Dirty Chef Read online

  “Buddy, you’ve looked bad since birth.” I shook the skillet with the sizzling bacon and took some enjoyment from hearing the crowd crack up at my comeback.

  “Two minutes!” the announcer called.

  I grabbed a dish under my counter and began plating the mashed potatoes. The other two chefs were behind on time, so that removed some pressure from me. While Wren finished his meal, he plugged Coho for us and gave the audience a short history of my career as a chef. I would’ve stopped and listened to the compliments if I’d had the fucking time.

  Instead, I was busy cutting the meat into four perfect slices. Medium rare, as they should be. Fuck. Alessia was better at design than I was, but I did okay. The meat ended up in a neat row at the center of the plate, followed by a bed of crispy bacon next to it.

  I checked the asparagus. Another minut—

  “Sixty seconds!”

  “Motherfucker,” I cursed.

  The crowd seemed to find that funny too.

  I had to wait.

  I slipped the towel from my apron and wiped a smudge of mashed potatoes from the edge of the plate. Then I waited until there were thirty seconds left before I brought the asparagus off the grill, placed it on top of the bacon, and then it was just the sauce and butter.

  After drizzling the butter over the potatoes, I poured three lines of reduction sauce over the meat, and then I was done.

  I blew out a harsh breath as the announcer called the time, and I took a step back.

  Holy fuck, I was spent.

  We did these trips every now and then; sometimes it was just to show support to friends, sometimes there was a festival I was participating in, and sometimes there was another type of event altogether. Great promotion, Alessia reminded me. But I was so fucking thankful that I stuck to our steakhouse in northern Washington. It did create some hype too, that I only had one place in a small town. We had critics and guests coming from all over just to try the food at Coho.

  Wren gave another speech, saying he was grateful to have his friends here tonight, he hoped everyone would enjoy their evening, and so on and so on. I was already searching the crowd for Alessia.

  We’d be in Vegas until Sunday, so we had two more days of, for once, dining out as guests.

  When Wren was finished and the crowd was clapping wildly, I shook his hand and gave him a one-armed hug.

  “Congratulations, my friend,” I said.

  “Thanks. I’m really glad you made it.”

  “Of course.” I smiled and clapped him on his back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find my wife. We have reservations at this new place in town called Wren. Who does that, by the way? Names a restaurant after himself.”

  He laughed and told me to get the fuck out.

  I grinned and removed my apron, then made my way out to the big dining area, and I got lucky. I found what I was looking for right away.

  “Daddy!”

  My boy had Grady pipes, what could I say.

  I gave the two loves of my life the sweaty smooches they deserved.

  Alessia laughed and wiped her cheek. “I see you worked up a sweat. You were amazing, tesoro.” She peered down at our three-year-old. “Wasn’t Daddy awesome, Nicholas?”

  “Yeah.” He laughed at everything. “Did you win?”

  I picked him up and positioned him on my hip. “It wasn’t that type of competition, but don’t I always win? Huh?” I poked his belly until he giggled like mad.

  I smiled and pressed another kiss to his cheek.

  This little bundle of energy knew how to make my day. They both did, but Christ. Becoming a father had given me a new sense of purpose. We’d named him after my pop, for everything he’d done for me when I got into the restaurant business, and my little junior loved being in the kitchen too.

  “Excuse me, sir? Your table is ready.”

  I booped Nicky on the nose. “You ready to eat, sweetheart?”

  He yawned and nodded hugely.

  Tomorrow we’d make up for today’s “adulting.” Late reservation, late evening. Nicky would get a kick out of an amusement park tomorrow instead. It would be to celebrate his birthday too. He’d turned three last week.

  Grabbing the wife’s hand, I kissed her knuckles and motioned for her to go before me.

  My stomach growled, and I wasn’t the only one. I grinned when I felt Nicky’s belly rumble too.

  “I want lasagna,” he exclaimed.

  “You can have that when we get home,” I chuckled.

  Alessia shot me a sly wink over her shoulder.

  The girl was smug because the chef’s son’s favorite meal was…Mama’s lasagna.

  Then again, nobody could blame him. It was fantastic.

  The only bad part about tonight was our table’s location. Given that I was one of the “celebrity attendants,” we were seated somewhere in the middle of the restaurant. The ceiling was high, the lights were bright, in shades of orange and red, and the staff was running all over.

  On the black-painted walls were photos of Wren’s career timeline. There was even a picture of him and me, from when we’d worked together in Atlanta.

  A staff member brought out a booster seat for Nicky, and he wriggled his little butt as I put him in it.

  “A server will be right with you, Chef,” he said.

  I nodded. “Thanks.”

  “Where do you want me, honey…?” Alessia gave me a curious glance. It was a sweet question; she only asked because she knew I was often tired after events, so she wondered if I wanted her to sit closest to Nicky. But then, I was me.

  “On all fours?” I slid her a smirk and pulled out a chair for her.

  I was a happy fucker in the middle.

  She still hadn’t lost her blush. Thank fuck.

  “Daddy, they slow here.” Nicky scowled as he scanned the restaurant. “I’m hungry now.”

  “If he doesn’t become a chef, he’ll make one tough critic,” I said and sat down.

  Alessia laughed softly and took a sip of her water. “You’ll get some tasty bread soon, topolino.”

  We’d better. Wren had started out in his grandmother’s bakery. He didn’t mess around when it came to bread.

  The first time Alessia met him, we’d gone to his restaurant in New York, and she—

  “Remember when I got Wren’s recipe for his—”

  “Garlic bread,” I chuckled. “I was just thinking about it. You were so pleased ’cause he wouldn’t share it with me.” I saw the same smirky little grin on her now, and I leaned over and kissed her. “It’s okay. I won anyway. I married the chick who has the recipe in her secret drawer in her nightstand.”

  She gasped and pretended to be outraged. “You’ve been snooping around? How dare you?”

  I snorted. This was coming from the woman who always tried to find her Christmas presents. These days, I had to hide them at Jack’s place.

  “Bread, Mama!” Nicky said excitedly. “Can I give it stars?”

  My shoulders shook with laughter. “Absolutely.” I broke off a piece of bread for him, and I jammed a buttery piece into my own mouth too. “Mm, easily four stars for me.”

  I tuned out the server rambling about the menu I kinda knew by heart at this point, though my wife listened dutifully and asked all the right questions about this and that cut of the meat.

  Nicky hummed and stared at his fingers. “Dis many stars.”

  “Wow. Five stars—that’s good bread.”

  He nodded seriously and took another bite.

  After we’d placed our orders and gotten our drinks, I took a swig of my beer and reached over to stroke Alessia’s belly. Only two months to go now.

  She rested her chin in her palm, her eyes filled with the same contentment I felt.

  “I love you so much,” she mouthed.

  “More for every day, love.”

  More from Cara

  In Camassia Cove, everyone has a story to share

  Alex/Lola/Justin & Jameson/Harper/Justin


  Jack & Isla

  Elise

  William & Kelly

  Griffin & Tracy

  Cara freely admits she’s addicted to revisiting the men and women who yammer in her head, and several of her characters cross over in other titles. If you enjoyed this book, you might like the following.

  Inappropriately Yours (M/F) Isla & Jack, Aiden & Chloe. Two romances in one book. Isla Roe publishes her first novel under the name her father has made famous for his own novels, but it doesn’t work out as well for her. More like, it crashes and burns. Her father sends her to Washington and his college friend to get help with her writing. In the end, she finds a lot more than advice, and Aiden Roe, Isla’s dad, makes a trip up to Camassia to see what’s going on. That’s where he runs in to his childhood crush, innkeeper and single mother of four rambunctious boys, Chloe Nolan.

  Breaking Free (M/F) Sophie & Tennyson. There was a reason Tennyson hated working for studios, and it was because he was a bit of a control freak as a director. Having to answer to someone meant less freedom; it meant having to obey the Suits when he was told to enter a showmance relationship with the much-younger diva on set, Sophie Pierce. Welcome to Hollywood.

  Check out Cara’s entire collection at www.caradeewrites.com, and don’t forget to sign up for her newsletter so you don’t miss any new releases, updates on book signings, free outtakes, giveaways, and much more.

  About Cara

  I’m often awkwardly silent or, if the topic interests me, a chronic rambler. In other words, I can discuss writing forever and ever. Fiction, in particular. The love story—while a huge draw and constantly present—is secondary for me, because there’s so much more to writing romance fiction than just making two (or more) people fall in love and have hot sex. There’s a world to build, characters to develop, interests to create, and a topic or two to research thoroughly. Every book is a challenge for me, an opportunity to learn something new, and a puzzle to piece together. I want my characters to come to life, and the only way I know to do that is to give them substance—passions, history, goals, quirks, and strong opinions—and to let them evolve. Additionally, I want my men and women to be relatable. That means allowing room for everyday problems and, for lack of a better word, flaws. My characters will never be perfect.

  Wait…this was supposed to be about me, not my writing.

  I'm a writey person who loves to write. Always wanderlusting, twitterpating, kinking, and geeking. There’s time for hockey and cupcakes, too. But mostly, I just love to write.

  ~Cara.