worked in pubs. Those aren’t the kind of places foodies care to go to.”
“Not true. Even foodies know that pub grub is some of the tastiest food there is. Anyone who turns their nose up at fish-and-chips and meat pies doesn’t have a clue what good food is.”
Callum winks at me before pulling a tray of single-serving-sized chunks of mahi-mahi from the walk-in. “Will any of your recipes from tonight be showing up at the festival?”
I ladle the scallions into the melted butter, then wag my spoon at him. “Nice try. I’m not revealing anything.”
Callum shrugs while staring at the pot of butter, a gleam in his eye. “Just curious.”
“I’m not going to ask you if the tempura-crusted mahi-mahi you’re making for tonight’s entrée is something you’re planning for the festival. That stuff is sacred and I don’t play dirty.”
He sets the tray of fish on the prep table, places a hand on my hip, and pivots me to face him. His other hand rests under my chin. The sound of metal clashing on metal hits my ears. All of a sudden my hands are empty. I must have dropped the spoon on the stove when Callum pulled this deliciously suave move on me just now. But I don’t care. It’s an excuse to have his hands on me. I’ll take it.
“Oh, you play dirty, Nikki.” His eyes bore into me. “Just not in the kitchen.”
The kitchen door swings open, causing both of us to take identical steps away from each other. Callum turns to the prep table while I stare at the scallion butter like it’s the most intriguing substance in the universe.
A server darts to the wine rack in the corner for a fresh bottle, then the door swings open once more.
“Everyone’s loving the canapés,” Ted announces, beaming. “Well done, Nikki!”
He skips over to Callum and slaps him on the back. “I hope your part of the main is as good as her starter, mate.”
I sneak a peek at Callum, who’s biting back a grin. He turns back to the stove top and begins to sear the fish. “I hope so too.”
Ted leans against the prep table, still grinning. “Those deconstructed lumpia were like magic. At first everyone was annoyed that the original chef couldn’t come, but once those came out, the muttering died down. I heard nothing but chewing and humming. Music to my ears.”
Another server walks in and deposits an empty tray in the sink just as the server carrying wine walks out. No chance of finding out just how down and dirty Callum wants me to go with the kitchen now functioning like Grand Central Station. Instead I put my head down and focus on preparing the best possible main with Callum: tempura-crusted mahi-mahi on a bed of pineapple fried rice.
For a solid hour, we cook and plate, the bodies passing in and out of the kitchen our white noise.
Callum wipes a rogue droplet of his ginger soy reduction from the rim of the plate with a tea towel. He stares with laser focus, even as people move around him. I wonder if all those years working in finance gave him the nerves of steel he seems to possess. I can’t remember seeing anyone this unflappable in the kitchen.
We hand off plates to waiting servers one by one, and it’s like a perfectly choreographed dance. Plate after plate changes hands over and over, until Callum and I are left alone in the kitchen, standing side by side, our hands on our hips, staring at the door.
“We did it.” He speaks through a rough sigh.
“It was stressful, but . . . exhilarating.”
“So.” He unbuttons the top button of his chef jacket. I suppress a moan. I’m back to burning up.
“Decided that your bestselling food truck fried rice was too good for my lowly seared fish?” His playful tone makes me chuckle.
I lightly smack his shoulder. “Most of the people in that room have eaten every item on our menu week after week. The last thing I wanted was for one of them to figure out we cooked this meal together.”
As soon as I say it, I wish I could take it back. It sounds so harsh.
His mouth is a straight line. He offers a single nod. “Right.”
I touch his wrist. “I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was I don’t want to be the focus of their gossip. I really enjoyed cooking with you, Callum.”
He pulls away from me like I’m made of fire.