Chapter 7
SEVEN
WILDER
Scrolling the headlines back home is becoming my only hobby outside of work this past week.
Could be family-related but doesn’t tell me why they’d be looking for me.
Unless there’s a new turf war?
Hasn’t been one of those since the ’80s.
Nausea churns in my gut at the stories my dad used to tell, and a cold bead of sweat pops on my brow.
Let’s hope there’s never one again.
My eyes keep scanning the digital paper.
Notorious crime family biopic hitting theaters.
Nope.
Body found without tongue, organs, police puzzled.
That one brings back pictures from a mental scrapbook that I’ll never be able to burn from my brain.
But the Smokies are far enough away I shouldn’t have to worry.
Too bad shouldn’t isn’t the same as don’t.
But historically speaking, my old family has never gone further than Pennsylvania for anything business-related. I’m ten hours past the safe point.
So why can’t I stop looking for the reason they’re after me now, all these years later?
I’m so absorbed in my screen that I don’t even hear the footfalls up the stairs, which should concern me because I can never be done looking over my shoulder. That’s a habit I can never, ever let go.
I close out of the anonymous browser in one click.
But Lexi’s voice puts my hackles down at once, even if hers are raised.
“What. Did. You. Do?”
I’ve never seen steam come out of a woman before, except maybe on Game of Thrones, but Lexi is channeling some serious mother of dragons energy right now as she storms into the office we share overlooking half of Main Street through the couple of windows in the small room up here on the second floor.
Slapping her phone on the desk between us, it’s a struggle not to let my eyes wander her frame when she’s all worked up like this.
I admit it, I’ve got a thing for her wild streak.
It’s clear after watching her from afar all last week, it comes out to play more with me than anyone else.
Gotta say, I love bringing it out of her, and I’d love fucking her out of it too.
Clearing my throat, I give her an answer that does nothing to calm her down, and I’m not sorry about it. “I think the corporate term is showing initiative?”
“You sneaky little—”
That word throws me.
Little?
A man of my size, breadth, and volume is rarely called any version of small. Even my food has big flavor. It’s a point of pride with me.
One eyebrow hooks up with the side of my mouth as I rise, standing to my full height.
Lexi stops mid-sentence as her head falls back to follow my movements.
“Little?” I question, challenging her accusation.
Lexi’s throat works, eyes staying exactly on my face and not daring to take in anything else.
Holding my arms out to my side, I say, “There’s nothing little about me, Boss. Feel free to check for yourself.”
Seems like my body is her favorite thing about me, maybe if she pats me down it’ll convince her to give me another ride.
Hopefully the use of her title reminds her of when she told me that’s what I could call her.
I know I’ll never hear the word boss again without remembering what her face looks like after she comes. Almost like this, actually.
Nostrils flaring, cheeks flushing, she breathes heavily, staring me down as she tries to find new words.
My grin peeks out at her as the seconds tick by.
Finally, she gets on another train of thought. “You went behind my back yesterday!”
That’s an aggressive way to put it, but Lexi is determined to see me through her shit-tinted glasses that she only breaks out for me.
She’s a doll to the other staff—I watched her all week hold the waitstaff’s hands while they prepped front of house—but when it comes to Wilder Amante? Her fists are ready to fly no matter what I say or do. No one else in the kitchen, just me.
Like I said, I don’t mind the challenge.
Putting a smooth smile on my face that could calm even the angriest New Yorker when they asked for no onions but got them anyway, I speak up.
“I brought the matter to the townspeople, because that’s all you said management cared about.
And I think it’s safe to say, the people of Smoky Heights have spoken. ”
“And why do you think that, Chef?”
Now’s not the time to let my full grin out, but, shit, I’m not that good at hiding it most times.
Why would I bother? I didn’t have a reason to smile for years, it’s hard not to take advantage of every opportunity now.
“Well, Boss, pretty sure you saw the results for yourself by now, but if you’d like me to narrate the comments section for you on the poll I put up in the town Facebook group, I’d be happy to.”
Her shoulders rise and fall with every breath she takes, fists clenched on the desk across from me as I look to the screen, at the window that’s been open the whole time.
Every time the device dings with a new vote or supportive comment rolling in, something in my gut bubbles with hope for this plan of mine after all.
I know my food is fucking incredible. Aurora knows. Hell, everyone who’s tried it would have to admit my shit is way fucking better than your average diner dishes.
Lexi is the only one who seems obsessed with making sure the food here is as boring as possible. And that’s just because of that little vendetta she’s holding against me.
First, for offending her precious downtown, and second, I’m assuming she’s blaming me for the way she wants me. Like it’s my fault she rode my thigh like it would get her the Triple Crown.
But I know my suggestions on the menu are an absolute no brainer, and it seems like the entire town does too. “Option A: cheeseburger with American or cheddar and fries,” I read from the screen.
She cuts in, sharp tongue at the ready. “If you’re finding something wrong with the American staple of the star-spangled cheeseburger, I don’t think working behind the line at a small-town diner is the right choice for you.”
My head tilts to one side. “Would we call this a diner? It’s more of a café, I’d say. Especially once we elevate this menu. You might even call it a bistro.” I tap the desk with a thick finger. “And you only think that limp burger sounds good because you haven’t tasted the Love Burger.”
Lexi scoffs, hands braced on the desk as she leans in closer to me. “There’s nothing wrong with our burger! They even get their choice, American or cheddar.”
I almost wish I wore glasses so I could push them up my nose as I keep reading from the screen, grin firmly lodged in place.
“Or option B: house-made chophouse burger blend of chuck and brisket, grilled to order and topped with melted Gruyère, caramelized onions, fresh tomato jam, a bed of arugula, and an herbaceous aioli on a warm brioche bun. Your choice of crispy hand-cut fries or kettle chips.”
“Nobody says herbaceous, that is ridiculous,” she scoffs, her head bouncing around with all that attitude.
I move onto the next item. “The chicken sandwich. Option A—”
Her bark of speech cuts me off. “I remember the menu, get on with it.”
“As you wish,” I tell her with a grin, turning back to the screen. “Onto the feedback. ‘Oh my God, is Heights Bites open yet? I NEED these in my mouth! B, hands down, B across the board.’” A purr rumbles deep in my throat, vibrating in my chest. “She sounds eager.”
I don’t have to look up at Lexi to know she’s vibrating from something else herself.
Doing my best to imitate Aurora’s authoritative voice, I read out the next comment.
“‘Glad to see you are willing to consider expanding the menu options after all, Alexis. Wyatt, your niece, and I all choose option B. Make sure you count all three votes. One could argue that my vote should hold extra weight, but doesn’t look like this poll needs it, so fine.’”
“That doesn’t even count,” Lexi grumbles, an arm flying up.
“I think she’d argue otherwise, but all right, here’s one from someone you’re not related to. ‘Is this post a joke? Who wants option A when option B is on the table?’”
I think I can hear Lexi’s eyes hitting the back of her sockets with how hard she rolls them. Clearly she’s not sold yet, so I continue.
“This one is just a gif of Monica from Friends saying ‘seven’ over and over again, with a bunch of Bs in her comment.”
That one isn’t too far from accurate, if you ask me. As a chef, I know delicious food can hit the spot for a woman better than most men can.
Not me, but most men.
I digress.
“‘Literally drooling at option B. Or maybe that’s at the new chef I got a glimpse of the other day. Rawr,’ and then there’s a tiger emoji.”
If Lexi were wearing a cuff to monitor her vitals, pretty sure the machine would be beeping at us in warning right about now, so I move on quickly, clearing my throat. “She voted for B and that’s what counts.”
“I’m going to punch Gracie in the tit if that was her. This is…” Lexi splutters, trying to find the word, before settling on the same one from before. “—ridiculous. Surely not everyone voted option B. That’s statistically impossible.”
Humming as I scroll through the dozens and dozens of comments, I find one. “‘Serve roadkill if you want, I’ll be at Suds.’ That was from an Ernie Seltzer… He didn’t vote for B. But he didn’t vote for A either.”
Exasperated, Lexi whips her phone out of her back pocket and thumbs open the screen so she can start reading comments for herself. Her voice leaks arrogance when she starts reading aloud. “‘I’m just happy we’re getting a restaurant option again, period.’ Ha! That one didn’t pick your menu.”
One brow creeps up my forehead as I meet her gaze. “Keep reading.”
The features of her face crumple as she does. “‘But option B sure sounds nice.’ Oh, what the fuck.”