Chapter Seven
Garett
Ruby’s laugh, as she stands at Betty’s counter, is a tinkling melody, and I stop everything to listen as if it’s my favourite song on the radio.
I should apologise for my earlier behaviour, but one of the rules of running a kitchen is that you never say sorry. Your staff shouldn’t learn you’re weak. It invites questions and uncertainty that don’t fit a fraught kitchen environment. Boss it at all times. There’s a reason why panicked people shout, “Yes, Chef.”
I rub my sore jaw.
My career as a restaurant chef is still ruined, Clive is starting a baking competition, and I haven’t got my dog, but if Ruby hadn’t been here, seeing Cookie would have left me in agony for the entire day. She’s made me smile even though I’ve tried to fight her happiness and kindness. That mixture of joy and beauty has excited me in ways I refuse to voice. I don’t want to be another Wicksy.
As I watch her demonstrate fondant shapes to Betty, the flyer for Clive’s competition lies on the counter. It churns my stomach. I bet it’s an attempt to steal a contestant’s recipes.
But there’s nothing I can do about that.
I step towards the workstation where Ruby instructs Betty about an icing technique, fingering the packet of gum in my pocket, but then Ruby does that thing that makes me lick my lips as my body fires hotter. She pulls the elastic that keeps her bun in place. Her hair falls like flour blown across a countertop. It’s like waves of spun sugar as it rests below her shoulders before her fingers twist and tease it into a simple yet elegant bun. She’s missed a few strands each of the three times she’s wrapped her hair, and this time is no different. It must be a nervous habit, but it’s quickly becoming a highlight of my day.
I shouldn’t butt in, and I certainly shouldn’t go against one of my chef mantras and apologise.
A dusting of freckles cover her nose and cheeks, like icing sugar on a Victoria sponge. I steel myself and focus on unwrapping the gum, but I can’t resist speaking to her as I do it. “So you’re a baker rather than a cookery school manager?”
Betty replies for her, “Yes, she is. She was telling me about the business she ran before she moved here. It was called Naughty Bits.”
“Treats,” Ruby splutters. “Naughty Treats.”
I pat her on the back. Don’t linger. You don’t want to be creeping her out after you’ve already pissed her off. The brief touch leaves my hand warm.
“And what does Naughty Treats involve? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Ruby’s laugh is stilted, and pink tinges her ear lobes. “Oh, nothing in particular. Just fun shapes.”
I slowly roll my shirt sleeves to reveal my forearms. She’s staring at them like they’re the secret to eternal youth. I flex my muscles like a peacock with a praise kink. “Why don’t you show me the sorts of designs you did? I want to see what you’re really capable of.”
She smiles at Betty. “Keep doing what you’re doing. The fondant shapes look great.”
Then she turns to me, and I prepare for a sassy comment.
“Maybe another time,” she replies to me before walking away.
My face drops. I need to fix this for the benefit of the cookery school. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.
She moves towards the kitchen. I watch her go, making sure I don’t look at that swaying ass.
I push my sleeves back down, and I follow her. Maybe I should ask what brought her to this cookery school in particular or show an interest in her old business.
“Fun shapes? Tell me more. I love fun things.” I curse how awkward I sound, especially when her ears pink further. I slip gum into my mouth and chew slowly as I vow not to make more of a dick of myself. The mint bursts in my mouth, and my jaw works to relish the flavour.
“I bet you do,” she whispers, forcing me to lean closer. The rest of the group focuses on their tasks. Ruby smells of buttercream and passion fruit. It overwhelms my mint, and I breathe her in slowly. “I bet you’d like nothing more than to wrap your lips around one of my breast-shaped cookies and lick the icing off slowly.”
“I like cookies,” I stutter. I want to palm my face, but instead, I lick my lips, imagining her sugary goodness coating my tongue.
She cocks her head to the side. “Shame you’ll never get to taste them. I save my naughty treats for the best kind of people these days, which doesn’t include angry chefs who say cruel things to new colleagues.”
Sweat beads my neck, and I struggle to find a comeback. She wasn’t flirting but getting me back for my behaviour, yet a brief flash of desire heats my skin. The same interest isn’t reflected on her face. Instead, she smirks before striding to another workstation. I’m supposed to be in control of my kitchen, but with beauty, baking skills, and the cheek to bring me to my knees, Ruby’s totally fucked me in seconds.
◆◆◆
The ladies laugh and jeer the winners as they leave the cookery school.
“Thank you for such a brilliant day,” Betty gushes. I look up, ready to shrug through the praise while secretly letting it fan my chef arrogance, but she’s not looking at me. “I had so much fun, Ruby. I can’t wait to tell everyone. I’ve gained lots of skills.”
“It was my pleasure. It was a great day in the end, and you were an excellent student. I’m sure Chef Garett will be singing your praises for months.”
Ruby looks at me, and I nod, although I’d rather roll my eyes.
“And maybe I’ll see you at Clive’s competition day,” Betty replies, “if you’re not doing your business anymore due to that awful boyfriend of yours.”
I bristle at the mention of Clive, and her brows furrow as she catches my eye. Did she think I did that because of her boyfriend? Yes, I’m attracted to her, but I’d never get involved with anyone I work with, which is what I’d say to Wicksy if I thought he’d listen.
“Ex-boyfriend,” Ruby rushes to correct. “It’s still very raw, but he’s definitely an ex.”
She can’t have said that for my benefit. Get over yourself, Garett. I was someone before, but I’m nobody now. I catch her worrying the edge of her plaster, and her brows furrow again.
I clear my throat noisily, leaving the women to chat before throwing back, “I should redress that once we’ve tidied up.”
There isn’t much to tidy in the kitchen due to Kath’s ninja cleaning skills. The place is pristine. If I ever run a restaurant again, I’m poaching her. Not that she’d leave. She adores it here, and she loves Amber. I should call Amber. I check my phone but quickly pocket it again. I’ve received another message from Clive.
“Okay,” Ruby replies before helping the last of the group out to their cars with their bags. I pick up kitchen equipment before returning it to the same place. My gaze drifts towards Ruby’s bum as she leaves the room. She’s like liquid sensuality. The curves of her hips are the perfect size for my hands. But I’m too tall for her. If I wanted to kiss her, I’d have to lift her onto the counter.
I drag a hand down my face and storm around the kitchen. I need to get laid because it shouldn’t take one beautiful baker giving me attitude to turn me into a horndog. Maybe it’s all the tension from the situation with Clive and Cookie. The gold and blue flyer Betty showed me waits on one of the stations. Betty must have left it. I skim the swirly font announcing that Chef Clive’s Best Cotswold Baker competition will be on Christmas Eve.
The winner will gain a spot in Clive’s restaurant under the tutelage of the renowned pasta-making master and the prize of ten thousand pounds.
Bastard.
My fucking restaurant. My pasta recipe. My life.
I scrunch the flyer into a ball and toss it towards the bin. He has no idea what’s in that pasta dish, and he hates that. I slide knives together to sharpen them. The metal-upon-metal sound fills the kitchen as I work them together. I need a plan to get my dog back, but I’m out of options.
An electric surge passes through my back.
“Sorry, did I make you jump?” Ruby asks, her hand lingering on my back.
“No,” I grunt louder than intended. It echoes through the kitchen. I return the knives to their cases.
Ruby yanks her hand away and nibbles at her lip as she stares at me. She’s raised her eyebrows with expectation. It’s like a glimpse into a shyer, needier side of her, and it gives me ideas I can’t allow to germinate. It’s been months since I last kissed a woman, let alone slept with one, but that’s not going to happen here. No way. I wish she’d stop staring at me like that.
“You said you’d redress my bandage?”
Shit. Am I really this arrogant to think this mysterious stranger is interested? One flyer has bruised my ego harder than if fifteen women rejected me. Ruby side-eyes me as she changes her hairstyle again, disarming me instantly. Kinked waves cascade from the tight elastic, and the nape of her neck is hidden, although I still imagine brushing kisses to her skin. I rub my stubble. Fans on the handful of TikToks I made before I got too busy told me the move made me appear wise, but I choke as I catch my reflection in one of the chrome ovens. I look like an ass.
I point to the chair in the dining area and grunt, “Yes. Sit.”
I tug on my bottom lip as I stare at her hands. There’s a couple of scars from kitchen incidents. Every chef or cook who’s spent more than a month working in a kitchen has them. I’ve got several and one or two on my arms, too.
She spies me warily as she walks to the chair. Do not stare at her bum. But it’s so damn curvy and draws me in like beef dripping on roast potatoes.
I shove several sticks of gum into my gob and release a groan of quiet exasperation before working the gum slowly. I need more mouth guards if I want my teeth to survive this winter. In fact, with Ruby in my kitchen until Christmas, I need to find a mouth guard wholesaler.