Spooning Leads to Forking (Hot in the Kitchen #2) - Kilby Blades Page 0,47
him.
“Thanks for the tip,” Shea said finally, mustering her friendliest smile.
“You ought to get someone to show it to you. Not Delilah. She’s allergic to nature.”
“Yeah…” Shea was a bit deflated. “I definitely should.”
There was something conflicted about Dev’s returning smile.
Probably pity, Shea thought.
“Well…happy reading!” she said, motioning to his magazines, trying to sound more friendly and upbeat than lame. “I guess I’ll see you around.”
For the briefest of moments, Dev looked like he wanted to say something other than goodbye. But he didn’t.
“Yeah. Happy reading to you, too.”
With that, Dev gave her a final, wan smile and walked around the corner where they hadn’t seen one another coming, shedding his citrus/cedar scent as he walked by. Shea stood, dazed, for a good minute, half-listening for more chatter—pleasantries between Dev and Gus. Only, they spoke in hushed tones and the small snippets that Shea did manage to catch all related to the explosions at the mills.
Snap out of it, some part of her brain told her then. Her body kicked into gear. She was still so discombobulated from her encounter with Dev, she forgot to studiously ignore that month’s issue of The Cress when she reached the magazine aisle. Even armchair foodies appreciated America’s most respected culinary magazine—part lifestyle magazine, part culture icon and even part recipe guide. It was a love letter to American food culture and a gateway to its haute cuisine.
The problem was, it still hurt Shea to look—still hurt a little to think about all she’d left behind. Because parts of it had been better than good. Some part of her feared that every bit of progress she’d made would disappear the second she picked up a copy of The Cress.
Fully intending to walk clean past it, right to the beauty magazines and entertainment rags—to glossy-paged volumes that promised her flat abs, shiny hair and younger-looking skin—Shea’s blood ran cold at the sight of a headline she had to blink three times to believe:
WHERE IN THE WORLD IS KENT?
Her purse, too-recently knocked out of her hands, dropped on the floor again, this time from the involuntary slacking of her arms. When they found their strength again, she picked up a copy of the issue with a shaking hand. The cover showed a collage of foods on a color spectrum that ranged from red, to pink, to orange, arranged in a question mark on a backdrop of pure white.
All of it was symbolic. The deep-pickled ginger, salmon nigiri, and gunkon maki topped with trout roe were all an homage to Kent’s known affinity for sushi. Foods like light blood oranges, butternut squash, and carrot halwa finished off the design. Shea didn’t know how long she had been staring, only that she couldn’t bring herself to open the cover, and that her body didn’t seem to be able to move.
“Dropped your purse…” Gus’s voice startled her so badly, she nearly jumped out of her skin. Like Dev, he bent to pick it up. Shea took the proffered bag, but Gus must’ve noticed her hand shaking.
“Hey, you eat anything today? You look like Keith when his sugar’s low. Want me to get you some juice or something?”
“I’m fine,” Shea replied too quickly. “What I mean is…” Shea corrected herself. “I’ve been so excited to get this issue. A friend of mine is featured in the magazine.”
It was the quickest lie Shea could think up. As the words escaped her mouth, she also realized it was the best. It gave her an excuse to do what she did next. Because this magazine absolutely could not be in circulation. Not in Sapling. Not within a hundred miles of Sapling. Not anywhere she might be.
“You gonna buy it, then?” Gus wanted to know, sporting a conspiratorial smile that showed he was buying Shea’s story.
“Better than that,” Shea proclaimed, finding her voice once more. “I’m gonna buy them all…”
“What would you do if I told you I had a secret?”
Shea didn’t bother to waste time on a formal greeting. It had taken all her courage to even make the call. Her hands had barely stopped shaking since she’d carried two heavy bags with every copy of The Cress to her car.
“I’d say everyone has secrets,” Kendrick’s voice was groggy. Fuck. She’d awakened him from sleep.
She had spent the three hours since getting home reading and rereading the special issue about Kent. The main article had only taken ten minutes—twenty, if you counted the fact that she’d read it twice. The rest of the