I was breaking a few health code rules by hanging out in a kitchen I did not belong in, so I decided not to argue with him. Or ask him to say please.
“I’m so sorry,” I said instead. “My meeting ran late.”
Drying my hands on a paper towel, I turned around and faced him. He was leaned over a drool-worthy dish inspecting it closely. With one finger wrapped in a hand towel, he swiped at the edges of the plate, removing a rogue drop of sauce. He passed it to a stoic waitress and nodded. She grabbed the plate and disappeared into the dining room.
Wyatt turned his handsome face to me. “And? Did you get the big, life-changing job?”
I loosed a smile. “I did!”
His lips twitched with a proud smirk. “Atta girl.”
I beamed at him, thankful for his confidence in me. We had been talking through texts more than usual to plan Vera and Killian’s party.
Wyatt’s head jerked in the direction of a counter near the coolers. He was back in super serious mode again. “Everything’s cold now, but that’s what I’ve come up with so far. You’re welcome to taste what’s there and let me know what you think Vera will like best.”
“She’ll like whatever you make, Wyatt. She’s not picky.”
He made a sound in the back of his throat. “I’m not going to make just whatever for Killian Quinn and Vera Delane. They’re beyond picky. Their entire life’s work is based on being picky.”
I rolled my eyes at the obvious hero worship Wyatt still had for Killian. “All right, all right. I’ll be picky too.”
“I appreciate that.”
Wyatt went back to work and I walked over to the spread he’d laid out on the counter. Different entrees on varying plates, bowls and platters covered the stainless-steel countertop. Everything was cooked to perfection and visually appealing. Wyatt had taken a menu and turned it into a stunning piece of art.
I loved to paint and draw. I mean, really loved it. My favorite thing in the world was to take a blank canvas and bring it to life, to make it something more than it was. I saw the world in vibrant colors and interesting angles. I saw people in expressions I wanted to make immortal, and poses that could be painted. I wasn’t an artist, not really. But creating something with my hands gave me a deep sense of purpose and meaning.
That was how I felt about Wyatt’s food. And Killian’s and Vera’s, and all of these friends of mine in the food industry. They didn’t just cook something. They created something—something inspiring and lasting. They didn’t just add spices; they built flavor profiles that would never be forgotten. They didn’t just throw together ingredients; they painstakingly crafted the most perfect dining experience possible. Each dish possessed the perfect bite.
They were artists. And I respected them deeply for what they did.
I picked up a skewer with a hunk of meat, a roasted tomato, and slice of cucumber drizzled in a white sauce that seemed familiar. Shoving the entire thing into my mouth, I moaned into my hand. “Is this the sauce?” I asked around the too-big bite.
“Yeah,” Wyatt called over his shoulder, knowing what I was talking about without having to look.
“These for sure then.” I moved on to mini wedge salads with bacon and blue cheese crumbles, and fresh mozzarella balls wrapped in prosciutto and basil with a tomato puree for dipping. There were meatloaf meatballs, and buffalo chicken smothered French fries. There were even house made sausages wrapped in some crispy dough and sliced to bite-size that basically tasted like more please.
I stared at the spread again, shocked and overjoyed and near tears. “Oh, my gosh, did you make all of her dishes?”
Wyatt sounded distracted when he answered, “The ones I could remember. I did some of Killian’s too.” He glanced at me over his shoulder. “With my own spin of course.”
“Wyatt, this is amazing. And so much more than I was hoping for. You’re a genius!”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Are you kidding? They’re going to love everything. Every single thing.”
He ignored my compliments. “So how many people are you thinking?”
“I’m not sure. Vera only has like ten people on her side. Killian is the popular one.”
Wyatt’s staff laughed like I’d told a joke. But it was the truth. Maybe Vera was a generally more pleasant person than Killian, but she’d never had a wide circle of friends. And I was pretty much her only remaining friend since Derrek had spent so much time isolating her. For as grizzly as Killian could be, he knew a ton of people. Sure, most of them were in his industry, but they were still the kind of acquaintances that got invites to an engagement party.
Wyatt laughed at one of the jokes another chef made about Killian’s popularity and how the only reason he had so many friends was because they were too scared of him to decline. Then he said, “Well, let me know when you have a final number so I can shop for enough ingredients.”
I picked up a tiny dessert cup. Yum! Chocolate mousse. “I sent out like fifty invitations to Killian’s people. Do you think they’ll all come?”
Wyatt’s head bobbled back and forth as he thought about it. “I’ll plan for that many. Someone will take home leftovers.”
I licked the remaining chocolate off my lips. “I volunteer as tribute. Also, when you’re done grocery shopping let me know what the total is and I’ll pay you back.”
He waved me off. “Don’t worry about it.”
This wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation. He had decided to be obnoxiously stubborn. “Seriously, Wyatt, you’re already making the food. At least let me pay for it.”
“Not happening,” he murmured.
“I’m paying you anyway. Even if I have to guess the total.”
Wyatt turned around, his eyes twinkling and a grin pulling at his lips. “What’s your guess?”
“My guess?”
“Guess the total.”
I looked at the food on the counter and calculated it times fifty and then considered my own personal grocery bill. “One hundred dollars.” The kitchen staff laughed again. “Uh, two hundred dollars?” They kept laughing. “Ten thousand dollars!” I really hoped not because I would need to hit up those paycheck advance places if that was the case.
Four more dishes passed Wyatt’s inspection and then left the kitchen in a flurry of waiters dressed in black and swinging doors. “How are you going to get them here and keep it a secret?”
Just then, the pass-through door opened and Ezra Baptiste stepped into the kitchen. His cold gaze scanned the space quickly before landing on me.
“Busted,” I whispered to myself.
His stare turned glacial as recognition hit him. It was safe to say he wasn’t expecting to find me invading his place of business. His jaw flexed once… twice. But as mad as he was he seemed frozen in place, unable to decide what to do next.
“Hey, boss,” Wyatt greeted him. He sounded more confident than I knew he felt, but I also knew it was because he wanted Ezra to take him seriously, respect him as master of his domain.
Good luck, Wyatt. Ezra barely seemed capable of having a soul most days, let alone the ability to show human emotions like respect and trust. Wyatt had his work cut out for him.
On the other hand, I didn’t need Ezra’s admiration or for him to take me seriously. I didn’t have to work for him, and other than the engagement party, I never wanted to work with him either. Mostly I just wanted him to forget I existed altogether.
Ezra looked at Wyatt as though he was surprised to find him where he was supposed to be. In fact, he seemed a little more discombobulated than usual. Clearing his throat, he said, “I came in here to talk to you about… it can wait.” He turned his attention back to me and I felt like dropping to the ground and army crawling to freedom. “Molly, why are you here?”
Somehow, I managed to stay on my feet and brave him, even though every instinct screamed to run. “Taste testing,” I heard myself say.
His broad shoulders shifted and rolled. He struggled to collect his patience before he said, “Excuse me?”
I waved a hand at the cluttered counter. “For the engagement party. Wyatt wanted me to taste test.”
Ezra’s eyes narrowed. “I’m positive Wyatt is capable of choosing the menu on his own. You’re not allowed in my kitchen during business hours, Molly. You don’t work here. I need you to leave.”
Shame and embarrassment attacked in unison, spiraling through me until I wanted to call off the entire party. Or at the very least, host it someplace else.
Anywhere else.
Like a bowling alley.
Or the moon.
That would teach him a lesson.
I cleared my throat and managed a weak, “Sure thing.”
Picking up my purse from the floor I tried to calmly leave through the side door again, back the way I came.
“Not that way,” Ezra clipped out through the very, very quiet kitchen.
The entire staff had stilled, watching in horrified amusement as their scary boss attacked poor, helpless, little old me. And okay, maybe I broke the rules and Ezra had every right to toss me out on my ass, but didn’t one of them want to stick up for a damsel in distress?
Where was my knight in shining armor?
My rebel without a cause?
I looked at Wyatt for help, but the best he could do was shoot me an apologetic frown. Traitor.
My eyes slammed shut and I decided I would be okay with an alien abduction right about now. Or a marauding band of pirates? How about Godzilla? Could I at least get a good, old-fashioned Godzilla attack? Anything to save me from Ezra’s judgment.
Spinning around on my heel, I held my chin high, even though all I wanted to do was hang my head like a shamed child. I walked across the kitchen with all the poise I could muster in feet that were over high heels three hours ago. Needless to say, it wasn’t my most graceful moment.
Ezra Baptiste was one of the most intolerable men I had ever met. Arrogant, condescending, offensively good looking, he had all the qualities of a human I tried to avoid. Not only that, he’d once attacked my professional taste and that was something I would never forgive him for.
We were forced to interact with each other thanks to our mutual friends, but in the last few months I’d gotten really good at avoiding him. Not that it was hard. He owned three successful restaurants in Durham and co-owned a fourth. He was wealthy and busy, and it was weird that we knew the same people.
He was all cool, important businessman. Most days, I felt like I was playing dress-up as an adult. I paid bills, went to work, and lived alone. Yet nothing about my life fit well, like when I was a little girl and would try on my mom’s dresses.
Ezra was a man that knew who he was and what he wanted in life. I was just a girl trying to figure out how to check my own oil.
He led me through the kitchen and around the corner to his office. I thought about bolting out the front doors. Would he chase after me? No. He was too composed for that. Sue me for being a public nuisance? Maybe. Was it worth it though?
I sucked in my bottom lip and decided that yes, yes it was. But then I remembered I needed to talk to him about the party. The party he was hosting at his restaurant. So I reluctantly faced my fears and followed him inside the small, but organized office space.
He turned around and propped his hands on his hips. He looked so elegant in his suit, even with the jacket discarded over the back of his chair and his tie loosened around his neck. I had the strangest urge to run my thumb over his cheekbone.
I shivered, shaking off that oddly sympathetic instinct.
Needing to remind myself of who this man was, I spoke before he could. “I’m sorry, Ezra. It won’t happen again.”
He stared at me. “I hope you understand that I can’t have non-employees hanging out in my kitchen during business hours. The health inspector would love to catch you in there just to shut me down.”
Guilt mingled with shame and my heart pinched with regret. I held my hands up. “I get it. Really.”
Looking out the door, then back at me, he let out a slow breath. “So are you ready for Friday? Do you need anything else from me?”
It had been Wyatt’s idea to host the party at Lilou and he’d been the one to approach Ezra about it. I had kicked myself every day for letting him talk me into it. Sure, it would be extra special to Vera and Killian, but what about me? All I got out of it was an awkward conversation with this guy, and a whole helping of guilt for how much more Wyatt and Ezra were contributing.
I mean, it was my party, and so far, I’d sent out invitations and found a cute new dress on clearance.
“I think we’re ready. I’ll be here Friday afternoon to set up decorations as long as that works for you?” He nodded. “Are you sure it’s not a problem to close Lilou for an entire night? I feel awful.”
He expression relaxed, softened. “I’m happy to help.”
I wanted to argue with him, but I held my tongue. He had been the one to offer the date. He’d picked Friday night, not me.
Steeling my courage, I asked one more favor of him. “There is just one more thing,” I started. His dark eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. “I’m not exactly sure how to get them here. I’m wondering if you would make up an excuse and invite them over? Or call them with some big, fake emergency that you can’t handle without them?”
Ezra Baptiste was the very definition of tall, dark and handsome. His hair was always trimmed neatly and combed in a way that screamed important. His jaw was always cleanly shaven, and his clothes always perfectly tailored and expertly pressed. He was basically the exact opposite of his best friend Killian.
But right now he looked utterly bewildered, erasing all of that sophisticated aloofness he worked so hard to pull off. “You want me to call them?”
“Or text,” I offered. “Whatever way works best for you. Just make up a foolproof reason for them to hurry over here.”
“You should probably do it,” he argued. “That seems like something you’d be good at.”
What did he mean by that? That I was good at lying? “What excuse could I possibly have for them to meet me at Lilou?”
His jaw ticked. “I don’t like lying to my friends.”
I cleared my throat, hating the way he made me feel guilty for trying to surprise our friends with an awesome party. I was doing a good thing, I reminded myself. It wasn’t even really lying. “Then don’t lie. Tell them you have a surprise for them. It will be the truth.”
“That will ruin the night.”
I placed my hands on my hips, mimicking his stand-offish pose. “Forget I asked. I’ll figure it out.”
“Now you’re mad,” he accused.
“I’m not mad.” I was totally pissed. “There’s nothing to be mad about.” Except that he was being unnecessarily difficult when all I wanted him to do was shoot Killian a text that said, hey come over here for a minute. “I thought it would make more sense coming from you, but it’s not a big deal.”
He stared at me for a long moment before he said, “Do you have a coat?”
“What?”
“A coat,” he repeated. “Did you leave it in the kitchen?”
“Er, no.” Trying to recover from conversational whiplash, I explained, “I didn’t wear one. I came straight from work.” I also hated coats. Sure, it was frigid outside and my car would be an icebox by the time I left, but coats always got in my way. I had a long, cashmere duster on over my rosy pink blouse and gray trousers, and that was enough for me. Plus, my office was hot as Hades in the winter and even if I wore a sweater to work, I usually shed it before lunchtime.
Ezra scowled at me but didn’t press the coat issue.
“So we’re good for Friday?” I asked, hoping to wrap this up. I had an exciting night of eating supper alone and washing my hair ahead of me that I was anxious to start.
“What decorations are you going to use?”
Another topic shift and I felt dizzy trying to keep up with him. I just wanted to go home, heat up a cup of soup, and binge watch bad reality TV. “Nothing too extravagant,” I told him. “Lilou is pretty enough. But I wanted to grab some flowers for the tables, and I have some pictures and stuff I want to display.”
“I have a florist,” he volunteered. “You don’t need to worry about flowers unless you want to.”
“Oh, it’s not a big—”
“She’s used to the space,” he continued. “I’ll call her now.”
Translation: Don’t bring your crappy carnations into my pristine sanctuary.
“I don’t want to add to your plate,” I offered weakly.
He moved around to the back of his desk. Picking up his cell, he started scrolling through his contacts. “Did you have a specific flower in mind?”
“Vera loves peonies,” I heard myself say. “But it’s February so I was going to see what was available.”
He nodded, absorbing the information. “Color scheme?”
“Red,” I told him. “I found these vintage spice racks that are flat with slots in them. I was going to use them as centerpieces.”
“Here, write down your email address and I’ll send you the florist’s info. You can drop off the spice racks before Friday and she’ll handle all the details.”
I numbly picked up the white pad of paper and scrawled my email address for him. I should have stood up to him more, and told him I had the flowers and the decorations covered. But I was intimidated.
Severely intimidated.
He took the notepad back and inspected my email address as though I’d given him a fraud. He looked up at me and I could see wheels spinning in his head. He had something to say and it was anybody’s guess what that was.
“There’s one more thing,” he said.
A nervous flutter trembled in my stomach. “What is that?”
He opened his mouth to answer just as the cellphone in his hand went off. He glared down at the screen and let out an impatient sigh. “I have to take this,” he murmured.
I could recognize a brush off when it was aimed directly at me. “No problem. I’ll see you Friday. You have my email if you need anything else.”
I turned to look at him as I walked away. He glanced up at me from across the room and I was once again hit with how attractive this man was. Usually, personality meant more to me than looks, but Ezra apparently didn’t need a sparkling temperament for me to find him striking. I wanted to paint him. I wanted to capture that consternated expression on his face by immortalizing it on canvas.
His thumb swiped over his phone, answering the call before I’d left the office. “Bye, Ezra,” I whispered to his stoic face. He didn’t respond.
Turning around at the door to his office I fled Lilou, his part of town, and this whole entire day.