6. Drake #2
Everybody leaves shortly after dessert except for my father, who lingers so we can touch base once the company departs.
“You scared me earlier this week,” he laughs, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “You had me worried you forgot all about this. But if tonight is an example of how you're maturing, you've impressed me.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, unable to hide my grin.
We say goodbye and I head into the dining room to gather all the plates.
Olivia is already there cleaning up, and I have half a mind to tell her to head home after all the work she's done.
But a part of me isn't ready for her to leave.
I'm curious about her in a way that I haven't been with any other woman.
She’s smart and witty, and she has such authority with something she's so passionate about. I want to learn more about her.
“I had no idea you were so skilled,” I say, carrying a stack of plates to the kitchen. The guests licked the plates clean, so washing them won't take much energy.
“Hey, I told you I was good during my interview,” she laughs while looking for storage containers in the cabinets. I grab them from the pantry so she can store the rest of the food. I'm happy to see there are leftovers.
“I guess I just thought you might be lying to seem a little more skilled, just like so many people do in job interviews.”
“Well, now you know I'm not a liar.”
We make small talk about how she likes her job at the office while we clean food off the pans and put it in the glass storage containers.
I feel like she's wasting her potential working in an office.
That was one of the best meals I've ever had, and she has a promising future ahead of her in the food industry.
“How far away do you live?” I ask, looking at the time on my phone. It’s nearing midnight, and driving through the hills can be dangerous after dark.
“Don't you remember how you and I met? You were screwing my neighbor,” she laughs, shaking her head incredulously. “I live right next to her.”
I laugh, too, feeling silly for asking. Rita lives in the valley, which is not that far away, but Olivia would have to get on the freeway.
At this hour on a Friday night, it won't be busy, but the people driving might not be the most reliable.
“You know, it's late. How about you sleep in one of my guest rooms tonight and drive back in the morning?”
“I don't want to be a bother.” Her cheeks darken as she quickly looks away.
“You wouldn't be, I promise,” I say, loading the last of the dishes into the dishwasher. “I insist. It's much later than I thought it would be when I asked you to do this. Plus, you've been cooking for so long, you’ve got to be exhausted.”
“Okay,” she agrees hesitantly, taking a deep breath before nodding. “But for the record, I enjoy cooking, so it's not exhausting.”
We finish cleaning, and I stop at the remaining bottles of wine on the counter. I look over some of them briefly, seeing that she overprepared for the dinner. “Want a drink?”
“I thought you'd never ask,” Olivia says, grabbing two freshly washed wine glasses and walking over.
I pour us both a glass of white wine, and Olivia sips it before leaning on the counter and running her fingers through her hair. “It was a lot of fun preparing the menu and figuring out the best ingredients.”
“It was impeccable. You have a strong career ahead of you if everything you cook is even remotely like that.” She blushes and sips more of her wine to try to hide it. “Have you ever thought about opening a restaurant?”
“Only every waking moment of my life.” She looks away wistfully as she daydreams about her future. “That's part of the reason I wanted this position so bad to begin with. The pay is very good, and I want to save enough to put a down payment on a restaurant space.”
I lean against the counter and smile as she talks about her dream. Something in her face shifts, and her eyes glow as she thinks about it. Watching her think about her dream is enchanting, and I can't get enough of it.
“Tell me more about yourself, Olivia Porter,” I say, perhaps without thinking clearly. I'm a little too curious about her, and I should be reminding myself of the company’s HR policies.
“What are you supposed to say when somebody asks you that? You can't say anything without bragging, and if you don't say anything good, it sounds like you're being fake.” She rolls her eyes. “You have to be more specific.”
“Why do you like cooking so much?”
She inhales sharply and freezes, thinking about how to answer the question.
She looks back at me with a half-smile on her lips once again.
“I like cooking because it feels like home.
The little time I got to spend with my mom was in the kitchen, and I fell in love with food because of her.
It's something I do to hold her close to me, I guess.”
If that's not enough to warm your heart… I feel myself softening after the answer as I swirl the wine in my glass and stare at her. One part of me is rapidly reciting the HR policies; the other half is charmed by her.
“Isn't it interesting how food can evoke feelings like that? I've never met a chef or a baker who gets into that line of work for the money.”
“God knows they're in the wrong field if they do,” she laughs, maybe a little too hard, which makes me think the wine has gone to her head.
“You get into this field because you love food.
If you think about it, how many memories do you have in this life where food isn't involved? On holidays, you have desserts and big fancy dinners. If you go to the amusement park, you get corn dogs and funnel cakes. Even high school has bland but nostalgic cafeteria food. To me, food represents love.”
The smile on her face widens as she speaks, and I can't look away. Her eyes catch on mine, and I watch as they soften. Her cheeks were already tinged pink, but the heat on them grows as she bites her lower lip.
“And you know what they say about the fastest way to a man's heart,” I joke, immediately regretting it when she sighs and looks at me with an unamused smile.
“I was warned about you.” She shakes her head.
“Warned about what?”
“This. You’re hitting on me now.” Olivia bites her lip even more while looking at me with a torn expression. Maybe I was attempting to flirt, but I don't think she’s opposed.
“Am I?”
“Yes, the fastest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and I’m a chef who just made you a five-course meal.” She raises her eyebrows.
“You must be reading into it. I wasn't flirting with you,” I lie, locking my eyes with hers.
“And now, I know you're a liar.” She laughs and raises her hand to playfully shove my arm. As soon as she touches me, I grab her wrist and hold it in my hands, pulling her closer. I hear her breath catch in her throat as she looks up with her lips parted.
“Would it be so bad if I was?” I whisper, knowing she's hanging on to every syllable. She doesn't say anything right away. Instead, she blinks a few times and remains silent.
My hand rises to her cheek, and I hold it in my palm. This is a bad idea, and I know that. She's my employee. She was only here as a favor to me. She's my best friend’s daughter, and if he knew I was even entertaining the idea of kissing her, he would kill me with his bare hands.
My mind races with those two reasons to back away, but I ignore them entirely and lean down to taste her lips against mine.