Chapter 30
PIP
Kit herds us back to the empty dining room for pre-kitchen photos, her camera already clicking.
I adjust my pressed whites while Snickers gently wrestles one of Piglet's legs back into his miniature outfit.
“He’s not cooperating,” Snickers mutters, somehow making even dog-wrangling look elegant in his fitted uniform.
“Here.” I kneel beside them, scratching Piglet’s favorite spot. “Let me.”
Our hands brush as I straighten Piglet's outfit. The touch lingers. As Kit snaps pictures, I hear Clare murmur her approval.
Piglet squirms between us, his chef’s hat becoming askew. Without thinking, we both reach to fix it.
Snickers grabs my hand, then quickly lets go.
He’s too close.
That familiar scent of his washes over me, and just like that, the memories of that night come rushing back.
“Well, that’s a wrap,” says Kit, cutting through the moment.
“I’m going to change cameras and organize the paparazzi. Piglet looks like he needs a nap—I’ll put him down while you two head to the kitchen.”
The dining room’s soft elegance gives way to the sharp gleam of stainless steel as we step into the kitchen. Steam hisses from a pot on the stove, and the air smells of garlic and butter.
“Wow, this is fancy,” I say. “It’s the first time I’ve been in a restaurant kitchen. What about you?”
Snickers shakes his head. “I spent a year DJing in a Paris club. The owner’s wife ran this late-night bistro upstairs. Between sets, I’d help her out in the kitchen. Same principles—timing, flow, knowing when to build or pull back.”
“I bet you’d make a great chef,” I say to him.
“You’ll find out how good I can be tonight.”
Snickers’ sexy grin makes me melt. My thoughts return to the night we met.
Can history repeat itself?