with you and Chef taking the stage together? The cooking is hers, but the concept is all yours. And two, it’s satisfying as all get-out to accept praise when praise is due. I speak from experience.”
“Of course you do,” I murmur, reaching for another bottle. “How many more of these do you want me to open?”
Her lips twitch.
“What?”
Her eyes flick to meet mine. “Are you being a team player, Beauregard?”
“I’m preparing wine for my guests to enjoy,” I reply gruffly, nodding at the glove in her hand. “Put that on so you can help.”
From the corner of my eye, I watch as Emma does what I tell her. She turns away, but she must forget that I’m so much taller than her I’m practically a satellite to her planet. I can see it all at any time.
And what I see is that her hands are shaking.
I frown. “You eat today?”
“What?” She throws me a look over her shoulder, snapping the glove into place. “Of course I ate. I’m not five. I can take care of myself.”
“Better question: what did you eat?”
“Best question yet: why don’t you mind your own damn business?” She grabs two decanters. “I had coffee. And a protein bar. And I guess half of another protein bar. Different flavor, though.”
I stare at her, suddenly and deeply enraged. “What kind of garbage meal is that?”
“The kind I have time for working twelve-hour days. I’m not starving, Beauregard. My hands…I’m, uh, nervous. New job, famous chef at our table—”
“Horseshit.”
Her eyes flash with something I can’t decipher. Surprise? Warmth? Both?
“When you’re done serving this course, you go sit by Chef”—I nod in Katie’s direction—“and eat some real food. Understood?”
“Whoa. Not only are you being a team player, but are you also caring? About me, of all people?”
“No,” I grunt.
She grins. “Hey. If you can’t be honest with me, at least make an attempt to be honest with yourself.”
See, that’s just the thing. Somewhere along the way, I forgot what honesty looks like. Feels like. I’ve been lied to so often and so well that I guess I started assuming it was a dead language. Like Latin or some shit.
But looking in Emma’s eyes, I realize the truth feels like this. Like rage. Rightness. The combination is equal parts maddening and magnetic, and this time, it’s my hands that shake as I grab two decanters and follow Emma to the table.
I know this is the first time I’m collaborating with her in a meaningful way. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t already thinking about the really cool stuff we could do together going forward.
I think I’m actually seeing how working as co-heads might be a home run.
I think I’m actually trusting Emma. And not because Beau’s making me but because she deserves it.
Try it on. Maybe I should try accepting that Emma isn’t biding her time, waiting for the opportunity to manipulate me. To lie about her intentions.
My heart lifts the way it always does at the sight of a table of loud, happy people. The waitstaff has begun to set out the paella, and the smell is incredible. A little spice from the chorizo, starch from the rice, earthiness from the homemade chicken stock Chef and I spent the past two years getting just right.
I’m not the only one who appreciates just how fragrant and pretty the plates are.
“Y’all see that char on the rice?” Luke says, lifting his plate to get a better look. “Perfect.”
Elijah nods, and my chest swells. “Damn fuckin’ right it is.”
“Chef Katie is all kinds of talented with a paella pan.” I fill Greyson’s glass, the scent of vanilla and stone fruit rising from the wine. Glancing across the table, I catch Emma looking at me. She tips her head.
Keep going, she’s saying.
So I take a deep breath and gird my loins and put myself out there.
“Because I like to feed my ego, I’m gonna drop some knowledge on y’all.” The table laughs. Emma smiles. “The crispy, toasted rice you got there on your plates is called socarrat.”
“Socarrat,” Eli repeats, tipping back his wineglass for a sniff. “The stuff of dreams.”
I nod. “Exactly. Y’all give it a try. Notice how it’s a little sweet? That’s because the rice caramelizes in the pan. Add in that satisfying crunch, and you’ve got pure heaven. Well, for foodies like me, anyway.”
Emma holds up her decanter. “This Rioja balances out that note of caramel nicely—taste the vanilla? A little more sweetness to go with all that