Chapter 17 #2
Now that eyes are not on her, eyes that are not mine, my territorial jealousy abates. Somewhat. “I was proving a point.”
“And what point was that, Stone?”
“That you’re not his.”
Noa wrinkles her brows in confusion, then jumps to attention when Saint barks out orders.
I’m forced to admit how much I enjoy observing her in her natural environment, collecting utensils and ingredients and instructing me on how to do the same without batting an eye.
I never noticed how adorable it is when her brow scrunches with concentration as she chops, or how she bites her lip when she slices.
What floors me the most is how the tip of her tongue pokes out when she works the saucepan on the hot plate.
Her tongue shines a rosey pink, pointed in my direction, and when a piece of dark hair falls in front of her face, I want to tuck it behind her ear and suck her tongue into my mouth while doing it.
The part of me that’s not supposed to be present twitches.
I readjust my pants and show an intense focus on preventing the beans from burning.
I’m hot, I’m sweating, and the apron tie is wildly uncomfortable against my neck, but to my surprise, time passes quickly, especially when I put all my energy into observing her.
Chef Saint wanders our way. I move in front of Noa.
If he notices, he gives me no sign as he clasps his hands behind his back and hums deep in his throat as he assesses our progress.
“The fat on your duck breast could have better knife scores,” he says while prodding the meat Noa just finished searing. “And you could have rendered it better.”
Saint pulls a knife and fork from the cup of tasting utensils on our table. Without asking permission, he cuts into the middle of one of Noa’s painstakingly prepared duck breasts and clucks his tongue. “How disappointing. It’s raw in the center.”
“ Raw? ” I can’t help it despite Noa’s warning expression to be quiet. “That’s a perfect medium rare. I’ve been to a lot of places where chefs like you take charge, and every single upper-crust elite that dines in places like that would accept this breast as a fucking beautiful one.”
The room goes silent. Heating saucepans continue to sizzle, the pop and spit of fat seemingly louder than normal.
“Stone,” Noa hisses. “If he says it’s undercooked, then it’s undercooked.”
Saint crooks an eyebrow at me. “Anything more to add, Mr. Williams?”
“It’s clear your talent is not wasted by coming to Falcon Haven.”
There’s an audible gasp from Rad.
Saint rubs his lips together. “I could say the same to you. Consider me properly belittled, just as you will be when you realize this is your last class.”
“He didn’t mean it.” Noa’s voice takes on a squeak of desperation. “Stone’s hotheaded, but he’s here for me. His mother couldn’t be with me like we planned, and I didn’t want to lose my spot, so he graciously accepted to be my partner for these classes. My silent partner.”
That last part is directed at me.
The puff in my chest deflates at the shattered look in her eye, like I’m about to destroy her dreams once again.
It’s with her expression in mind and not any chagrin on my part that I turn to Saint and agree. “I’ll refrain from voicing my opinions. Mostly. Don’t kick her out of the class.”
After a pregnant pause where I’m almost sure he’s going to kick her out anyway, Saint says, “I bet that hurt to say.”
I grit my teeth in an attempt not to rise to his bait. Noa trembles beside me.
“Consider that your last chance,” Saint says. He turns to Noa, his eyelids softening slightly—such a small tic that I’m almost sure I imagined it. It makes me want to leap at him. “Do the duck again, but correctly this time.”
“Yes, chef.”
Noa gets back to work, refusing to look at me.
For the rest of the evening, the only conversation I receive from her are curt words and brief instructions, and even then, it’s not much.
I’m relegated to stirring duty, as I can’t be trusted to cut vegetables evenly or work meat properly.
They sufficiently wound my ego as each minute passes with vague glances from Saint and pointed dismissal from Noa.
When the dish is finished and Saint approves of all but one, I know I’m in deep shit.
“The fat on the duck is charred along the edges, dry, and under seasoned,” Saint says to Noa. “While the sauce is delicious, it will break by the time I’m finished this sentence. You didn’t stir it enough.”
I slant a look at him.
“Relax your murder face,” Noa hisses.
“Can’t,” I say under my breath. “I’m picturing all the ways I can turn him into a duck breast.”
“That being said,” Saint says, “I’ll allow you back next week because I see talent in your knife cuts and you’ve formed a perfect, delicious crust on top. You have potential, Miss…?”
“Shaw. Noa-Lynn Shaw.”
Noa smiles despite the cutting criticism he’d wielded seconds before. Apparently, all this man has to do is add one compliment to five insults, and he’s back to her good graces.
“Who is currently and forever unavailable,” I add. Noa cuts a glare in my direction and I meet it. “I only state facts,” I say, before returning to scut duty and cleaning our station.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Noa-Lynn. I look forward to seeing you rise to more challenges.”
Saint finishes by gifting her with a closed-mouthed, dimpled smile before turning his attention to the other couples.
To my utter disgust, Noa grows a bashful flush under his attention.
I pause in wiping down the counter, glaring at the back of his head while a continues his natural criticism of the other tables.
“How is this meant to be a date night activity?” I ask. “I think it’s more like if you’re into masochism outside the bedroom.”
“If you would stop excreting your big dick energy all over the place,” Noa retorts, “you’d understand that he is you in the chef world.
A James Beard award winner, one of the youngest in the nation, and a man who garnered critical attention by the age of eighteen.
It’s a privilege to work under him, never mind be taught by him, and you of all people should not judge his success simply because he’s currently living in a small town. ”
Noa being smaller than me should naturally give me the upper hand in arguments. It doesn’t. Her lively, beautiful eyes darken with a tempestuous storm, and if she could, she’d put me in the middle of her exasperated hurricane. If she could destroy me with a glare, she would.
“I defended you,” I reason. “Accomplished or not, he shouldn’t speak to you the way he does.”
“Like you do?”
I rear back. “I have never disrespected you like that.”
“He’s trying to make me a better cook. What have you ever done for me?”
My face couldn’t freeze any further, but it does. “Look at me, Noa.”
It takes seconds of forced effort, but she does.
“I’m in a rented apron cleaning up food scraps in a restaurant when I should be perfecting a pharmaceutical takeover. A takeover I’m probably going to lose because I’m here, doing this, with you.”
Noa recoils. “Don’t do me any favors. Go back to your corporate underworld for all I care. I bet if I went up to Saint right now and asked if I could stay on as a single, he’d let me. You know why? Because I respect him. I listen to him. I actually like him .”
My lips peel back from my teeth as my gaze bounces between Saint and her. Sure, I refuse to acknowledge him as a human, never mind as a person with a title in my mind. But Noa calling him by his first name sends a swirl of fire into my brain so heated and so strong that I see red.
“Go try to fuck him, then,” I whisper viciously, “and see what I’m capable of if you do.”
Noa doesn’t gasp. Tears don’t sparkle in those beautiful eyes. Her mouth thins. She reaches behind her and yanks at the ties to her apron. She pulls it off, lays it on the table with the utmost care, then turns.
“Don’t you dare turn your back on me, Lavender.”
My former pet name for her stops her in her tracks, as I knew it would.
I didn’t expect a shudder of pain to caress the planes of her back. It’s enough to make me falter. My threat null.
I’m forced to watch her approach Saint and touch the back of his shoulder to get his attention. When he turns to her, she leaves her hand there, smiling at him while her strawberry-pink lips ask him a question.
I can’t hear what she says, but his answering smile is enough.
Blood clots burst in my vision. I pull at my apron’s ties, but they don’t give. I yank so hard the threads rip under the pressure.