13. Thirteen
Thirteen
Lila
My fingers trace my lips for the hundredth time, remembering. The heat of Luke’s mouth, the press of his body, the desperate way he held me in his arms and touched me—bringing me to…
No. Stop it.
I force my attention back to my weekly schedule. It’s been two weeks since the charity, and I’ve managed to avoid Luke completely—helped by the fact that Wild has been touring up and down the East Coast. Every time I see news about their shows in Charlotte or Atlanta, I pretend my heart doesn’t skip a beat.
Between my morning shifts at Beach Bites and the growing list of private clients, I barely have time to breathe—which is exactly how I want it. Staying busy means not thinking about what happened at the charity. And it definitely means not remembering how Luke’s hands felt...
“There you are!” Emily’s voice makes me jump. She’s standing in Beach Bite’s tiny break room doorway, Presley on her hip. “What’s so fascinating?”
“Just organizing next week’s private events,” I tell her. Then, excitedly, “I picked up three new clients at the charity, by the way. Thank you for inviting me.”
“Uh-huh.” She settles into the chair across from me. “And that’s definitely what had you looking all dreamy just now. New clients.”
“Emily...”
“Come on! You still haven’t told us what happened that night. One minute, you were dancing with James Harrison; the next, you disappeared, and when you returned, you looked like you had lost your best friend.”
I focus on my color-coded planner. “Nothing happened.”
“Kendrick saw Luke follow you into that hallway. ”
Heat creeps up my neck. “It wasn’t—we just talked.” I try not to remember how Luke’s hands felt sliding up my sides, how he growled my name against my throat as he…
“Uh-huh,” Emily grins knowingly. “You just… talked.”
“Can we please change the subject?” I beg. “Tell me about the tour. How’s the band doing?”
She lets me deflect, but her knowing look says this conversation isn’t over. Emily updates me on Wild’s latest shows. Sometimes, I forget how busy she must be, managing such a popular band and with a baby. She makes it look effortless.
“Now, back to Luke—“ Just hearing his name makes my heart lurch.
“Lila, can you give me a hand?!” Ruth Ann, Beach Bite’s owner, calls from the front.
“Saved by the bell,” I say, standing quickly.
But Emily follows me. “You know you’ll have to face him eventually, right? He lives next door.”
“Not if I perfect my ninja-like stealth skills.” I tie my apron. “Besides, I’m too busy for... complications. My private chef business is finally taking off. ”
It’s true. James Harrison’s magazine feature brought in several high-end clients, though I’ve been carefully dodging his dinner invitations. Between morning shifts here and evening events, my schedule is packed.
“Speaking of business,” Emily says casually, “Wild’s doing a private Jacksonville show next weekend. They need catering for the afterparty.”
My hands freeze on my apron strings. “No.”
“Lila—“
“I can’t, Emily. Please don’t ask me to.”
She sighs. “You can’t avoid him forever. Whatever happened between you two—“
“Nothing happened!” But even I can hear the lie in my voice because everything happened in that stairwell. Every brush of his lips, every intimate touch, changed everything.
And nothing at all. Because he’s still with Crystal, still trapped in whatever complicated mess makes up their relationship. And I’m still here, trying to build something real while pretending I don’t feel the ghost of his hands on my skin every time I close my eyes.
“Fine,” Emily says softly. “I’ll find another caterer. But Lila? Sometimes, the important things are worth fighting for.”
I watch her leave, Presley waving bye-bye over her shoulder. My phone buzzes with a text from my newest client, reminding me about tonight’s dinner party.
The charity might have been a disaster in some ways, but it also opened doors for me professionally.
I type out a quick reply, then put my phone away. For a moment, I let myself feel the small thrill of accomplishment. My hard work is paying off. My dream of building a private chef business is starting to become a reality.
This is what I should be focusing on. Building my business. Making my dreams happen. Not the way Luke tasted that night, the way he said he couldn’t stop thinking about me.
But as I head back to the front counter, I can’t help but think about his desperate touch and hungry kisses one more time.
Some things, it turns out, are impossible to forget.
A few days later, my phone rings just as I’m finishing inventory at Beach Bites. Kendrick’s name flashes on the screen.
“Hey, I need a huge favor,” she says without preamble. “How fast can you pull together a dinner party for twenty?”
I check my watch. “When?”
“Tonight?” Her voice rises apologetically. “The caterer just bailed, and it’s for Pixie Cane—“
“The Pixie Cane?” My voice squeaks embarrassingly.
“She’s in town visiting. She’s got a bit of a foul mouth, and whatever she said—anyway, please tell me you can help. She’ll pay double your usual rate.”
I should say no. My prep time would be tight, but it’s Pixie Cane! “Text me the details. I’ll need Jenny to help serve.”
“You’re a lifesaver!” Kendrick pauses. “Her rental house is right on the beach. Very private, very exclusive.”
Three hours later, Jenny and I pull up to a modern glass mansion that costs more per night than I could ever afford. Security checks our credentials before waving us through.
“Holy shit,” Jenny whispers as we unload our supplies. “Is that Pixie Cane’ s Ferrari?”
Before I can answer, the front door flies open. “Thank my fucking stars, the food people are here!”
Pixie Cane bounces down the steps, all five-foot-nothing of her vibrating with energy. Her dark hair has hot pink streaks, and she’s wearing ripped jeans with a vintage t-shirt that screams famous pop star.
“You must be Lila!” She hugs me like we’re old friends. “Kendrick says you’re a culinary genius. Please tell me you brought appetizers because these bitches will be hangry.”
I can’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm. “Everything’s prepped and ready to go. Just point me to the kitchen.”
“Through here, chef!” She loops her arm through mine. “Fair warning—this crowd gets rowdy. Last dinner party I hosted, someone ended up in the pool… naked.” She turns, glancing at me sideways. “Don’t fuck this up, okay?”
“I won’t,” I assure her, smiling.
The kitchen is a chef’s dream—all gleaming stainless steel and marble countertops.
Pixie is brash and unapologetically foul-mouthed, but there’s a warmth to her that makes it impossible not to like her .
“Just keep the drinks flowing,” she says, smirking as she refills her martini glass. “And make sure the food tastes better than my first album—shouldn’t be that hard.”
Jenny shoots me a wide-eyed look, trying not to laugh as we quickly set up, laying out appetizers as the first guests start arriving.
I’m garnishing the last plate when I hear familiar voices in the foyer.
No. Kendrick wouldn’t.
But of course, she would. Because there’s Luke, looking unfairly gorgeous in dark jeans and a gray henley that shows off every chiseled muscle, and my chest tightens. Right behind him are the rest of the Wild Band: Kendrick and Cass, Nate, and Vince. Sam and Emily bring up the rear. She and Kendrick shoot me an innocent look.
“I’m going to kill them,” I mutter.
“What?” Jenny asks.
“Nothing. Let’s get these hors d’oeuvres out.”
For the next hour, I focus on timing courses and plating dishes, steadfastly ignoring the way Luke’s eyes follow me around the room. The other guests are a mix of musicians and industry people—I recognize at least three Grammy winners among them.
“This is fucking amazing,” Pixie announces, holding up a bacon-wrapped date. “Kendrick, where have you been hiding this food goddess?”
“Right next door to Luke, actually,” Kendrick says innocently, sharing a knowing glance with Emily. Some friends they are, I think, sourly.
I shoot them a death glare as I serve the main course—pan-seared sea bass with Mediterranean quinoa.
“No shit?” Pixie’s dark eyes sparkle with interest. “Lucky boy.”
“Very lucky,” Luke murmurs quietly, his eyes on me, and I nearly drop his plate.
Our fingers brush as I set it down, sending electricity up my arm. I move on quickly, but I feel his gaze burning into my back.
“Seriously,” Pixie continues between bites, “this is better than that Michelin-starred place in LA. You should do my tour catering. ”
I laugh, thinking she’s joking, but she points her fork at me. “I’m serious. My current guy can’t make a decent risotto to save his life.”
“I... that’s very flattering, but—“
“But nothing. We’ll talk numbers later.” She turns to Cass. “Remember that shit they tried to feed us in Miami?”
The conversation moves on, but my head is spinning. Tour catering? For Pixie Cane?
“Lila,” Jenny whispers. “The desserts?”
Right. Focus. I head back to the kitchen, only to find Luke already there, allegedly getting more beer.
“Lila, this is amazing,” he says softly. “The food, the way you handle yourself... you deserve all of this.”
“Luke—“
“I miss you.” His voice is rough. “These past two weeks, not seeing you...”
“Don’t.” I grip the edge of the counter. “Please. I can’t—“
“Yo, food goddess!” Pixie’s voice carries from the dining room. “Where’s that chocolate thing everyone promised would change my life?”
Saved by the pop star. I grab the dessert plates, brushing past Luke without meeting his eyes.
“Holy shit, this is orgasmic,” Pixie moans around her first bite of chocolate lava cake. “I’m not even kidding about the tour thing. Call my people.”
She slides a business card across the table with her manager’s contact info. Actual, legitimate tour catering. The kind of opportunity that could launch my business to a whole new level.
I pocket the card, trying to stay professional while my heart does backflips.
Pixie suddenly raises her martini glass in a rare moment of seriousness. “To Kendrick Wild. For writing the best fucking song on my album. It’s been number one on the charts for months now.”
The guest all raise their glasses, joining in on the toast. I glance at Kendrick in surprise. I didn’t know she was a songwriter. She blushes prettily, giving a modest nod, while Cass beams his pride beside her. Their eyes meet, and the obvious love they share makes my heart twist.
Jenny helps me clean up as the party gradually moves to the deck, music and laughter drifting in through the open doors .
“That was intense,” Jenny says, loading the dishwasher.
“The crowd or the service?”
“The way Luke Sterling kept looking at you.” She raises an eyebrow. “Want to talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about.” I wipe down the counter with more force than necessary.
“Oh my God, he’s the guy in the band that texted you—“
“We’re neighbors. That’s all.”
“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t sound convinced. “Well, your ‘neighbor’ is headed this way.”
I turn to see Luke in the doorway, devastatingly handsome in the soft kitchen light.
“Lila—“
“Jenny, can you take these leftovers out to the car?” I hand her the containers, ignoring Luke. “I’ll finish up here.”
But when Jenny leaves, the kitchen feels too small, too intimate. Luke steps closer, and I catch the faint scent of his cologne.
“Congratulations on the tour offer,” he says. “You deserve it.”
“Thank you.” I keep my voice neutral and professional.
“Lila, come on—at least look at me.”
I can’t. Because if I do, I’ll remember everything—the kiss, his hands, the way he made me feel like I was burning alive.
“I can’t do this right now,” I say, trying not to sound desperate. “Please, Luke—I’m working.”
I make it to the doorway before his voice stops me.
“I’m trying to end things with Crystal.”
My heart stutters, and my steps falter, but I don’t turn around. “Trying?”
He sighs, “It’s—“
“Complicated,” I finish for him. “Yeah, I know.”
I walk away with a sad little smile, my heels clicking on the marble floors, trying to convince myself the ache in my chest is just professional pride in a job well done.
But we both know that’s a lie.