Chapter 18
KELSEY
“Thanks again for letting me know you were coming in today. I know it’s your day off.
” I slide off the countertop behind the bar at Gloria’s.
I spent all morning and early afternoon at Cowgirl Coffee before Rich texted me that he was popping by.
So I came here and met him to learn the rest of the bar menu and we’re just now finishing up.
He tosses his bar towel over his shoulder.
From his tattooed forearms to his worn apron, he’s got the surly bartender look down pat.
The only reason I know he’s actually a sweetheart is because he’s a regular at Cowgirl Coffee with his wife.
Those two are attached at the hip and are the sweetest couple.
“Oh, it’s no big deal. I come in every now and then when we’re closed to do prep work for some of our infusions and mixers.
Plus Chef seems pretty keen on you,” he says with a thick draw.
That’s not what sticks with me though. It’s the ‘Sutton being keen on me’ part that makes my teeth dig into my lower lip.
I try to ignore how that part plays with my emotions and roils my body.
“Well, thanks anyway. I appreciate it.”
“I’d do just about anything for him—so really, I don’t mind. We’re like a family here. It’s just how we do things.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “That’s how Chef likes us to work. We’ve worked side by side for years now. We watch each other’s backs. We take care of each other. He’d give any one of us the shirt off his back.”
“Oh.” I’m trying to not sound disappointed that he treats everyone like that and not just me, but even I can hear how my voice drops.
Rich must too because his pleased grin returns. “He’s never given anyone his car before. He loves that thing.”
“Oh, you know about that? He said he barely drives it,” I scoff.
He raises a brow at me. “It’s his baby, well, besides Oscar.
His dad and younger brother are car mechanics.
I’ve watched him spend an hour just cleaning the wheels and tires on that thing on more than one occasion.
You don’t even want to know how much time he’ll spend vacuuming every nook and cranny if no one stops him. ”
That revelation makes something stir in my stomach. I’d say it was butterflies, but I’m not sure that would do this strange, warm, and fuzzy sensation justice. “Oh. I didn’t realize that.”
This whole time he’s been acting like he couldn’t care less about that car. He made it feel like I was doing him a favor by driving it, not the other way around.
And what have I been doing this whole time?
Spilling my iced coffee in it. Letting Felix shed god knows how much fur in it. Even with the cover I put over the backseat, German Shepherd fur is like sand at the beach—it’s going to be in everything and everywhere for days to come.
“Yep. He’s one of a kind.” He caps a bottle of a freshly made infused liqueur and puts it in the undercounter fridge. “Anyway, go on and get out of here. Or I guess upstairs? Either way, I’m going to finish up, then check on Oscar before I head out.”
“I can take care of her. Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks. She might be small, but she’s a fussy little thing.”
While Rich packs up to leave, I walk through the back of the restaurant, past Sutton’s office, to go upstairs. Even though most of the first floor of my grandma’s house was gutted to create the open restaurant, the room that’s now the office and the old staircase remain untouched.
Making my way up the stairs, I’m hit with a dose of nostalgia. It’s not overwhelming though—not in the way I thought that it would be. Instead of stirring up bitter feelings, it’s almost comforting—not at all how I expected to feel when I agreed to Sutton’s offer.
When I go inside his apartment, I nearly trip over something.
“What the—”
I look down to find Oscar, already at my feet, making figure-eights through my legs.
“Careful. Don’t trip me before I feed you.”
Unsure of which switch controls the lights, I flip them all on. The other night when Sutton showed me how to get up here, it was late, and he didn’t bother to turn all the lights on while we just stood in the entryway. Seeing his place now though, it’s not what I expected.
I thought I would be walking into a sparsely decorated, hardly used, bachelor pad.
The renovated, open floor plan apartment that takes up most of the second floor is anything but that.
Everything in his place feels inviting. There’s a beautiful, southwestern-patterned rug with bold colors.
On the far wall of the living room is a plush, mahogany toned leather couch.
It only takes one look for me to notice how one cushion is conspicuously worn more than the others.
The armrest on that side has a plaid wool blanket draped over it and next to that is an end table with a couple books on cooking and the TV remote.
On the other wall is a bay window that mirrors the one downstairs in the restaurant, except this one has two plants in matching hanging baskets on either side.
Underneath them in the window is a leather chair angled just right to look at the TV, but still be able to take in the views outside.
That thought stirs something in my heart because I know Grandma would have approved of mountain views with a side of reality TV.
There’s a coffee table with more books and magazines on food and wine, as well as a little notebook with a pencil resting on top.
The whole living space feels cozy and intimate.
He clearly lives here. Being here feels like I’m peeking into his life, like if I waited around, he might just walk in from the other room any minute.
I make my way through the living space into the open kitchen. The upstairs of this house wasn’t overly spacious by any means and they made the most of it by opting for a kitchen with a nice island to eat at instead of a separate formal dining room.
I guess that makes sense though. Who needs a dining room when you own the best restaurant in town right under your feet?
At the base of the island, I spot Oscar’s food and water bowls. I open the storage container and top off her food.
She scurries back up to my leg and arches her back, meowing loudly.
“Go ahead. Get your dinner.” I flick my wrist, making a little shooing gesture, but she just keeps meowing.
“What? Is that not enough? I don’t think your dad wants you eating and puking on his nice rug.”
That’s when I look next to the food bowl and notice her water bowl is empty. “Oh. Maybe you’re just thirsty.”
I fill her bowl at the sink and start to set it back down. She runs over so fast she almost knocks the bowl of my hand.
“I see. You won’t eat without a nice drink pairing.” I stand up and cross my arms over my chest, watching her alternate between sips of water and bites of food. I grin and laugh to myself. "Rich was right. You are a fussy little thing.”
Looking around the kitchen, it’s no surprise that it’s fully stocked.
The open shelves above the counter are filled with everything you would expect a world class chef to have.
Imported oils and vinegars, bottles of various infusions, and spices for days.
There’s a magnetic strip filled with all kinds of chef’s knives—some I recognize from the Eclectic Elk, a shop in town that sells the knives from a local blacksmith, Tanner Chapman.
I notice other locally made goods too like the hand carved cooking spoons from the same store.
Even some of his open pantry is stocked with more local ingredients, like our coffee, and whiskey from a distillery downtown.
I know his brother is a world class chef, but pride swells in my chest—not just for my town—knowing that a chef like Sutton chooses to use so many goods from the community I love. He clearly cares enough to support the people here.
Walking through his kitchen, another collection on the shelf makes me outright laugh.
There are at least ten boxes of different children’s cereal.
All the big names with funny marshmallows, sugary cinnamon bits, and every flavor imaginable.
Next to them are a stack of oversized cereal bowls and I can just picture him sitting at his kitchen island every morning after agonizing over what flavor sugar to consume.
I can also picture the way his muscular forearms would look holding a spoon and the way his dimples would pop as he eats.
I ignore what that thought does to my body and keep poking around his place.
What really catches my eye is a bottle of red wine at the end of the counter. It has one of those fancy resealing things on it and I remember that Sutton said to pour myself a drink and make myself at home.
Thanks, Chef. Don’t mind if I do.
I grab the one glass I see next to the bottle and pour myself a glass.
I breathe in the wine and already know this is nicer than what Monica and I would usually drink. The first sip that hits my lips confirms that.
Shit. That is good and exactly what I needed.
One look at the French label tells me this is definitely not local and probably as pricy as his fancy SUV. A girl could get used to this kind of pampering.
An unmistakable low grumble draws my eyes to the door leading to the adjoining apartment. I see a tuft of fur sticking out from under the door and I know just whose tail that belongs to.
I swear everybody in this place needs me tonight.
“I’ll be right there.”
I go to the door and pull it open. Felix sits right up and wags his tail.
“Hey buddy. You better not need to go back out. We were just out a couple hours ago.”
His soulful brown eyes drift away from mine and his tail goes rigid.
Oh shit. I was too busy enjoying my glass of wine to think about Oscar and what my giant dog would do to the little thing.
“Felix, no!” I grab him by the collar, but he doesn’t move. He freezes. I follow his eyes and see that Oscar has already sauntered over here like a quiet, little ninja.
She’s sitting nose to nose with Felix who must be ten times her size. I don’t know if she has a death wish, but she just sits there like she owns the place. I mean I guess this is her home, but that doesn’t make me feel any better about her facing off with my dog.
“Come on, dumbass. Get back.” I try to tug on his collar but he’s so laser focused on her with his crazy prey drive. This stare down continues until Oscar finally breaks their eye contact and licks her paw a few times.
“Girl. Run away. Where is your self preservation instinct?”
She stops licking her paw and just when I think she’s going to leave, she does the opposite.
This crazy, tiny black cat extends her paw and holds it out like a feline praying mantis.
Then she does it. She actually boops Felix right on his nose and leaves her paw there.
Felix’s nostrils flare as he seems to be more curious than anything.
I guess he’s more patient than I give him credit for. A couple years ago, when he was a puppy, he would not have been this chill. Cautiously, I loosen my grip on his collar and he just lays down in front of her, inching forward to keep sniffing her while she gently bats his face with her tiny paw.
Alright, I guess they’re friends now? I don’t know cats or their strange, witchy ways and customs.
“OK, weirdos. No one kill each other please.” I point two fingers toward my face then back at them. “I’m watching you.”
Two sets of eyes turn up at me and I’m actually kind of surprised. Then Felix licks her face and she rolls over next to him.
I let an out an exasperated breath and walk over to the couch. I guess I can enjoy my wine and let them do whatever they’re doing for a few minutes before bed. I plop onto the worn cushion near the end table. The moment I slump back into Sutton’s spot on the couch, it feels like home.
The couch is too comfy. I take another sip of my wine and feel the stresses of the last few weeks start to melt away.
Across the room, I hear Felix’s collar jingle. Looking up, I see Oscar rolling on her back batting his dog tags with her paws. He just keeps sniffing and licking her.
I chuckle to myself. Felix rarely gets to play with other dogs and he looks like he’s enjoying this.
Maybe a cat with a death wish is close enough to a dog for him.
Even though I might be about to fall asleep, I don’t want to interrupt them.
So I grab one of the books from the end table and flip it open, thinking that reading might help me stay awake a bit longer.
I attempt to read the first page and nope—this book is in French, which I guess makes sense for a chef.
I still flip through a few pages and see picture after picture of desserts and their recipes.
Even half asleep my mouth waters. I keep skimming the pages guessing that I don’t really need to understand French to appreciate the food on the pages.
Deciding to really make myself at home, I kick off my boots and curl up under the plaid blanket.
A thud and grumbling sound across the room lifts my eyes from the image of chocolate cake that I’m starting to drool over. Both of them are now curled up and lying in front of the apartment door.
I sigh because I know what they’re doing. They’re waiting for someone. I shake my head and keep paging through the book, glad that Felix has gotten better at greeting people at the door. He was more than a handful as a puppy and would downright tackle people.
I’m not really sure what I expected from Sutton’s place, but I know it wasn’t this.
Looking around the room, I decide that I would want my future place to feel like this apartment does.
It’s not the same as it was when it was Grandma’s, but it feels so inviting and comfortable.
So much so that I feel myself start to drift away, breathing in the scent of a place that feels like a home.