“Claire! I need those scallops doused in lemon sauce and capers now. Go, go, go!” barks Chef Alonso from across the kitchen.

“Coming, Chef!” I call back, wiping the sweat off my brow with my apron. I reach for a ladle to drizzle the golden sauce over four small plates of pan-seared scallops and then drop several artfully-placed capers on each of the dishes.

From around the corner I hear the Michelin-star chef gasp and shout, “And don’t forget the sprigs of—”

“Fresh tarragon, yep. I got it, Chef!” I interrupt with a chuckle.

“Bueno, chica. That’s what I like to hear,” he replies. I grin to myself, exhilarated by another job well done.

I know by now that even when Chef Alonso sounds angry or annoyed, I shouldn’t take it personally. He’s a genius, and along with that genius mind comes a hefty pile of dry wit and sarcasm, as well as the occasional flare-up of his fiery temper. He is quick to criticize, as most chefs tend to be, but he’s equally quick to compliment. If he seems pissed off one moment, I only have to wait a few minutes for his mood to swing back in the other direction.

At first, I found him utterly intimidating and difficult to read, sort of like Ben. But one thing I learned very quickly during the first few shifts I spent with Chef Alonso is that he appreciates a strong work ethic. As long as you’re working your ass off, he’ll like you. That’s a relief, because I absolutely need Chef Alonso to like me.

Despite the fast-paced environment of sous chefs and assistants rushing around at top speed and bumping into one another, I’ve been thriving here at Mojave Blue.

It’s been a couple weeks since Ben hired me to train under Chef Jorge Alonso in preparation for the grand opening of Ocotillo, and even though my heart still beats about a mile a minute during every lunch and dinner rush, I am blissfully happy.

There were certainly some dark moments back at the Patty Hut, when I would be dunking french fries into a deep fryer or squirting pickle relish on a hamburger and I’d think to myself, is this it? I began to wonder if my years of hard work at culinary school would ever pay off, or if I would have to abandon my lifelong dream of working in a fine dining restaurant.

Now, I’m one giant step closer to my dream. I’m finally making my own way in the world.

Hell, I finally even saved up enough money (and confidence) to move out of my old apartment and into a new one by myself. It’s my first time living alone with no roommates, and honestly, it’s been pretty amazing. I only have myself to clean up after, and the kitchen is always free for me to play around with new recipes.

Things are finally looking up. So, in a way, it’s been good for me that Ben is usually way too busy to make a lot of prolonged appearances here at the restaurant. When he’s around, it’s hard for me to focus, and right now I need to keep my eyes on the prize.

But today, I’m on edge. Ben’s taken time out of his busy schedule to stop by and run a sort of quality check on the kitchen operations. I finish up the scallops and dash back over to the stove, where I’ve got a pasta dish keeping warm.

As I carefully scatter some shaved black truffle over the pasta, Ben comes striding into the kitchen with an intense look on his handsome face. My body goes rigid instantly, and when he makes a beeline for me I feel like I might actually faint. He slides up next to me, radiating heat and smelling absolutely divine, and he points to the pasta dish.

“What’s this?” he asks curtly.

“Fresh-pulled tagliatelle with a parm-butter sauce and black truffle,” I answer.

He takes a pair of tongs and extracts a long, flat noodle from the dish, tipping his head back as he dangles it into his mouth. Overall, it’s a weirdly sensual display, and I can feel my cheeks burning even before he gives me his critique of the dish.

He chews for a moment with a contemplative look on his face, then says, “Not enough salt. Work on that.” And with that, he moves along to the next chef on the line without giving me a split-second chance to defend myself.

I sigh heavily, looking down at what I thought was a pretty damn good pasta dish before he unceremoniously condemned it.

Oh well, I remind myself, that’s how it is in the restaurant business. I’ll have to grow a thicker skin and learn to roll with the punches. It’s a learning process.

Ben is a tough critic, and so is Chef Alonso. If I can survive this training course in one piece, I’ll come out the other side a much more capable and well-rounded chef.

Later that evening, I’m trudging around the kitchen doing some last-minute cleaning before heading home. The lights are dimmed, and I’m looking forward to getting some sleep. But I’m interrupted by a familiar, suave voice from the entrance.

“Chef Alonso and the others have already headed home, but you’re still here?” Ben asks, arching an eyebrow.

I blush, stunned to see him there. “Yes, sir. I like to be the last to leave, if I can help it.”

“Interesting. That shows initiative. I like it,” he says, smirking. “Anyway, I think your parents and mine have another trick up their sleeves, because I just got a message from my father telling us to meet them downtown. You know anything about that, by chance?”

I frown. “No idea.”

“Hmm,” he murmurs, looking thoughtful. “Well, we’d might as well ride together, then. Come on. I’ll drive, if you’re not still too bent out of shape about my driving skills, that is.”

I can feel my cheeks burning as I reply softly, “Sure.”

I follow him out to the parking lot and slide into the passenger seat as he revs the engine. This car smells like him, and I wonder if his scent will stick to me by the end of the night from us having shared this ride. I’m painfully aware of how alone we are and how dark it is all around us. There’s only another car in the parking lot, and nobody else.

“So,” he asks as we pull onto the road, “how are you liking the restaurant so far?”

“I love it,” I say through my nervousness. “It’s amazing. I’m learning so much.”

“Good, good. You know, Chef Alonso seems to really like you. That’s something to be proud of. He and I have been friends since we met in L.A. and he’s not always an easy guy to work with. You must be doing something right,” Ben says, glancing over at me with those dark eyes gleaming. God, he’s so good-looking.

“That’s great to hear,” I reply. “I have to confess, I was starting to worry the only reason I even got the position was because of nepotism. My parents . . . they want what’s best for me, I know. But sometimes they cross boundaries to get me there.”

Ben chuckles, nodding. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

I look down at my simple black blouse and jeans, wincing. “Wow, I hope we’re not on our way to some fancy dinner. If I’d known we’d be going somewhere after work I might have worn something a little less . . . casual.”

“Your parents didn’t mention this little get-together to you at all, then? Nothing?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Nope.”

“I wonder what they’ve got in store for us,” he murmurs. Then he gives me a look of approval and adds, “By the way, you look fine. Better than fine. You look great.”

“Oh. Um, thank you,” I answer, taken aback by the compliment, my cheeks heating up with embarrassment.

I don’t know why I react the way I do to Ben. I’m not exactly what most people would call inexperienced when it comes to guys, but Ben . . . he’s different.

Most guys have a mission when they’re with me—they want me to think they’re funny, or intelligent, or something. Ben, though, has this quiet air of confidence. He knows what he is and he’s completely comfortable in his own skin. He doesn’t have anything to prove.  

We ride along in relative silence, only occasionally making small talk as we reach our destination. Despite the casual tone of our conversation, I can’t help but feel something else crackling between us. Like an electrical current. Something that makes my heart race.

When we step out of the parked car, a hint of disappointment creeps into my chest. I haven’t had enough of my private time with Ben. Having his full attention is intoxicating and I want more. I knew it would only be a short ride downtown; I just didn’t expect twenty minutes to feel like five.

On the sidewalk, both sets of our parents look positively ecstatic. They’re practically bouncing on their feet.

“So what’s up?” I ask, a little warily. “Why all the secrecy?”

My father laughs and leads us around the corner.

Ben and I share a look, and I see the realization dawning on his face before it occurs to me all the way.

“Wait a second,” he says, “Ocotillo is just down the block from here.”

“M-hm! We’re here for a little look around,” his mother says, grinning.

Ben and I exchange confused glances as they lead us up to the entrance to the future location of Ocotillo.

“Seriously, what’s going on?” he asks.

“Should we be nervous?” I add.

“No, no! Don’t worry about a thing,” says his father.

“You’ll see,” quips my mom with a wink. “Open it up.”

With some hesitation, Ben takes out the key and opens the front door, and as soon as it swings open, we hear an entire crowd of voices shout, “Surprise!”

“What the hell?” Ben asks, looking around.

To our complete shock, the whole restaurant is set up perfectly. It looks stunning, totally ready for operation, and the entire crew of waiters, chefs, and other staff members are standing there grinning at us.

Ben swivels around to look at his parents in confusion. “But—how? The restaurant wasn’t supposed to be ready for another week! At least!”

His father chuckles and replies, “Well, you both are working so hard, so the four of us decided to give you a boost. We paid the contractors extra to speed things up and get it all done by tonight. Congratulations, Ben.”

“This is incredible,” I breathe, looking around with wide eyes.

Ben nods, and I can see a muscle in his jaw twitching a little as he fights to keep his emotions in check. He smiles and nods. “Yes. This is amazing. Thank you.”

“Phew, it was so hard keeping this a big secret,” my mother sighs. “I’m glad the cat’s out of the bag at last.”

We all join the celebration, popping champagne bottles and eating hors d'oeuvres. While our parents mingle and chat, I can’t help but catch Ben’s eye from across the room. He smiles at me, lifting his glass, and my heart races as I return the gesture.

Oh, no. I think I like my boss.