Chapter 10 Allie
ALLIE
I stare at the double-smash burger in front of me, cheese and sauce oozing down the side of the sesame seed bun, pickles jutting out from the sides.
Normally, I would be all over it, but this will be the seventh burger I’ve consumed in the last eight hours.
Between the two of us, Skylar and I made it through fourteen Burger Week entries.
I tried to pace myself, only having one or two bites of each, but some of them were too delicious to resist. Honestly, they’ve all been impressive, from the greasy patty melt at Dot’s Diner to the blue cheese burger at The Tap House in Rocky Falls.
I usually only go back there when I want to go out.
It’s where all the best bars and clubs are.
Plus, if I go there under the cover of night, I don’t feel quite as guilty about not visiting my mom.
She still lives in the tiny house at the edge of town where I grew up.
I hesitated when Skylar asked if I could take that one, but I couldn’t exactly tell her I typically avoid Rocky Falls during the daytime. Although knowing what little I do about her, she probably wouldn’t have asked any questions. She’s cool like that.
I contemplated seeing my mom when I finished up at The Tap House, but I still had one last burger to try, so I used that as my excuse and promised myself I’d visit her next week.
Willow & Thyme doesn’t open until five, so Skylar suggested we make it the last stop.
She was going to meet me here but ended up having to deal with something at the office, so here I am, alone, staring at the last thing in the world I want to eat.
My stomach gurgles angrily as I glance down at the burger in front of me.
I guess I didn’t pace myself as much as I should have.
“It’s not poisoned. I promise,” a deep voice says above me.
I look up, and sure enough, Craig Holder is towering over me in his crisp white chef jacket, his dark curls held back from his face by a red checkered bandana. He crouches down like he’s about to talk to a child and slings his hand casually around the empty chair on the other side of the table.
“I’m—yeah, no, it looks amazing.”
Damn it, Allie. Get it together.
“So we meet again,” he muses, flashing his megawatt smile and gesturing to the chair on which his hand rests. “May I join you?”
“I guess.” I shift in my seat and cross my legs.
“I assume this isn’t your first burger of the day?” he asks as he slides into the chair.
“Seventh,” I admit.
He chuckles. “They forgot to tell you about Burger Week, huh?”
How does everyone in this town know about this except me?
“Yeah, something like that.”
“I can describe it to you if you want,” he offers.
“Thanks, but I’ll try it. I just…need a minute.”
“Take your time.”
His eyes bore into me and I swirl the glass of Grenache I ordered just to have something to do with my hands.
The maroon liquid sloshes and forms tiny bubbles as it moves.
I bring the glass up to my nose and inhale the scent of sweet red cherries and the subtle notes of white pepper before I tip it back, savoring the velvety liquid as it slides down my throat.
“So you’re into wine, huh?” Craig asks. “That was quite the demonstration. Most people just throw it back.”
“Yeah, I save that for tequila. Wine is meant to be savored.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” he says, his eyes turning a shade darker. “You look like you know exactly how to savor…things.”
I nearly choke on the last bit of wine in my mouth as I set my glass back on the table.
Damn sulfites. Normally, a comment like that would have me spewing obscenities or coming back with an equally suggestive line of my own, depending on my mood.
Even though I find Craig sexy as hell, I can’t seem to muster any interest in verbally sparring with him.
It wouldn’t be nearly as fun as messing with…
nope, not going there. I decide to change the subject instead. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
“Anything,” he says, not skipping a beat.
“What did you mean when you said we would be seeing more of each other if I got the food writer position?”
“Oh, I’m a guest writer for The Lantern. I write a monthly column with cooking tips and tricks. Sometimes I throw in a recipe or two. I was actually on my way to meet with Theo to see if I could get more involved when we met in the parking lot that day.”
“Oh…that’s great,” I say as I jot down a description of the burger in my notepad.
“Are you taking notes on me?” Craig drawls, a slight seductive edge to his tone.
“No, I’m just—” I notice his sly grin. “You’re joking.”
“It’s something I do once in a while.” He leans in closer and whispers, “Just don’t tell my staff. I have to maintain my scary persona.”
I have to admit, his flirting isn’t the worst I’ve encountered, but there’s something about him that’s starting to remind me of Gaston from Beauty and the Beast. He’s a little too sure of himself.
I find confidence sexy, but thinking you can get in my pants just because you’re a hot chef doesn’t sit right with me. Granted, his muscles do go on for days.
So did Gaston’s…
“Your secret’s safe with me,” I say, mostly out of obligation. “I think I’m ready to try that burger.”
He pushes the plate closer to me. “Bon appétit,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “No pressure. You’re just sitting across from the chef who slaved away for days hand-grinding local beef and getting the topping ratios just right.”
God, he’s handing me banter on a silver plate, but I still can’t bring myself to engage with him. Then I remember what Ashton said about getting quotes from the chefs. I haven’t been able to get any so far. They were all busy with the lunch rush. Now I have a chef right in front of me.
“Can I quote you on that?” I ask as I take a bite of the burger.
Instantly, I’m hit with the umami flavor of beef.
The combination of cheese, pickles, and Thousand Island dressing creates the perfect amount of salt, fat, and acid, easily complementing the crunch of the griddled patties.
I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips, but I sure as fuck regret the second it happens.
Craig’s eyes flick to my mouth where I’m sure there is all kinds of burger debris.
I quickly grab my napkin before he can do or say anything about it.
Wiping away the sauce and cheese from my mouth, I swallow the last bit of the burger and take another sip of wine.
“Sure,” he replies, his eyes still fixed on my mouth.
“Thanks. This is…” I swallow again. “It’s honestly one of the best smash burgers I’ve ever had.”
“Only one of?” he asks, clearly fishing for even more praise.
Another polite laugh.
I take one more bite, just for good measure, and then jot down the rest of my notes on taste and flavors.
Craig looks like he’s going to say something—most likely something I don’t want to hear—but luckily the waiter comes over to ask how everything is.
Craig shoots him a look that could melt iron, and the guy starts to shuffle away, but I call him back.
“Everything is great, but I’m afraid I can’t finish all this. Would you mind boxing it up for me?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” I look back at Craig, who is all smiles again.
It doesn’t escape me how quickly he was able to flip that switch.
Even despite that, it would be so easy to go home with him tonight.
To use his body as an escape. To let him use mine.
On paper, he’s my exact type—tall, assertive, muscular.
But something about him rubs me the wrong way.
I learned early on to trust my instincts.
It’s something I have always wondered if my mom had done.
Did she ignore the red flags? Or did she simply not see them?
I may not be into long-term relationships, or short-term ones for that matter, but I always vet my sexual partners.
If I have even the slightest hesitation about a man, I don’t sleep with him.
I wish I could say it’s always been that way, but I’ve certainly fucked my fair share of douchebags before adopting this philosophy.
So when Craig leans in closer and makes a gesture to swipe the check that the waiter just set on the table, I quickly throw my credit card on it and hold it out to a different waiter nearby, who looks momentarily surprised but takes it nonetheless.
“Well, this has been nice, but I really should get going. I’m sure you have to get back to the kitchen as well,” I say to an equally shocked Craig.
I stand up and gather my things. He’s still looking around like he’s not quite sure how everything transpired so quickly.
The waiter comes back with my check, and I sign the receipt, making sure to leave a generous tip.
“See you around,” I say as I push in my chair and walk around the table toward the entrance of the restaurant.
“Wait,” Craig calls after me. Dammit. Too slow.
I huff but turn around all the same. He reaches out and grabs my forearm. I look at his hand. He looks at it. We both stare at it for what feels like hours before I move backward, and it falls to his side.
“I’d love to take you out sometime.” He clears his throat. “You know, on a real date when I’m not working. I’d need your number for that, though.”
He flashes that cocky smile again, having recovered from the embarrassment of my rejection in record time.
I blink. “Oh, um.” C’mon, Allie. Think of something.
Fortunately, a flustered-looking woman chooses that exact moment to come running out from the kitchen and whisper something in Craig’s ear. His eyebrows rise in alarm, and he curses.
“Shit, I gotta run,” he says before he follows her back into the kitchen.
Well, that was divine intervention at its finest.
I fly out of there as fast as my heels will take me, not daring to look back.