The Orchard at Rosevale

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

Cruz abhorred sentimentality.

He’d rather eat a dozen oysters—his allergen nemesis—than show the slightest emotion.

For this reason, he hadn’t announced his departure from Tiles, Melbourne’s trendiest fusion restaurant, to anyone.

Instead, on his final night as head chef, he waited until the patrons had left before hanging up his hat and apron for the last time and taking a seat at the chrome bar that ran the length of the restaurant.

‘What’ll you have, boss?’ Chezza asked, wiping down the bar.

She’d worked here as long as he had—five years—and patrons loved her speed, her talent for mixing cocktails and her discretion, which is why he knew she wouldn’t tell anyone that he’d sat at the bar at the end of a shift for the first time ever, with the intention to down his body weight in bourbon.

He wanted to tell her not to call him boss, that after tonight she’d never see him again, but that would defeat the purpose of him slinking out of here.

‘Double bourbon, please.’ He held up three fingers. ‘Tripled.’

Her eyebrows rose, making the silver spikes threaded through them glint in the muted light. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Just dandy.’

True to form, Chezza didn’t interrogate him. Instead, she lined up three glasses, sloshed a double shot of bourbon in each and topped them up with cola rather than serving his requested neat. He didn’t make a fuss. What would be the point?

‘Here you go.’ She placed the glasses on the bar in front of him and turned away, but he caught her surreptitiously watching him in the mirrored splashback.

He raised the first glass in a silent cheers and downed the bourbon in four gulps.

It burned just the way he liked it, eradicating the tightness in his throat at the thought of leaving this place.

He’d known this gig couldn’t last. The axe of familial responsibility had been skimming the back of his neck for a while now, and last week, it had fallen.

Tomorrow, he headed home, swapping his knives and chopping boards for … the last thing he wanted.

But he owed his mum and he’d learned from an early age to pay his dues.

He downed the next bourbon, enjoying the slight fuzziness in his head, the blurring of his regrets.

‘I’m heading off, boss. Anything you need before I go?’ Chezza eyed the last drink sitting on the bar and if she disapproved, to her credit, she didn’t show it.

‘No, all good.’ He wanted to thank her for being a brilliant mixologist, for being the best he’d worked with over the last decade, but then she’d know something was up and he didn’t want to get into it. The staff would find out about his departure soon enough.

‘Take it easy. Those things will kill you.’

‘Says the person making her living by slinging them.’

She chuckled and saluted before slipping out the side door that led to the alley, leaving Cruz to lock up as usual. He didn’t mind. He liked this time of night, after twelve, when patrons had left with their bellies full and he could plan tomorrow’s menu.

Not tonight.

Tonight, he needed to obliterate the thought of what might come.

He downed the third bourbon faster than the first two and, this time, when he placed the glass on the bar, his hand trembled. Good. The alcohol would help silence the doubts that wouldn’t let up.

Had he done the right thing, walking away from his grand passion?

Would he live up to expectations in his new role?

What happened if he screwed up?

The front door creaked open, and his head snapped up too quickly, making the room spin a little. ‘We’re closed,’ he muttered, unable to see who’d entered until they stepped around the frosted-glass water feature, and then he blinked several times in case the alcohol had conjured up a sexy mirage.

Petite blondes weren’t usually his type, but this one had curves encased in vivid emerald silk, big blue eyes accentuated with makeup, crimson slicked lips and a smile that could make his grumpy heart lighten the hell up.

‘Sorry, I know it’s late, but if I don’t have one of Tiles’s signature club sandwiches before I leave town tomorrow, I won’t be able to sleep, and then I’ll make a mess of an exciting job opportunity, and that can’t happen, so I need the triple decker with bacon, smoked chicken, aioli and—’

‘In case you didn’t hear me the first time, the kitchen is closed.’

Her lips formed an adorable pout. ‘But the club sandwich here is the best I’ve ever tasted, and I’m something of a connoisseur.

I’ve tried them all over Melbourne and surrounding suburbs, and the chef here is number one.

Along with the pumpkin miso soup, the Japanese-inspired salmon fried rice, the chai-roasted cauliflower and the Balinese lamb chops.

’ She rubbed her stomach, drawing his attention to the way the silk clung to it, and moaned a little.

‘As for the strawberry and matcha panna cotta …’ She made a heart shape with her fingers before kissing the tips of her thumb and index finger. ‘Chef’s kiss.’

He almost said, ‘That can be arranged,’ as he stared at the beautiful woman who’d given him a rave review without realising it.

And made him hard in the process. He hadn’t had a date in months, what with the restaurant taking up all his time; he sourced the freshest ingredients at dawn, trialled new dishes during the day and ran the kitchen in the evenings.

Then the woman sashayed towards him and all rational thought fled, replaced by a ridiculous urge to haul her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

She slipped onto the bar stool next to him. ‘So, what are my chances?’

He gaped at her like an idiot, and she laughed.

‘Reckon I could get one of those club sandwiches to go?’

He should refuse. Those three double-shot bourbons had addled his brain and who knew what he’d serve?

But with her praise still ringing in his ears, Cruz made a snap decision. If the last thing he made in this kitchen was a humble club sandwich for a gorgeous woman, he could live with that.

‘Sure. Give me a minute.’

Cruz could’ve sworn he heard her murmur, ‘Happy to wait all night for you, handsome,’ as he pushed through the swinging doors between the restaurant and the kitchen.

Despite his befuddled head, he assembled the club sandwich quickly, wrapped it and added a matcha panna cotta to the takeaway bag. Anyone who loved his food as much as this woman deserved a treat.

‘Here you go,’ he said, as he re-entered the restaurant, the bag swinging by his side. ‘Enjoy.’

‘Are you the chef?’

He nodded, and her answering smile lit up the room.

‘You are incredibly talented,’ she said, practically bouncing up and down on the bar stool. ‘Don’t you dare leave this place. Ever.’

‘Actually, this is my last night.’ He placed her takeaway bag on the bar and folded his arms.

‘No way.’ Her face fell. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m leaving Melbourne.’ Saying it out loud made his stomach gripe.

‘Just my luck.’ That cute pout made another appearance, the fullness of her lips tempting him as much as her overt enthusiasm. ‘I’m probably going to starve. I hope you’re happy.’

‘I’m not.’ He hadn’t been since he’d received the phone call from his mother, demanding he return to the family business.

One of the reasons he’d maintained a manic pace in the kitchen all these years had been because he expected his dream to be ripped away from him at any time, and that’s exactly what had happened.

‘Are you okay?’ A tiny groove furrowed her brow as she laid a hand on his arm.

Her gentle touch unleashed something unexpected: a yearning.

When was the last time someone, anyone, touched him out of concern, let alone anything else?

But burying himself in work wasn’t conducive to relationships, and if the simple touch of a stranger made him this discombobulated, he was in trouble.

Clearing his throat, he came up with an excuse, anything to quell the crazy urge to haul her into his arms. ‘I don’t usually drink, and I had those in quick succession just before you came in.’ He pointed to the three empty glasses on the bar.

‘Alcohol is supposed to cheer you up.’

‘It didn’t.’ He glanced at her hand still resting on his bicep and when she removed it, he murmured, ‘Don’t.’

Confusion clouded her eyes as he placed his hand over hers, this time returning it to his chest.

‘Don’t stop touching you?’ she asked, her tongue darting out to moisten her lower lip.

‘Yeah. It feels nice.’

‘Isn’t there some unspoken rule that chefs can’t fraternise with their restaurant patrons?’

The teasing sparkle in her eyes made him laugh for the first time in a long time.

‘Lucky for you, I’m not the chef here anymore.’

Before he could second-guess the impulse, he kissed her. A gentle brush of his lips against hers, giving her plenty of opportunity to rebuff him.

Instead, she moaned and pressed her lips to his, demanding more as she grabbed his shirt and hauled him closer.

Stunned by the ferocity of her kiss—like she craved contact as much as he did—he slid his arms around her waist, the feel of her body against his exactly what he needed.

He had no idea how long they kissed, but when he backed her up against the bar and she writhed against him, he knew he had to stop before he hoisted her onto a stool and buried himself in her.

With the doors unlocked, the last thing he needed was an unsuspecting patron to walk in and catch him having sex in his workplace, even if he’d officially quit.

‘Whoa.’ He eased her away from him, trying not to stare at her ravaged lips and the flushed cheeks that accentuated her beauty. ‘Sorry about that. Can I blame the alcohol again?’

She blinked, eradicating the disappointment in her eyes. ‘No need to apologise. We were both into it.’

If Cruz didn’t have the weight of responsibility bearing down on him, he’d throw caution to the wind and invite her back to his place. But he still had packing to complete and a few issues here to resolve, so he stepped away from her with regret.

‘I need to lock up,’ he said, gesturing at the door and, thankfully, she took the hint.

‘No worries.’ She grabbed her takeaway bag. ‘Thanks for this. I can’t wait to get home and devour it.’

‘My pleasure.’

He followed her to the door, bitterness dogging his every step.

If he didn’t have to leave Tiles and his dream job, he would ask for her number.

Hell, he’d ask her name and call her for a date.

But he had to leave Melbourne tomorrow; why start something he couldn’t finish?

He had a different life now, far removed from the one he wanted.

He opened the door for her, and she hesitated after stepping outside.

‘For what it’s worth, I wish you were sticking around in Melbourne.’ The hint of vulnerability in her eyes surprised him before she smiled. ‘Because I’m going to miss your exquisite food something fierce.’

‘This city is filled with good restaurants and talented chefs. You’ll find a new favourite in no time.’

With a shrug, she walked away, and he quickly locked the door so he wouldn’t be tempted to run after her.