Chapter 18 #3
She followed him out the back door that led to the steps up to the restaurant kitchen.
“There’s something anti-feminist about a man carrying my toolbox that has fuck the patriarchy on it. And that’s a hard absolutely fucking not on calling her Betsy.”
“You anthropomorphize literally everything. You name your trowels—”
“Only my favorite ones.”
“How does your bedazzled toolbox not have a name yet? And don’t worry, I plan on keeping my chivalrous but delicate and very valuable master chef’s hands away from all power tools after the scolding you gave me last time—”
“You cannot hold a jigsaw like that. You will sever your femoral artery.”
“So you told me. Feel free to get as down and dirty as you like and engage in all manner of expert ratcheting and screwing—er—screwdrivering?”
“I can’t decide if I should be offended.” Or turned on. Very turned on.
“Can you wait to be offended until after the carrot peels are removed from my P-trap?”
Did everything he said have to sound like a sex act?
She mentally rewound the scene to listen to Nic’s words, since the substance and meaning of what he had just said were obscured by her libido-addled (another good L word) brain.
“Yikes. Carrot peels.” She grimaced. “You really shouldn’t put carrot peels down the—”
“Oh, I know. One of the servers did it, trying to help out when I had to talk with a customer about allergies. It’s the smaller back sink in the corner. It’s got some ancient disposal on it, so I guess the kid tried to take a shortcut. Everyone makes mistakes. It’s just not great timing.”
“Sounds like you’re a good boss, with that attitude.” Felicity sniffed. “What is that amazing…” She turned to see a platter of exquisitely decorated cupcakes, topped with toasted coconut. Were they carrot cake cupcakes? Her mouth began to water.
“The red velvet ones for the event are in the fridge. But those were for—uh—”
“You’ve been doing so much already. You didn’t have to…”
“You were the one who said we should host this event, and you came up with the theme and made Sally and Cynthia satisfied customers. I thought you deserved to have cake you can eat. Now that I know you won’t be able to eat the lobster, I’m even happier I made them.”
“I, theoretically, can eat red velvet cake. It won’t kill me like the lobster.”
“You deserve to have a Valentine’s Day dessert that doesn’t freak you out or kill you.”
“Why does it need to be red? It looks like murder cake.”
“For a nurse, you’re surprisingly squeamish about gore.”
“Ex-nurse.”
“Well, hopefully nothing about carrot pecan cake with cream cheese frosting topped with toasted coconut activates your squeamishness.”
“You even remembered I like toasted coconut?”
“A chef always takes note when someone with very strong dessert opinions indicates a preference.”
“Oh.” Something stupid misted over in her eyes.
“Give me Betsy and find me a bucket.” She held out her hand, very glad she’d be able to spend the next forty-five minutes hiding her dopey tears at the “friendship” cupcakes while taking apart an old sink drain.
“Also, before you ask again, yes, I did turn in everything to the accountant. Thanks … you know … for helping me. God, if you hadn’t found that one extra account of my aunt’s, I would’ve really been fucked. ”
“No big deal.” He handed her the toolbox with a dismissive wave about her gratefulness. Like it was nothing.
She turned toward the back just as a frigid draft gusted in when one of the servers came in through the back door.
Her old Orioles cap blew off her head, freeing the mass of tangles she’d been hiding beneath.
Blindly, she searched for a place to set the toolbox, but she nearly tripped on the ancient, uneven floors and did a couple of small head flicks and puffed out air to try to get her stupid orange hair out of her stupid eyes.
“Stop. Stop. Stop,” Nic said.
She stopped, keeping hold of the box.
Nic lifted her chin toward him with the gentlest of pressure along her throat.
He moved the misbehaving curls out of her face, combing his long fingers through them, the pressure of his fingertips grazing her scalp.
A shiver scampered down her spine. He tweaked her nose and chin, then slid her cap back on, backward this time.
“That better?”
She swallowed.
His throat bobbed.
“I’m going to check on the rest of the prep. Let me know if you need anything?”
“Will do.”
She’d gotten herself and the ancient pipes mostly back together when she felt a warm body beside the half of her that wasn’t inside a cabinet.
“How’s it going?” Nic said.
“Fine.”
“I meant to ask earlier. Can I come over after the event? I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Sure.” Her knuckles whitened on the wrench. “You can’t tell me now? I’m not good at delayed gratification. Or waiting. I’m going to be freaking out that it’s something bad between now and then.”
“It too chaotic here right now. And Jesus, it’s nothing bad. Relax.”
“I’m completely relaxed.”
He ducked his head low enough to peer into the cabinet. “You’re grinding your teeth.”
“Am not.”
“Are too.”