Chapter 20
TWENTY
RAY
What. The. Fuck?
Four days. It’s been almost four fucking days, and someone else already has their hands on her.
No. Fuck no.
My vision tunnels as she disappears from view; the little I do see is a vivid, pulsing red. Pressure builds in my chest as my nails sink into my palms. Rage I’ve never known radiates off me in waves.
I close my eyes, take several deep breaths, and try to find some semblance of calm while I finish my shift. But there’s no relief in sight. On the fourth exhale, the image of that guy’s hand on her lower back flashes in my mind’s eye.
Fuck .
Unable to get ahold of myself, I walk off the line. As I pass Fin, I ask him to cover me for five minutes. I don’t wait for his answer. I keep moving forward, headed for the only place I may get an ounce of respite.
Heaving the door open, I stride into the walk-in cooler, grab one of the coats off the hook, crumple it into a ball, crush it to my face, and scream. I let out every ounce of hurt from the past four days—all my own doing, of course. Let out every ounce of anger—at myself—for ruining Sunday night, for ignoring Kaya all week. At Brianna for messaging me out of the blue and asking to see Tucker, which was a front for her actual motives. And at the man putting his hand on Kaya as though she belongs to him.
Sunday night may have ended in the worst possible way, but it doesn’t change facts.
Kaya. Is. Mine.
Mine .
“Get your shit together,” I chastise myself. “Rein it in, do your damn job, and deal with everything else later.” Because there is not a chance in hell I am putting this off.
Hanging the coat back up, I pace the walk-in until my skin cools and teeth chatter. One final deep breath and I exit, eyes forward and attention homed in on my kitchen as it comes into view. I pat Fin on the shoulder and thank him, then resume work.
Calhoun’s Bistro is busier than a typical Thursday evening. Independence Day week always brings in a crowd. Add in one of the largest medical conferences Stone Bay has seen, doctors from across the country flying in to listen to a prodigy doctor…
My hand slips and the dish I’m garnishing turns into a disaster.
“Chef Calhoun,” André hollers across the kitchen. “Fix it.” A muscle in his jaw tics, a rarity for him. “Now.”
“Yes, Chef.”
I shove my personal problems aside, focus on what matters right now, replate the dish, and garnish it without so much as a flinch. As the plate leaves the kitchen with others for the same table, a new ticket comes in. I scan the order and muster every ounce of strength I own to keep my shit together.
This is their order. I feel it in my bones. It’s rare for a four-top to order only seafood entrées. What’s more rare is to add the rabbit as a shared plate.
Scanning the table number on the ticket, I take a few steps out of the kitchen and peer through the dining room. I lean to the side, squint as I peek around the table blocking them from view. My heart hammers as I take another step, the ticket crinkling in my fist.
Kaya’s back is to the kitchen, but there’s no mistaking it’s her. Her long hair swept over her shoulder, blue jacket on the back of her chair, arms bare. To her right, with an effortless smile on his face, is the man I want to throttle. Poised in his seat, he stares at her as if she’s the only person in the room.
My temper flares anew as I enter the kitchen and call out their order. Then I sidle up to Cameron, grab a frying pan from the overhead shelf, and work alongside her.
“Thank you, Chef, but I’ve got it,” she says, a flush of pink on her cheeks.
My mouth quirks up in a half smile. “I know you do. Just need to busy my hands.”
Several times, I’ve asked myself why I haven’t found someone like Cameron. Someone who understands my way of life. Who reflects my ambitions. Who’d grasp my frustrations. Someone who’d stand effortlessly at my side. It’d be easier. So much easier.
But as I glance down at Cameron, the answer is in front of my face.
Cameron is soft, delicate, fragile—which are great qualities in a partner if that is what you want. She is a true romantic, a woman who wants to be wooed, treated with tenderness, given flowers just because—things I am not above doing.
I just don’t want to do them for her. Or someone like her.
Hell, I already had that with Brianna.
I want more than beauty. I want fire. Passion. The intense weight of her gravity to pull me in over and over. To shackle me to her.
The moment I stepped up to her table, Kaya tethered my heart. I yielded to her magnetic force. Let her lure me in and hold me close. Allowed her the chance to show me what happiness looks like, what true affection feels like.
Then I fucked it all up.
And now, someone else has drifted into her orbit. Someone far more deserving of her affection.
With well-practiced breaths, I concentrate on plating and garnishing each dish. When the order is ready, I signal the server.
“Allow me to help,” I offer, dismissing the other server who comes to assist.
Two lines form between her brows then smooth out as she picks up plates. “Thank you, Chef.”
I take the remaining dishes and follow in her wake. As we pass tables, I smile and dip my chin at familiar faces. They return the gesture in kind. The closer we get to Kaya’s table, the more I question what the hell I’m doing.
What exactly do I expect to happen as I sidle up to her table while she sits with her family?
My mind conjures every possible reason I’d have to assist a server in delivering plates to the table. Halfway through the dining room, I consider turning back and apologizing later. But I don’t. I put myself in this situation, it’s my mess to clean up.
Behind the server as we approach, I stay hidden from Kaya’s view. But not for long. With her parents here, my appearance will spark conversation, likely about the food or restaurant.
The server sets meals in front of the appropriate person, then takes plates from me and continues.
Kaya stiffens in her seat. As if she senses me inches from her.
Yeah, Fire Eyes, I’m here.
“Chef Calhoun,” Sakari Imala greets with a dazzling smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Once the plates have been placed and my hands are free, I tuck them behind my back. “Drs. Imala.” I tip my head at Sakari and Tikaani, then shift my gaze. “Kaya.” As vehemently against it as I am, I turn my attention to the stranger at the table, plaster on an artificial smile, and nod. My eyes return to Sakari, my gaze a touch softer. “It’s a rare treat to serve our rabbit dish. I had to see who ordered one of my favorite menu items.”
Lies.
“We decided to spoil our guest.” Sakari gestures to the stranger, an undeniable glow about her as she gives him her full attention. “Dr. Adriel Hitathli flew in from Colorado to speak at today’s seminar. A true genius in neurological medicine.” Her gaze flits to Kaya for a heartbeat. “And someone I’d be honored to call family.”
Every muscle in my body locks as Kaya sucks in a sharp breath. Irrational thoughts spiral as I repeat her words.
“And someone I’d be honored to call family.”
Is this… a date?
Jealousy and anger flare anew. My knuckles burn as I clasp my hands tighter. A momentary wince cracks my facade as I bite the inside of my cheek. Every cell in my body screams to ask if they’d be honored to call me family. Instead, I swallow past the gnawing sensation in my stomach, do my damnedest to remain poised, and slip on a fake smile.
“Stone Bay is blessed to have your family, Sakari, Tikaani. Why not add a neurological genius to the bunch?” My voice is harsher than intended, but they’re not the center of my wrath. I am. They just stumbled into my path of vitriol.
Needing to walk away, I take a step back. “I’ll stop commandeering your time. Enjoy your meal.” I bow my head. “Doctors.” I glance at Kaya who hasn’t moved in far too long. “Kaya.”
Before any of them respond, I spin on my heel and weave through the dining room on fast feet. Rather than turn for the kitchen—where I should be—I head for the back of the restaurant, away from the noise and people. Ripping the hat from my head, I pace the back hall and drag my hands through my hair.
Undiluted bitterness and rage claw at my skin, constrict my rib cage and trample the small, maddening, thumping organ in the center of my chest. I want to scream, kick something, punch a fucking hole in the wall. And I would, were I not at work.
I fish my phone out of my pocket and open my chat history with Kaya—something I should have done days ago but didn’t like a damn fool. My fingers hover over the keyboard, a million possible texts at the ready. Messages I’ll likely regret later.
Is he your date?
The moment it sends, my stomach cramps.
I was an asshole Sunday night. And an even bigger asshole for not texting sooner. I’m so fucking sorry.
Another whoosh before the new message bubble fills the screen.
I don’t expect you to answer while you’re at dinner with your family, but message back later. Please. There’s not enough screen space for my apology.
I stare down at my phone, read the messages again and again, then berate myself for every stupid thing I’ve done to Kaya. I’d hate me if I were her.
Can I see you later? Please. Just to talk.
My eyes don’t leave the screen until it dims then locks. I close my eyes, count to ten and take just as many deep breaths, then open them and clear my mind.
Shoving my phone in my pocket, I slip my hat back on and head for the kitchen. André side-eyes me as I step up to my station, the muscles in his jaw tense. I bow my head, get lost in the sounds of pans clanging and food sizzling, and focus all my attention on my current priority—work.
The hours pass faster than anticipated as we serve more meals than on a typical Thursday. As the last dishes leave the kitchen, the cooks shift tasks and dive headfirst into cleaning mode. It’s all hands on deck as we scrub down every surface.
Fin sidles up to me after he finishes his area, brows raised. “You alright?” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the walk-in. “Earlier…” He unbuttons his chef’s coat. “Haven’t seen you like that in a while.”
Since the last time Brianna got under my skin , I want to say but refrain.
“Been a shitty week.” I clutch the nape of my neck and squeeze the aching muscles.
He knocks my arm with his elbow. “Come out with us tonight.” He gestures to a few others in the kitchen. “Have a drink. Take the edge off.”
Tempting as it is, the last thing I need is to dull my senses with alcohol and make more idiotic life choices. “Pass,” I say. “But thanks for the offer.”
“Want to talk about it?”
I scan the remaining kitchen crew and shake my head. “Not here.”
Fin drops a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”
“Thanks, Fin.” I slap his back twice. “Now go. Have a drink for me.”
As he disappears down the hall, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It could be my parents or Brianna, but I pray it’s not. I unlock my phone and tap the notification, hope flaring when I see it’s a text from Kaya.
So now you want to talk.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to respond as another message comes through.
Now you want me. Convenient.