Chapter 13
NOLAN
An hour later, I was showered, shaved, and dressed in a light blue button-down shirt and jeans. Barney arranged my door-to-door car service to The Gilded Fern, the restaurant attached to the main lodge, and I arrived right on time.
Tonight, and every encounter with Val moving forward, my goal was to act like everything was normal. The kiss never happened and Val was my employee. That’s it.
As I approached the hostess stand, I stopped in my tracks.
Val was already there. She hadn’t noticed me yet, so I was free to drink my fill.
And fuck, did I. As I devoured her with my gaze, I imagined my hands taking the same path across her body and the sounds she’d make for me.
Shit. Two seconds in her presence, and my “act normal” plan goes careening off a cliff.
Then my eyes snapped to hers and I saw her breath catch in her throat.
Busted.
“Hello, Val.”
“Hi.” A tiny smile pulled at her full lips, and she tucked her hair behind her ears in what I was beginning to learn was a nervous gesture.
“Chef Rocco is ready for us.” As I followed her to the kitchen, I tried—okay, I didn’t try that hard—not to notice how good her ass looked in those jeans.
Normal, Nolan. Just be a fucking normal boss on a normal work thing with your normal and not completely gorgeous employee.
Yeah. That was helpful.
Instead of stopping in the main kitchen, Val continued out the back door and into a private kitchen with multiple work stations.
A tanned, suave man in his fifties with slicked-back hair awaited us, his face lighting up like a goddamn Christmas tree when Val entered.
“How’s my favorite girl?” he said, his voice lightly accented. “And Nolan Keller, a pleasure to finally meet you. I’m Rocco Gaccione. Thanks for letting me commandeer your kitchen for the night.”
“Thank you for doing this,” I said, shaking his offered hand.
“Anything for my friend Val,” said Rocco. “I owe her for the delicious basil she grows for me when I visit. Let’s get started, shall we?”
Val and I took our positions at two separate counters covered in glass bowls and various ingredients.
As I rolled up my sleeves, I felt Val’s gaze on me.
When I glanced over, she faced forward with a jerk, sucking her bottom lip in between her teeth as a pretty shade of rose spread across her cheeks. Fuck, that mouth.
No, everything between Val and I was certainly not normal.
I had convinced myself that the attraction was one-sided, but apparently she wasn’t as unaffected by my presence as I wanted to think. Something within me purred at the idea of Val wanting me too.
“Tonight,” said Rocco, “we’ll be making my version of ravioli di zucca. A perfect dish for those chilly winter nights.” Ravioli di zucca was one of my favorite dishes to make. It reminded me of weekend family dinners with my mom and her mother. “First, we’ll start with the dough.”
As Rocco walked us through step by step how to make our own pasta dough, my hands fell into the familiar work with ease.
I piled the flour on the counter and made a divot for the eggs, then mixed everything together with my hands.
Kneading the dough into a ball, I worked it for a few minutes but it was too sticky.
After adding a sprinkle of flour, I continued kneading until I got the right consistency, then wrapped the ball in a sheet of plastic wrap.
Rocco gave a low whistle. “Nicely done, Nolan.” Then he glanced at Val, globs of dough stuck to her hands and flour smudging her forehead, looking distressed and adorable. Adorable? Since when do I think anything is adorable? “Perhaps you want to help our friend?”
Val was so focused on getting her dough to cooperate that she didn’t notice the exchange or my approach. When I stepped behind her, the sweet scent of coconut and vanilla washed over me. “Need a hand?” I asked, my voice husky.
With a slight jump, she said, “Ah, no thanks.” Glancing at my workstation, she glared at the neatly wrapped ball of dough. “Seems like I’m the only one here who actually needs this cooking lesson.”
“It does look like you’re trying to make a pair of dough gloves.”
Narrowing her eyes, she raised a hand as if to swat at me, saw the dough in question, then nudged me with her elbow instead. “Okay, dough master. Help me fix this?”
“You’re doing fine,” I said, stifling a laugh.
“You just need more flour.” I sprinkled some on the counter then rubbed my palms together and reached for her hand, pausing before I touched her.
When she gave me a slow nod, I gently wiped the sticky dough off of her fingers with my own.
I kept my eyes focused on my work, pretending I didn’t notice her pulse fluttering at her wrist.
“There,” I said, handing her the mound of dough I’d pulled from her fingers. “Knead it for a few more minutes and it’ll be ready.”
“Thanks,” she said, taking over and mimicking my hand movements.
The rest of the class passed without incident, although I was attuned to her every move with laser precision.
While the dough rested, we made the filling, then—with the help of a pasta maker—formed everything into perfect little pillows of butternut squash, mascarpone, and ricotta, topped with a sage butter sauce.
When we showed Rocco our finished, plated products, he clapped, beaming. “Meraviglioso! And now for the best part—the eating and the drinking.” He poured us each a glass of Chardonnay, then moved toward the exit. “Buon appetito.”
“Wait, you’re not staying?” Val’s voice, thick with desperation. “Er, I mean, won’t you join us?”
Rocco chuckled and kissed her on each cheek. “I cannot stay. I’m only here for the weekend and I have another appointment. Thank you both for being such delightful students. Stay! Eat! Enjoy your lovely creations.” After shaking my hand, he departed, leaving me alone with Val.
Silence blanketed the room as Val stared at her plate of pasta like it might attack her.
“Shall we?” I pulled out a stool from under the island and began eating.
As I took my first bite, pockets of warm, buttery, goodness wreathed in savory sauce exploded over my tongue.
I must have made a sound, because Val watched me with wide eyes—I wasn’t sure if it was nerves, surprise, or…
something else. To fill the silence, I said, “I had forgotten how good a home-cooked meal could taste.”
She prodded one of her raviolis with a fork, a dubious expression on her face.
“I’m not sure my lumpy little mounds are going to taste as good as yours.
” Spearing one, she popped it in her mouth, then closed her eyes with a small moan.
The sound went straight to my cock. Perfect, just what I need.
I took a gulp of wine. “Wow, Rocco really is a miracle worker if he can make even my food taste good. I swear, the things that man can do with minimal ingredients. Astounding. He could fry a moldy old ski boot and I’d eat it. ”
“Now we know where to look if any equipment goes missing.”
She pointed her fork at me with a slow smile. “You just made a joke. I like this dressed-down side of you.” Blush erupted across her cheeks, as if she was thinking about dressing me down.
Clearing my throat and subtly adjusting myself, I asked, “Not a natural chef, I take it?”
“My mom was never around, and my dad died when I was a teenager—lung cancer. Growing up, dinners consisted of takeout or frozen pizza. Or whatever my brother Diego felt like making, which was usually tacos or mac and cheese.”
Sadness crept over me at the thought of Val having to fend for herself. “I’m sorry,” I said. It felt lame, but I didn’t know what else to offer the woman who faced the world with a smile even after everything it had taken from her. “It’s good you had your brother around.”
“Yes. I have two and they are my whole world.” That sparkling smile lit up her face, and the words tumbled out of her.
“My tattoo is for them, actually. My father too. My abuela has a ton of dahlias on her ranch in Mexico, and I wanted to feel like I always have my family with me. This will be the second Christmas I spend without them, but the holiday pay is too good to pass up. We need it for—we need it.” I could sense there was more to the story, but I let it pass.
It wasn’t my business to pry. “But if I can’t be with them, at least I can be here,” she continued.
“My dad grew up in the town of Hale’s Peak, and we’d make an annual Christmas pilgrimage to this resort every year. Lots of good memories here.”
But I could sense a hint of sadness too. Saving her from having to talk more about her father, I jumped in. “Can’t imagine feeling that for my own family. The Kellers aren’t a close-knit bunch, and I haven’t seen my brothers in years.”
“Maybe you just need to start over with them,” she suggested. “Get to know each other as adults. You’re probably entirely different people now.”
“Maybe,” I said, taking another bite of ravioli.
My complicated relationship with Raife and Dominic wouldn’t be easily repaired, and it wasn’t something I wanted to discuss.
I had more of a chance with Dominic—Raife still wanted to put my head through a wall for my engagement to Cressida.
He didn’t know it was fake, but either way, he definitely hated me.
“Will you tell me more about them?” she asked tentatively.
My knee-jerk reaction was to shove her—and everyone else—away.
She was getting too close. But…well, for the first time in years, I actually wanted to let someone in.
I wanted to let her in. “Raife and I are on rocky ground. In his mind, I stole his girlfriend—even though he and Cressida had been broken up for years before we got engaged. They dated when she was in college, and it didn’t work out.
But he’s territorial.” I’d given her the extremely watered-down version of that mountain of drama, which was Cressida’s story to tell.