Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
RAY
Aside from work and my videos, I don’t put much effort into my physical appearance. No hair products, skincare, or modish styles. No going out of my way for the latest and greatest whatever trending online. No drawing extra attention to myself when I have more than plenty.
Like everyone, I have a routine—shower, brush my teeth, groom all the places, smell good, repeat. I rarely deviate from my boring schedule. And I never go out of my way to look perfect on a day off.
Today is the exception to the rule.
As if possessed by the spirit of vanity, I have checked my appearance no less than five times in the past few minutes. Considered changing my shirt three times. Thought of styling my hair in a way I never have twice. Sniff-checked myself more times than I care to admit.
I need a damn distraction.
Slipping on sneakers, I exit my room and poke my head through Tucker’s cracked open door. He sits cross-legged on his bed with a superhero action figure in one hand and a red fire truck in the other. When he spots me, he freezes and curls his fingers to hide the fire engine in his palm.
Weird.
“Hey, bud. I’m going to do some last-minute cleaning downstairs.” I glance at my watch. “We should head out soon. Come down in about fifteen minutes?”
Tucker gives me a timid smile and nods. “Okay.”
Rather than ask what’s on his mind and where he got the fire truck—which he had a few weeks ago, I think—I tap the doorframe twice, turn on my heel, and head for the stairs. Each step, I flit through memories of buying toys for Tucker after he moved in. I offered to buy him countless trinkets, but he wanted a fraction of them. And not a single one was a fire truck.
Maybe my parents got it for him. A gift after a tough week. The way he treasures it makes that more likely.
I switch the laundry, put the clean dishes away, and double-check I don’t need anything else for dinner. As I exit the kitchen, Tucker bounds down the stairs with a toothy smile plastered on his face.
“Is it time? Is it time?” His excitement is infectious.
I ruffle his hair then smooth it out. “Yeah, bud. Let’s go.”
On the drive to RJ’s Diner, Tucker kicks his legs and talks nonstop about putt-putt, the arcade, and how he plans to win. Meanwhile, my palms slip on the leather steering wheel as I picture my dad stepping out of the diner’s kitchen to see me and Tucker with Kaya.
Seems ridiculous to be this nervous at thirty-six. But when you’ve had high expectations held over your head for years, it’s no wonder I can’t stop fidgeting.
My parents would like and approve of Kaya in a heartbeat, but a public appearance is bound to stir up questions. Ones I’m not ready to answer.
Tucker practically flies out of his seat when I park the car but waits to fling his door open. His hand in mine, he all but tugs me across the lot, talking my ear off as we head for the diner entrance. When we round the corner of the building, my steps falter.
In a cream-colored bohemian dress, Kaya is a vision. The epitome of confident and casual. Beautiful. Breathtaking.
Tucker squeezes my hand, releases it, and runs off to greet her.
Not wanting to make a fool of myself, I put one foot in front of the other and make my way to her.
Hair in soft waves down her back, she tucks a lock behind her ear as Tucker reaches her. A hint of kohl lines her eyes and makes her coppery-brown irises pop more than usual. A thin layer of gloss on her lips makes them look plumper. Mouthwatering. Luscious.
Memories of kissing her flood in, and my breath catches, my tongue heavy as I swallow against the dryness in my throat. I lick my lips, and the reminder of her taste is a new spark to the wildfire dancing over my skin, an additional whoosh, whoosh, whoosh to my pulse. But it’s not until I recall her weight against me, her grip on my shirt as she pulled me closer, that a deep ache throbs in my groin.
Will the sight of her always make me react like this? Unequivocally, yes.
“ Unusakut ,” she greets as I sidle up to her.
“What’s that mean?” Tucker asks, his brows scrunched together.
“Tucker,” I chide.
Kaya chuckles as she rests a hand on my forearm. “It’s fine.” Her smile steals my breath for a moment before she turns to Tucker. “I said good afternoon.”
Eyes narrowed, lips puckered, Tucker nods then relaxes his pensive expression. “That’s dope, Miss Kaya.”
The sun glints her glossy lips, and I can’t take my eyes off her mouth.
“I think so, too. Learning the language where my family comes from is fun but hard. Some words are easier than others.”
Tucker’s brows shoot to his hairline as his jaw drops. “Your family speaks another language?”
Kaya stands a little taller, but her expression remains soft. “Some of us. And we only know bits and pieces. Remember the word I used for grandmother?”
Tucker fidgets in place. “Yeah.”
I jog through Kaya’s interactions with Tucker but don’t recall hearing it. Maybe it was during cooking class or when I was out of earshot.
“It was one of the first words I learned. And because my grandmother is dear to me, it’s the first I remembered.”
Tucker looks up at me, an inquisitive look on his face. “Can I learn another language?”
“Sure, bud.” I ruffle his hair. “Any one you want.”
His whole face scrunches to the middle, an earnest air about him as he nods. Then he blinks, and every ounce of solemnity vanishes, his hazel eyes more animated. “I’m hungry.”
Scratching my brow, I snicker. “Then let’s go eat.”
Tucker bolts into the diner and greets the hostess before Kaya or I take a step forward. He points back at us, says something, and the woman follows his outstretched arm with her gaze. I wave and she returns the gesture. Studying my face, I see the moment realization hits her. That I’m the son of the owner.
“Mr. Calhoun,” she squeaks out as we enter. She nervously brushes hair out of her face and tucks it behind her ear.
I open my mouth to tell her she doesn’t need to address me formally but don’t get the chance.
Menus in hand, she takes off for a table. “Right this way.” She seats us at a table in the back, on the side farthest from the kitchen entrance and pass-through window.
The tension in my shoulders eases a fraction. The likelihood of Dad seeing us is?—
“Papa RJ,” Tucker shouts as Kaya and I take our seats.
“T-Man,” Dad says as Tucker rushes him. “Oof.” He chuckles as his arms band around Tucker, hugging him just as fiercely. “Didn’t know you were coming to see me today.”
Tucker releases Dad and inches back to look up at him. “Yep.” He nods enthusiastically. “We’re getting lunch before putt-putt.”
Sweat beads my skin as I wait for Dad to say something. To ask why we’re out with Kaya. I clench my hands in my lap, then wipe my palms down my thighs.
I shouldn’t be this nervous but know I’ll always question if my parents think who I’m seeing is good enough . I shouldn’t give their opinion so much weight, but a part of me will always want their approval. Seems childish, but I want my parents to be proud of my choices, whether it’s work or parenting or love.
“Wish I could hang out and play putt-putt.” Dad guides Tucker to his seat and takes the other empty chair. “But it’s one of the busiest Sundays of the year.”
Tucker leans into Dad and rests his head on his arm. “You, me, and Grandma can go a different day.”
Dad wraps an arm around Tucker’s shoulders. “I like the sound of that, T-Man.” Dark-brown eyes identical to mine glance across the table. “Kaya, correct?”
Oh shit.
“Sorry.” I wince. “Wasn’t thinking.” I clasp my hands under the table and squeeze until my knuckles burn. “Dad, this is Kaya Imala. She works at the school but is helping with the cooking classes this summer.” Twisting in my seat, my knee grazes Kaya’s thigh, and we both freeze for a breath. “Kaya”—I swallow past the desert in my mouth—“this is my father, Ray Jr.”
Seems foolish to introduce them to each other. My family and the Imalas are familiar to the townsfolk. Dad undoubtedly knows Kaya’s parents.
At some point, my family has fed every resident at one of our restaurants. From lattes, bagels, and breakfast sandwiches to a twist on classic diner dishes to gourmet chocolates and fine dining, the Calhoun-Kemp restaurants are a pillar in the Stone Bay community.
Aside from being a founding family, Kaya’s parents are the highest-rated doctors in their field in Stone Bay. People travel here to consult with Tikaani Imala, one of the top five cardiologists in the Pacific Northwest. It’s nearly impossible for residents to not know her family.
The Calhouns may not be founders, but we are synonymous with the Stone Bay upper hierarchy. A social scale my parents and grandparents care about way too much. A ladder they’ve been eager to climb for too many years but are now realizing they’ve plateaued.
Soft lines curve up at the corners of Kaya’s eyes as she smiles at Dad. “Wonderful to meet you.” She offers her hand. “Your homemade chili and cornbread onion rings are a secret indulgence of mine.”
Dad takes her hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He winks. “Maybe one day you can teach me your family’s caribou stew recipe.”
What?
Here I am, shirt damp with sweat in several places, fingers drumming my thighs, heart ready to evacuate my chest… and Dad asks about a stew recipe.
What the hell is happening?
While I mentally spiral, Dad and Kaya chat as though they talk more often than we do.
The idea of coming here and bumping into Dad has had me on edge since I suggested it. I don’t need my parents’ approval for anything, but I want it. I figured a chance encounter at the diner would be safer than a stuffy family dinner where my parents scare Kaya off.
What I didn’t picture was a smooth bump in. Seems too good to be true.
Dad unhooks his arm from Tucker’s shoulders then gives the table two gentle taps. “Need to get back in the kitchen.” Wood grates tile as he scoots the chair back. “Nice to officially meet you, Kaya. Hope to see you more.”
Nice, Dad. Real sly.
But as he walks away from the table, a single thought rolls over and over in my head.
I hope to see more of her too.
“I am the king of putt-putt,” Tucker declares as his ball sinks on the second stroke of the final hole. He throws both arms skyward and tips his head back. “Victory is mine.”
Snort-laughter rips from my throat as I stare at my little man.
I don’t dare stifle his ego or zeal. Don’t extinguish his light by telling him to take it down a notch. If anything, I encourage this side of him. Boost it and him every opportunity I get. Add to his exuberance with a little of my own. Let him be a kid and enjoy this carefree time in his life, especially since his mother stole years of it from him.
Arms out, I bend at the hips. “I bow down to you, Almighty Putt-Putt King.”
Beside me, Kaya giggles under her breath.
I playfully nudge her. “If you wish for the putt-putt gods to shower you with luck on your next game, you must bow to His Highness,” I quip.
At this, she laughs harder, louder, then follows through and does a curtsy.
When we straighten to our full height, my heart melts at the cheerful smile on Tucker’s face.
“Can we go to the arcade now?” And just like that, his triumph on the artificial turf is old news.
“If you’re ready for me to beat your highest PAC-MAN score.”
“Psh.” Tucker rolls his eyes. “You’ll never beat my score.”
If I really wanted to win, I could do it with an arm behind my back. But I’d much rather see his smile than claim the top spot on a video game roster.
After we return our clubs at the kiosk, Tucker takes my hand and Kaya’s and drags us into the arcade. The next hour and a half is a blur of bright lights, loud music, the occasional whistle of the winner’s siren, and lots of victory dances.
The only thing I see with absolute clarity is her and the way she smiles at me and Tucker.
My losing streak is still firmly in place as we exit the arcade and head for our cars. As we approach her SUV, it dawns on me I didn’t outright ask Kaya to have dinner with us tonight. I planned for it, bought everything we’d need, but forgot to include the idea in our conversation. I asked her to spend the day with us, and she has.
But I’m not ready for today to end. I need more time with her.
I’ll always need more.
Pressing my fob, I ask Tucker to wait in the car while I talk with Kaya. Once he’s out of earshot, I step into her.
“Come back to the house for dinner.”
Her tongue darts out and wets her lips. Then she hums, and it goes straight to my groin.
I stiffen in my shorts, my mind on things more delicious than cooking dinner.
Her coppery-brown irises sparkle in the sun, rooting me in place and robbing me of rational thought.
Fuck, I want to kiss her. Take her. Claim her.
“I do like when you cook.”
Yep, I’m a goner. Every inch of my body heats, my pulse deafening in my ears. “Join us.” I lean in closer and caress her forearm with the back of my finger. “Please.”
I’ve learned when it comes to Kaya, I’m not above begging. And I feel zero shame about it.
Her gaze drops to my mouth, then lowers to my throat. Up and down, again and again, her chest rises and falls faster. I swallow and those fiery irises lift and lock back onto mine.
“Please, Fire Eyes.” My fingers skim the length of hers before curling and grazing her palm.
Her eyes flare as she sucks in a sharp breath and nods. “Yes.”
A simple yes and I’m on the Bay Cliff Mountain peak, high on life. “Thank you.” Ducking my chin, I press my lips to her forehead. “See you back at the house.” Easing my hand from hers, I step back, pivot, and stroll to the car. Behind the wheel, I check the rearview mirror and my pulse soars. She’s still there, befuddled, in a daze.
Same, Fire Eyes.
But my bewilderment gets a cold shower as I put the car in drive and Tucker speaks up. I should’ve anticipated his question but am somehow unprepared.
“Why did you kiss Miss Kaya?”
Never having been in this situation with him, I go with a generic answer. One that feels completely inadequate, but he’ll understand. “When grown-ups like each other a lot, sometimes they kiss.”
The real answer is a growly roar in my head.
Because she’s mine.
Tucker races to his room to play more games when we get home. I offer him a spot at the counter to help cook, but he declines, still hopped up from the arcade.
As I empty my pockets and toe off my shoes, a faint knock echoes in the foyer. My answering smile is immediate as I open the door and gesture for Kaya to come in. She sets her bag down and takes off her shoes, stowing them near the door.
I linger in her orbit, a subservient moon pulled in and hooked by her gravity. Every cell in my body aches to touch her, kiss her, wrap her in my arms and memorize her soft, golden-brown skin. But I keep my hands at my sides and absorb her radiating warmth. Inhale her subtle, sweet, earthy-floral scent. Bask in the way she wakes every part of me with her proximity.
Spinning to face me, we come nose to nose. She gasps, wobbling slightly, and the buzz in my chest intensifies.
As much as I want to stay in this moment forever, I tip my head in the general direction of the kitchen. “Help me cook?” My voice a ragged blend of sandpaper and need.
She bites her bottom lip, releases it with a pop, then swallows. “Yes.”
Slipping my hand around hers, I amble toward the kitchen. Lead her to the stools at the island, lift her hand to kiss her knuckles, then release her and move to the opposite side of the counter.
Fire dances over my skin as she follows my every move.
I was born to be in the kitchen, to create art with food. But her eyes on me as I cook for her… is titillating, borderline euphoric. The most delicious form of foreplay.
After a quick wash of my hands, I fetch ingredients from the fridge and pantry. Sirloin, fresh herbs, mirepoix and other root vegetables, green beans, garlic, pine nuts, red wine, and parmesan. Like second nature, I sort the ingredients in the order I’ll need them. From the cabinet, I grab cutting boards, sheet pans, and pots. Knife of choice in hand, I start on the mirepoix.
“How often do you film for your followers?”
My hand pauses midchop as my gaze lifts to lock onto hers. Curiosity sparkles in those coppery-brown irises.
“Seems like you post less often than you used to.”
The corner of my mouth creeps up into a wicked smirk. Well, well, well. What do we have here? A fresh wave of heat spreads through my veins and prickles my skin.
Doesn’t shock me that the majority of Stone Bay has seen my cooking videos. I get regular commentary at work and when I frequent businesses in town. What piques my interest is when the supposedly sweet, wholesome, or proper people speak up.
The night I met Kaya, her friend made several suggestive comments that not so subtly told me she’d seen my videos. Kaya had been more reserved. Not quiet, just selective of her words.
I like that she doesn’t word vomit everything on her mind.
Oddly, I can’t picture her watching me in food porn mode. But damn do I love the way it makes me feel.
Eyes latched on to hers; I chop celery stalks. “Before Tucker moved back home, I posted four or five times a week. I was working at the diner with my dad and missed making gourmet dishes from culinary school.” I shrug and glance down long enough to slide the carrots closer. “Dad let me experiment in the diner kitchen so long as I didn’t waste food. The staff loved my creative days because they reaped the rewards.”
Her long fingers trace invisible lines on the counter. “Surely no one complains when you cook for them.”
There will always be someone who lives to whine and be heard. I want to tell her just how snobbish people are when they believe they’ve had the best of the best somewhere else. Doesn’t matter what industry you work in, there will always be sour lemons in the bunch.
“Let’s circle back,” I say as I get to work on the onion.
“Circle back?”
“Mm-hmm.” With a tilt of my head, I lick my lips. “My videos.”
A luxurious shade of pink stains her cheeks.
“How do you feel about them?” At this, I drop my attention back to the cutting board. One, I need to focus on my hands while I cut the potatoes. Two, maybe it will help her open up if I don’t stare. Regardless, she remains in my periphery. Always.
“Enthralled,” she whispers, breathy.
With me or the food? I want to ask but keep to myself. “Enthralled is good.”
When she doesn’t say anything for a moment, I peek up to see her staring at my hands. I rock the knife slower on the cutting board and her brows twitch a moment before she glances up.
“What else?”
Faint lines appear between her brows as they tug together.
“What else do you feel?”
Her tongue peeks out and wets her lips before she clamps them between her teeth. The pink on her cheeks from minutes ago darkens and spreads to her neck.
My cock twitches behind my zipper.
She shifts on the stool then drops her attention back to my hands. “Fevered.”
Fuck me.
“Bet there’s no shortage of women at your door.” Her gaze flits up. “Or men.”
There is no fighting the painfully huge smile on my face. “Was… interesting when the videos first went viral. I won’t lie and tell you I didn’t enjoy the attention. It got me up in the morning.” I shrug, not wanting to dive into those darker days when I didn’t have Tucker to make me smile. “But it’s all for show.”
Kaya nods, her eyes still locked on my every move.
“I get to do what I love, entertain people all over, and make them fall in love with food in a new way.”
Her soft chuckle filters through the air. “Oh, I’m sure they love more than your prowess and recipes.”
I pause and wait until her gaze meets mine. “Not interested in what they love.”
Her stare sears my soul a beat before she swallows. “What about me?”
Slightly confused and speechless, I tilt my head.
“Would you cook like that… for me?”
Well, damn.
At every turn, Kaya surprises me with the unexpected. She’s soft but unshakable, timid yet daring, brilliant and levelheaded. One moment, she comes off as hesitant, bashful. The next, she’s a fiery storm of brazen, undiluted desire.
Fuck if she doesn’t make me want to dive in headfirst and drown in her.
“Definitely.” With a jerk of my chin, I say, “Come here.”
Her eyes dart between mine as she pushes away from the counter and eases off the stool. With slow, measured steps, she rounds the island and comes to my side.
Shuffling back, I take her hand, haul her forward until she’s pressed between me and the counter, and then plant my hands on either side of her, caging her in. I lower the tip of my nose to the side of her neck, trace her soft skin, and breathe her in. She sucks in a sharp breath.
My nose trails the shell of her ear. “Pick up the knife, Fire Eyes.”
She hesitates, but only for a beat. Her dainty fingers wrap around the hilt of the knife.
I shift impossibly closer. Press every inch of me to her. Mold my body to hers. Cover both her hands with mine and guide her through cutting the rest of the ingredients.
With each rock of the blade on the cutting board, her breaths come quicker, a touch louder. Shameless.
My lips hover a breath from her ear. “Tuck the tips of your fingers,” I instruct, and she does. I press my lips softly to the skin beneath her ear. “Good girl.”
Every nerve ending in my body is a live wire when we cut through the last piece of sirloin. Not an inch of space exists between my body and hers. My cock thick, heavy, needy as it presses her backside.
Her breasts rise and fall harsher, faster, desperate for more than just oxygen.
I set the knife aside, snake my arms around her waist, and dip my head until my lips ghost her skin. Kiss. “Exquisite.” Kiss. “Divine.” Kiss. It’s on the tip of my tongue to say mine , but I refrain. For now. “Flawless.”
Her hands on my arms loosen my hold. My pulse hammers for a different reason as she shifts in place and spins around. Before I open my mouth to apologize or ask if I did something wrong, her palms cup my cheeks as she pushes up on her toes and claims my mouth.
Ecstasy floods my bloodstream as her tongue tangles with mine. I bend slightly at the knees, engulf her in my arms, and hoist her off the floor. She tugs at the skirt of her dress a moment before her legs wrap around my waist, her arms circling my neck.
I blindly guide us to another counter and set her down. Sweep my fingers around her waist, up her sides, her neck, until they comb through her hair. An unabashed moan spills from my mouth to hers as I deepen the kiss.
Fingers fisted in the cotton of my shirt; she hauls me closer. Digs her heels into my lower back. Angles her head more as her greedy fingers dance over my chest and dip for the hemline of my shirt. Her soft, delicate fingers graze my abdomen near my waistband, and I hiss.
My cock strains my underwear, begging for relief.
Lips on her jaw, I pepper kisses to her ear, down the column of her throat. “You make me wild, Fire?—”
“Dad?”
I step back immediately and help Kaya off the counter. “Yeah, bud?” We all but run back to our spots at the island.
Footsteps thump down the stairs. “What’s for dessert?” Tucker rounds the corner.
Kaya bites back a smile as she tries to tame her hair.
“Berries and cream tarts. Why?”
Tucker fetches his apron from the hook and tugs it over his head. “Can I help make dessert while you cook dinner?”
“Absolutely, T-Man.” I glance at Kaya and wink. “Maybe ask Kaya to cut the berries.”
Crimson colors her cheeks, and I want to know what exact moment just flashed through her mind. What delicious memory set her blood on fire and stained those beautiful cheeks.
Because I sure as fuck can’t get the thought of her fingers on my skin out of my head.