Chapter 9
NINE
RAY
Rolling onto my stomach, I wake before my alarm. The soft light of dawn filters through the edge of the curtains, and for a moment, I enjoy the peace that comes this early in the morning. The calm before the daily hustle. Those first breaths when everything is still and undisturbed.
The soft patter of rain hits the deck and trees outside as I shift the pillow and hug it to my chest. For a moment, I zone out to the rhythmic thrum. Let it lull me as the fogginess of my dreams fades and reality trickles in.
As it does most mornings, my mind skims through a mental to-do list. Monotonous daily activities. Tucker’s short but tedious routine. And eventually, things specific to today. When the reality of what day it is sinks in, everything in me stills then swiftly jolts to life.
Cooking school starts today.
A surge of energy swirls in my chest a beat before my pulse echoes in my ears. I roll onto my back, stare at the ceiling, let the rush flow through me unrestrained, then slowly sit up. Closing my eyes, I cross my legs and take a few meditative breaths. When my eyes open, I feel energized yet centered. Ready to take on the day.
I welcome the unstable throb beneath my rib cage. The irrefutable hum dancing beneath my skin. The thrill and impatience pulsing through my veins. More than anything, I delight in the buoyancy in my limbs—something I haven’t felt in a long time.
Kicking off the sheet, I swing my legs off the mattress, plant my feet on the floor, and stand, stretching my limbs. I amble over to the wall of windows and fling open the curtains. Gaze out at the tall evergreens lining my property, the Bay Cliff Mountains in the distance. Take a moment to appreciate all the good things in my life.
When André and I spoke about adjusting my hours, I feared my culinary career would die an early death. But the more time I’ve had to digest what this change means, the more I’ve let his optimism take root, the more excited I am to take the next step.
Since our conversation a couple weeks ago, I’ve worked hard to focus on the positives. In doing so, I’ve seen how much they outweigh what I thought I’d be losing.
I may not be in the kitchen when all the chaos happens. I may spend less time with the friends and family I’ve gained since I put on my Calhoun’s Bistro chef’s coat. But I don’t regret a single step forward. When I finally accepted this was the path I was meant to take, I felt dizzy. Exhilarated. Ready to go.
Just the thought of teaching Tucker what I know, sharing one of my passions with him, showing him how fun it is to create in the kitchen… a fiery storm blazes in my chest. I love how eager he is to learn. How excited he is to play with food .
It makes the reward of this next step that much sweeter.
I cross the bedroom for the bathroom, stripping my briefs as I go. Tossing them in the hamper, I crank the water in the walk-in shower and give it a moment to heat up. The glass fogs as I step in and set a towel on the far end of the bench.
The hot spray wakes up my muscles as I go through my shower routine. Hair washed, I squirt bodywash in my palm, coat the other, and lather my chest and tattooed abs. As my hands drift lower, my mind wanders to more libidinous places.
I close my eyes as my slick palm strokes the length of my cock. Slow. Measured. Squeezing a little harder as I near the head. Root to tip, over and over, I pump my cock. An inferno blazes beneath my skin. Expanding. Pulsing. Begging for relief.
An image of Kaya flashes in my mind. Her coppery-brown eyes peeking up at me from beneath her lashes. A faint blush on her cheeks and neck.
“Fuck,” I growl out as my free hand slaps the glass and takes some of my weight. I’m going to hell.
I strengthen my grip, pulse my cock harder. Cling to the image of her and let it fuel my uninhibited thoughts. Of what it would feel like to trail my fingers over her golden-brown skin. How she would look beneath me, jaw slack and gaze wanton. What her breath would feel like on my skin as her moans fill the room. The way her body would quiver as we edge closer to climax.
My balls draw up as fire licks my veins. “Jesus. Fuck.” As my thumb strokes the head of my cock, I come undone, painting the glass. Legs shaking, I glance down at my swollen cock. “Definitely going to hell,” I mutter.
But oh, how glorious the trip would be.
After I finish in the shower, I towel off and pull on a pair of sweatpants. Poke my head inside Tucker’s room to see him still asleep. Once I rouse him, I jog down the stairs and get started on breakfast.
Tucker plods into the kitchen, hands rubbing his eyes, and takes a seat at the island.
Thinly sliced ham warms in the oven while I scramble eggs on the stove. When the eggs are only a little runny, I cut the heat and put a lid on the pan. I grab a couple croissants that I picked up from the bakery yesterday and slice them in half. Turning off the oven, I swap the ham for the croissants. While they warm, I slice some brie.
Across the bar, Tucker watches with complete fascination. “Will we make breakfasts like this?”
I pull the croissants from the oven and start assembling the breakfast sandwiches.
“Yep. We made an amazing list of fun foods.” I set his sandwich in front of him. “Can’t wait to make them all with you.”
Tucker presses down on his croissant and squishes his sandwich. “Me either.”
He devours his food in no time, hops off his stool and takes his plate to the sink. Before he runs off to get ready, I call after him.
“Hold on a minute, bud.” I rise from my stool and wipe my hands. “Follow me.” I lead him to the living room and fetch the bag on the couch. “Got something for you.”
“Really?” His excitement palpable as he bounces beside me.
I pull out the junior-sized chef’s coat, unfold it, and hold it up. “What do you think?” I point to the left breast where his name is stitched.
“Whoa!” He shuffles forward and gingerly takes the coat. “This is for me?”
“You know it.” I ruffle his hair.
Hazel, glassy eyes stare up at me with so much love, appreciation, and a hint of disbelief. “This is so dope.” He tries and fails to hide his sniffle. “Thanks, Dad.”
I bend and press a kiss to his head. “You’re welcome, T-Man. Now, go”—I pat his butt—“get ready.”
Tucker talks my ear off as we drive to the restaurant. He tells me all the food he plans to make and how he will be a chef one day. And while he chatters on, I tap the steering wheel over and over. Watch the odometer tick off tenths of a mile, one after another.
To say I’m nervous would be an understatement. Hell, I haven’t been this jittery in years. And it has nothing to do with teaching thirteen kids how to cook or use sharp knives.
No, this endless effervescence in the center of my chest is because I get to see her again.
Kaya.
Sure, I can lie to myself. Do my best to shove down this foreign, fizzy feeling beneath my diaphragm. Deny how I come alive whenever she is within reach. Argue that it’s only attraction and nothing more.
But deep down, I know it’s more than lust. Avoiding the truth is pointless.
For now, though, I need to focus on what is important and keep my thoughts to myself.
I steer the car into the lot and park on the side of the restaurant. Open the back door, grab my work backpack, and shoulder it. When Tucker joins me at the trunk of the car, he takes my hand and gives it a small squeeze.
“Don’t be nervous, Dad. You’re the best cook ever.” He tugs me toward the door. “Everyone will love you.”
With such a simple statement, a weight lifts from my shoulders. Tucker makes me feel like I can take on the world. He and the other kids are why I am here. They are my priority. If they’re happy, so am I.
The restaurant is too quiet as we weave through the employee area in the back. We pass linen storage, followed by the back-of-the-house server stations. I guide Tucker down a short hall that leads to the kitchen and point out the walk-in cooler and freezer. He stares wide-eyed at the large door when I tell him we have to wear winter coats if we are in there more than a couple minutes.
“Hey, little man,” Fin says as we enter the kitchen. “So cool you get to hang out with us all summer.” Fin holds out a fist and Tucker bumps it with his own.
Tucker points to his name embroidered on his chef’s coat. “It’s just like yours and Dad’s,” he says with so much pride it makes my chest ache. “I’m never taking it off.”
Fin squats until he’s eye level with Tucker. He brushes off Tucker’s shoulders, smooths down the sleeves, and double-checks the buttons. “Just remember”—Fin holds Tucker’s gaze—“appearances are important when you’re a chef. Messes are expected, but we always want to look our best.” He tugs on the bottom of Tucker’s coat. “And that means you need to wear an apron to protect your clothes or wash your coat every day.”
Tucker’s expression turns serious. “Promise I’ll look my best, Mr. Fin.”
“Good man.” And then Fin sweeps Tucker off his feet, clutches him to his chest, and digs his fingers in his rib cage. “Now, let’s have some fun.”
“Sss… sss…” Tucker snort-laughs as he swats at Fin’s hands. “Stop it.”
God, his laughter is infectious. My little man may have been through a lot already, but he still has an air of innocence. And damn, do I want him to have it as long as possible.
After a minute, Fin plants Tucker on his feet. “Come on, bud. Let’s go set up before everyone gets here.”
Without another word, Tucker follows Fin to the classroom to help organize the tables.
While he’s distracted, I go to the office, review schedules and checklists, and talk with André about how we can balance prepping for the cooking classes, kitchen, and events. Although the kids will be doing most of the work, we still need to prepare some of the ingredients in the main kitchen outside of class hours, store the ingredients, and mark them so staff don’t accidentally use them.
Quarter after eight, André and I head for the front. He unlocks the door and a handful of students come in, their parents waving and promising to return in a few hours. Fin and Tucker appear long enough to lead the new arrivals to the classroom.
As I linger near the door, I can’t help but scan the parking lot for Kaya. André does one last review of what we will do with the kids today. But the moment I spot her powder-blue SUV, I don’t hear a word he says.
Kaya exits her car, and I swallow past the sudden dryness in my throat.
Damn.
A pair of soft-apricot palazzo pants sit high on her hips and draw attention to her legs. The pristine-white scoop neck top shows a hint of her collarbones, and I lick my lips. But it’s the white sneakers that tie it all together and give her an effortlessly casual energy. In the sun, her loosely braided dark hair has subtle red undertones.
“Chef Calhoun.”
I blink a couple times and turn my attention to André. “Sorry, Chef.”
He chuckles. “Maybe I need to work more of these classes with you.” He nudges me with his elbow. “Make sure you’re actually teaching the kids instead of eyeing the assistant.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “You know I’d love to have you at my side every time I’m in the kitchen.”
“That I do.” He clears his throat. “I said we should video a little of each class, snap some photos, and post them online. Create more buzz for future classes and the restaurant other than an article in the Gazette. Show us instructing but edit out faces of the students.”
Distracted, I only hear half of what he says as my gaze flits back to Kaya as she enters the valet loop. “Brilliant idea,” I say, my eyes still on her. “If we get any shots of the kids, maybe we can make a video for the parents. A nice keepsake.”
André pats my shoulder as he takes a step away. “Fin promised to film a little each week when he helps. Maybe you can ask your… assistant if she’d mind taking pictures and recording a few videos.”
The way he says assistant makes me want to slap him—in a playful way, of course.
“I’ll be sure to ask,” I say, not giving him any more fuel.
As she nears the door, André crosses the restaurant. “Can’t wait for you to introduce her.”
I roll my eyes, take a deep breath, and plaster on my best smile as I open the door for Kaya. “Good morning. Please, come in.”
“ Ulaakut . Good morning.” Kaya steps past me and surveys the restaurant. “I’m not late, am I?”
With a shake of my head, I say, “You’re perfect.” And then, I mentally slap myself and try again. “Still have another ten to fifteen minutes before we get started.” Not trusting myself, I clasp my hands behind my back. “Let me show you where we’re hosting the classes.”
I lead Kaya to one of the event spaces in the back.
Most of the sizable rooms are set up for large gatherings and celebrations. Several tables, chairs, and couches with softly lit sconces and chandeliers. A personal bar stocked with all the essentials, a grand fireplace with tall wine racks lining either side and a large window overlooking the bay.
Thankfully, my grandfather and his business partners, Ray Sr. and Roger Kemp, opted to furnish one of the restaurant’s event spaces with a colossal kitchen and enough seating for thirty. The space has only been reserved a few times since I’ve worked at Calhoun’s Bistro. Different occasions when the party wanted a personal chef and set menu or to cook for their significant other with our guidance.
“Here we are.” I open the door and am hit with excited chatter.
Tucker glances our way and lights up. Scrambling out of his seat, he rushes across the room. “Miss Kaya.” Before I can stop him, he slams into her and wraps his arms around her middle.
My cheeks heat as I wince. “Tucker…”
Kaya chuckles. “Hi, Tucker.” She gently wraps him in her arms, then releases him. “I wondered if I’d see you today.”
I tap Tucker’s shoulder. “How about we let Miss Kaya come in.”
He drops his arms and shuffles back. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” A soft smile plumps her cheeks. “I’m happy you’re here, too.”
For a moment, I’m struck speechless. Bewildered. A little thrown off at how easily Tucker and Kaya interact with one another. How comfortable they are in each other’s company.
What did she say her title was at the school? Behavioral specialist.
The way they smile and chat tells me Tucker is at ease with her. Delighted. Glad he has someone familiar here.
She told me over breakfast she’d met Tucker. But why? At the time, I was too enamored with her to ask.
I would know if something happened at school, wouldn’t I? If Tucker caused trouble and was sent to the office, someone would call or email. I flashback to him talking to the toy a couple weeks ago. If someone bullied him and he spoke with Kaya, she would reach out. Right? It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask, but I stop myself. Resist the urge to question why the school’s behavioral specialist is acquainted with my son. This isn’t the place.
Another time.
Tucker bounds off to hover near Fin and the other kids.
“Once everyone’s here, I’ll give a more eloquent speech about your role,” I say as I inch closer to Kaya. “But all we’re asking is that you help keep the kids focused. We expect them to be boisterous and a little loud, but we don’t want to detract from why we’re all here.”
Smile still on her face, Kaya stares at the kids and nods. “If you need me to do more or less at any time, just let me know.”
I shuffle back to see her in more than my periphery. And for a moment, I simply breathe her in. The delicate slope of her nose and plump bottom lip. The subtle curve of her brows and the way her thick, long lashes fan out. A light blush highlights her soft cheekbones, a hue darker dusted on her eyelids.
From the corner of my eye, Fin glances at us, a wicked smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. It’s enough to snap me out of my Kaya-induced haze.
“Chef Beaulieu wanted me to ask if you’d mind taking pictures or videos occasionally. Otherwise, we’re good for now.”
André comes in with the rest of the students. Everyone finds their designated seat and we go around the room and introduce ourselves. The class is a good mix of ages ranging from eight to sixteen. We let the kids know that Kaya, as well as some parents, are here to help make the class fun.
While Fin and I go over the basic outlined schedule, André retrieves the chef’s coats we got for everyone. We pass out the coats and help the kids put them on. Rather than hand Kaya hers to put it on herself, I offer to help.
“I’m quite capable,” she teases as I hold the coat open for her.
“Don’t doubt it. Just thought I’d help.”
Before she spins around, I spot the heat coloring her neck and cheeks. “Thank you.”
Guiding her arms into the sleeves, I step closer as I set the coat on her shoulders. An earthy, rose scent wafts up my nose, and my gaze drops to the nape of her neck.
Does she dab perfume there? The spot just beneath her hair.
I want to lean in closer, skim my nose down the curve of her shoulder, inhale every inch of her skin, and learn exactly where that smell is. Take a long pull and store the scent of her skin in my memory.
With a slight turn of her head, she peeks over her shoulder. “Is everything okay?”
No.
“Yes. Sorry.” God, this woman must think I’m a nitwit. “Been a bit foggy today. Not used to working so early.”
Lies.
I shift my hands to fix the collar on the coat as she starts to speak. But the moment my fingertips graze the nape of her neck, we both freeze, her words dying on her tongue.
An insatiable hum dances up my arms and settles in my chest. When she takes her next breath, it’s shaky. Ragged. Telling.
She feels it, too.
There is no chance in hell I’ll only ever be acquaintances or friends with this woman. Not after today. Not after the charge that just passed between us.
But what if I don’t have what it takes to be… more ? What if Kaya walks away and shatters me like she did?
I yank my hands away and clutch them behind my back. “Sorry,” I mutter.
She spins around and faces me, so close the warmth of her breath ghosts the front of my throat. “Don’t apologize,” she whispers as she meets my gaze. “To live is to feel, to experience, to hope. I’d rather feel all those things than nothing at all.”
Yep. It’s official. I’m done for.