Chapter 48
Chapter Forty-Eight
W aking on Boxing Day with Warren’s arms wrapped around her, Anna felt a deep sense of joy. She gazed at his features while her stomach turned somersaults at the memory of their night together.
She’d purposely distracted him from telling her whatever it was he’d been hiding. She should probably have heard him out, but at the time she’d been too hyped up on wine and Christmas cheer for any deep conversations.
If she was honest, she hadn’t wanted anything to ruin the mood.
Now, she wondered what had got him so wound up. Presumably, she’d find out soon enough.
He didn’t stir as she ran her fingers over the tattoos on his bicep, or when she eased herself out of his embrace.
Pulling on his T-shirt, she headed for the kitchen.
She made coffee for Warren in his favourite mug and used her new mug for herself.
Impatiently, she took a scalding sip before setting it back down and drifting into the living room, which wasn’t as tidy as the last time she’d visited.
Books lay strewn on the table, and one was open and draped over the arm of the couch.
Picking it up, her eyes skimmed the content.
Then she sank onto the couch and turned it over to read the title.
“Snooping again?”
Her head snapped up to Warren, who stood in the kitchen in a pair of boxer shorts.
“I don’t think it’s snooping if things are lying around. Also, it’s not exactly private. It’s only books.” Once again, her gaze roamed over the titles of the non-fiction collection. “Why are you reading books about staff management?”
Warren pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, turning it to face her before taking a seat. “Because Lewis had a go at me for the way I run the kitchen. He doesn’t like the way I manage the staff.”
“And you didn’t just tell him where to go?”
“No.”
She caught the vulnerability in his eyes but couldn’t figure out why he looked so defeated. “Why not?” she asked quietly.
“Because he was right – I don’t know how to manage the kitchen.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing in that kitchen most of the time.”
“Well, that’s not true.” She smiled through her confusion. “I’ve seen you in the kitchen. You absolutely know what you’re doing. I’ve also eaten your food. Of course, you know what you’re doing.”
“What I’m doing,” he said slowly. “Is winging it. Every single day.”
She stared at him, waiting for him to crack a smile and make a joke, but his posture was rigid.
“Is it like an imposter syndrome thing?” she asked eventually. “Sometimes I feel like that when I’m doing a workshop or something… like I’m not really qualified to teach people an ything.”
He shook his head. “I’m genuinely not qualified. I told you I studied economics…”
“And then you went to culinary school,” she finished.
“No. I didn’t say that. You assumed.”
“How did you become a chef, then?”
He massaged his temples. “I had jobs in kitchens and worked my way up.”
“Okay. What’s the problem with that? You don’t need formal qualifications to be a chef, do you? If you can cook well – that’s the main thing, isn’t it?”
“Sort of. But it usually takes a long time. And people usually train under famous chefs.” He looked at her sadly. “I fast-tracked myself.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I had all this debt hanging over me, and I was struggling to pay rent. To really progress in my career, I needed some kind of formal training, but I couldn’t afford it, and I had too much pride to ask my parents for help. Not that they’d have helped me.”
“So, what did you do?”
“I taught myself to cook. I found any free tutorials I could find online, and I read books.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Even though I could cook, no one would give me a break.” He sighed.
“So I started applying for jobs I wasn’t qualified for.
I was sure I could do anything if someone would just give me a chance.
All I needed was someone daft enough to not bother checking my references.
Or at least not the place where I claimed I’d been head chef. ”
Anna grimaced. “Lewis didn’t check your references?”
“No.”
“And you never told him?”
He smiled sadly. “This is why I didn’t call you last week. I spend most of my life feeling like a fraud, and I didn’t want to feel like that with you.”
“You could have just told me.”
“I planned on telling you. But telling you means I have to tell Lewis, and I got myself all tied in knots just thinking about coming clean. Lewis is my best friend, and I’ve spent years lying to him.”
“Have you?” She placed the book back on the table and moved to sit on Warren’s lap. “Lewis thinks you’re a brilliant chef, and that’s true.”
“It’s not the whole truth.”
“My brother isn’t stupid. He’s meticulous in the way he runs the hotel. If he didn’t check your references, it won’t have been out of negligence or laziness. Or because he’s daft, ” she added pointedly.
“I cooked for him in my interview,” Warren said. “He said the food spoke for itself. I worked on a trial basis for a month.”
“There you go then. You didn’t get the job based on lies. You got the job based on your ability to cook.”
“I think you’re being pretty generous in your assessment.”
She took his hand, entwining their fingers. “I really think you’re making more of this than it is.”
His thumb trailed a path over the back of her hand. “It’s why I get so angry when the staff make mistakes. If the food is good, everything feels fine, but every mistake feels as though it might be the thing to reveal what a fraud I am.”
“You’re not a fraud.” She put a hand on his cheek and forced him to look her in the eyes. “You’re amazing at your job.” A smile crept over her face. “So good that Lewis has spent the last couple of weeks panicking that you’re looking for another job.”
He eyed her sceptically. “Why does he think that?”
“He thinks he offended you when he talked to you about shouting at the kitchen staff.”
“I wasn’t offended – only worried that he’d finally figured out that I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“But you do know what you’re doing.”
“Winging it,” he said again.
“No,” she replied sternly. “You might have been winging it to start with, but you absolutely know what you’re doing now.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
“Michelin gave you a review, for goodness’ sake! How can you think you’re not good at your job?”
“I think I’m lucky they came on a day when everything was running smoothly.”
“That’s most days. And I thought they visited more than once.”
“I think they usually come more often.”
“Probably not a fluke, then. And kind of funny that you think Michelin don’t know what they’re talking about.”
“It was great to get the review,” he said.
“But you don’t think you can get a star?”
“The restaurants that get Michelin stars are run by top chefs.”
Standing, she went and got his coffee. Then stared pointedly at the writing on the mug when she gave it to him.
“I think it would be weird if they didn’t give a Michelin star to the world’s best chef,” she said, smiling.
He set the mug aside. “I think it means more to me that your brother thinks I’m good at my job than a Michelin star would mean.”
“Nice sentiment,” she said, sitting on his knee again and draping an arm around his shoulders. “Fairly sure it’s not true, though.”
His lips twitched in amusement. “A Michelin star would be great. But it genuinely doesn’t matter to me. I get to do a job I love, and I work with great people. That’s enough for me. I just hope your brother doesn’t fire me when he finds out I lied. ”
“There’s no way Lewis would fire you.” She ran her finger through the short hair at the back of his neck.
“Aren’t you annoyed with me?” he asked, his forehead wrinkling.
“Why would I be?”
“Because I kept this from you. I outright lied to Lewis, but I essentially lied to everyone I’ve become close to since I moved here.”
“You’re being really hard on yourself,” she said. “It doesn’t matter to me how you got your job. I’m only glad you did get the job.” She flashed him a flirty smile, and he tightened his arms around her.
“How am I going to explain this to Lewis?” he asked, burying his head in her neck as he hugged her.
“You’ll figure it out. And you have a week for him to get back from London. I’d say worry about it in a week.”
“Very wise,” he said, drawing back to look her in the eyes. “I may need a distraction though, so I don’t drive myself crazy worrying about it.”
“There’s always work,” she said, stifling a smile.
“And when I’m not at work?”
She swept her lips over his. “I can probably distract you.”