restaurant, too. She’s been kind of struggling to make the menu over there work.”
Dev knew the explanation was cryptic and vague; from the look on her face, so did Shea. But it really was a longer story.
“There was a guy named Carl Jenkins—the guy who built The Big Spoon. The man was an icon in this town. You wouldn’t know it now, but The Spoon used to be a real destination. Every night, the place was packed. It had a real magic about it—it was a place where people came together.”
Shea looked like she knew what was coming so Dev didn’t beat around the bush. “About a year ago, he died. His wife went three months after him. Everyone’s tried to recreate his recipes, but the food hasn’t been the same. I’m asking because of your talent. I can’t say I understand how you do what you do, but it sounds like you have the kind of taste buds that can help.”
“I don’t know…” Shea looked apprehensive. “I mean—I’m sure I can make them better. But, without having tasted his cooking, there’s no way I could make them taste like his.”
Dev didn’t want to sound pushy—more like, not too proud to beg.
“We did find a recipe book. Only, it’s disorganized and incomplete and we don’t understand all of the proportions.”
The deer-in-the-headlights look on her face wasn’t very encouraging, though the shame was Dev’s—he didn’t feel good about practically cornering the poor woman. He’d do well to remember that she was a customer—quirky talent or not—on an innocent visit to the grocery store.
“Look,” he relented. “I know you barely know me and I’m really sorry to ask you like this. If the answer is no, it’s no. But if you’d even consider it, my sister could use your help.”
10
The Tasting
Shea
This is not a date. This is not a date. Going to dinner with a hot guy does not make it a date.
Shea hadn’t needed to remind herself of this fact on any of the occasions she’d called on friends to accompany her to a restaurant she planned to review. Technically, the dinner Dev had invited her to at The Big Spoon was business. But the fact that she was agonizing over her outfit and had deep-conditioned her hair proved otherwise. So did rifling through her makeup drawer until she found the gloss that made her lips more fabulous than they already were. So did spending twenty minutes choosing the perfect pair of glasses.
Pink was too cutesy and too daytime, even though the color really flattered her skin. Teal was usually a good bet, but the color on her hair was a bright royal. Blue hair limited anything too green and anything too red, for that matter. She didn’t want to look like the Fourth of July. White would send the wrong message and she’d stay away from her silvers. Sapling wasn’t ready to see her in metallic tones. It felt a bit boring and predictable, but she decided to go with plum.
He’s not gonna care about your glasses because this isn’t a date. Why can’t you get it through your head?
It was never good when she talked to herself. Even worse was when she met talking to herself with answering herself.
Because when the chemistry’s that natural, that’s how it’s gonna feel.
The answering voice in her head wasn’t wrong. That was why Shea planned to give his sister some one-time free advice, then politely decline. She would talk about the screenplay she was writing and all she needed to accomplish while she was in Sapling. She would suggest in the kindest terms possible that his sister recruit a capable chef. And she absolutely would not in any way, shape or form be bewitched by Dev’s forest-green eyes.
“Hey, thanks for coming.” She recognized his baritone from directly behind her over the restaurant’s dull roar. Shea had yet to eat at The Big Spoon on a Friday night. There were only two tables left.
As she turned to face him, she caught a whiff of his scent—all cedar and citrus and musk. The mix of aromas was appealing all on its own. Things got real when her body completed its motion and she fully took him in. After-work Dev was absolutely gorgeous.
She’d thought it couldn’t get sexier than his uniform of aprons and fitted tees that invited her eyes to crawl over his chiseled arms. What he had on now showed her, she’d thought wrong. His slim-fitting button-up was a stylish plaid that mixed reds