something else, Cadence."
He says my name differently than most. It's an easy name. It's pronounced exactly as it looks, yet his tongue holds onto the second c longer than it should. It lingers there, on his lips, as goosebumps pebble my skin.
"What else?" My brow knits.
He offers a quick smile. "I need you tomorrow morning, very early tomorrow morning."
"For what?" I ask, spellbound by how his face alters when there's joy touching the corners of his mouth. He looks happy, or excited. It's something other than the serious scowl that is synonymous with his name.
"You're going to make your television debut."
"I'm what?" I snap. "I'm going to be on television?"
"We're going to be on television." He makes the subtle correction. "I'm doing a spot on a national morning show about the new menu and I need an assistant. You're it."
"Why me?" I ask as I try not to sound completely terrified of the prospect.
His mouth softens into another grin. "I asked Darrell, one of the head chefs, for a recommendation yesterday. You're it. Tomorrow morning, you're going to cook the gorgonzola gnocchi in front of millions of people."
CHAPTER 2
"I'm not sure how much of this you want me to eat, Cadence."
I glance across our kitchen island at my best friend, Sophia Reese, who's eating gnocchi like a woman deprived a meal for days. "I told you to taste it, Soph. I didn't want you to eat it all."
She sets her fork down carefully on the granite countertop. "It's hard not to. It's delicious."
I laugh as I pick up the fork and the bowl and take a bite of the now, cold food. "I can do better than this."
She pushes her long brown hair back over her shoulder, her blue eyes locking on me. I know that look. I also know what she's about to say. "You're stressing over nothing, Den. You're going to walk onto that kitchen set tomorrow morning and knock the culinary socks off every single one of those millions of people watching you."
"I don't need you to remind me how many people watch that show." I smile overly sweetly, grateful that Sophia left her office at a reasonable time tonight so she could be my taste tester.
We've been close since she moved in with me shortly after she arrived in New York almost two years ago. I put out some feelers with friends asking them to keep their eyes and ears open for anyone, preferably a woman close to my age, looking for a room to rent on the Upper West Side.
When I got Sophia's number from a friend of a friend, I sent her a short text asking if she wanted to see the place. An hour later, we were sitting in this kitchen, sharing a beer and talking about what fuels our passion. For me it's obviously food. For Sophia, fashion is her life.
She's helped me understand how to dress my tall, slim frame. She's even given me tips on what colors complement my pale green eyes and medium length blond hair. Even though I spend the majority of my life in a chef's jacket, I now know how to rock a killer dress and heels when I actually do find the time to go out.
"I had a professor in college who told me that the best way to handle speaking in front of a group of people is to …"
"Imagine everyone in their underwear?" I interrupt her. "I've heard that too, Soph, it's not going to work."
"That's disgusting." She shields her eyes with her hands. "Now I'm thinking of my professor in his boxers."
"That's a bad thing?" I swallow the final bite of food that was left in the bowl. "What did he look like?"
"Like someone you don't want to see naked." Her arms fold over her chest. "I wasn't going to say that. I was going to tell you that you should pretend you're here, cooking for me. Forget about the cameras and the lights. Cook from your heart, the way you did just now."
I turn off the burner on the stove and slide the next batch of gnocchi into the empty bowl. "I can't do that when Tyler is standing next to me. If I fuck up, I'll lose my job."
She reaches to pick up the fork before she tugs the bowl back into her
He says my name differently than most. It's an easy name. It's pronounced exactly as it looks, yet his tongue holds onto the second c longer than it should. It lingers there, on his lips, as goosebumps pebble my skin.
"What else?" My brow knits.
He offers a quick smile. "I need you tomorrow morning, very early tomorrow morning."
"For what?" I ask, spellbound by how his face alters when there's joy touching the corners of his mouth. He looks happy, or excited. It's something other than the serious scowl that is synonymous with his name.
"You're going to make your television debut."
"I'm what?" I snap. "I'm going to be on television?"
"We're going to be on television." He makes the subtle correction. "I'm doing a spot on a national morning show about the new menu and I need an assistant. You're it."
"Why me?" I ask as I try not to sound completely terrified of the prospect.
His mouth softens into another grin. "I asked Darrell, one of the head chefs, for a recommendation yesterday. You're it. Tomorrow morning, you're going to cook the gorgonzola gnocchi in front of millions of people."
CHAPTER 2
"I'm not sure how much of this you want me to eat, Cadence."
I glance across our kitchen island at my best friend, Sophia Reese, who's eating gnocchi like a woman deprived a meal for days. "I told you to taste it, Soph. I didn't want you to eat it all."
She sets her fork down carefully on the granite countertop. "It's hard not to. It's delicious."
I laugh as I pick up the fork and the bowl and take a bite of the now, cold food. "I can do better than this."
She pushes her long brown hair back over her shoulder, her blue eyes locking on me. I know that look. I also know what she's about to say. "You're stressing over nothing, Den. You're going to walk onto that kitchen set tomorrow morning and knock the culinary socks off every single one of those millions of people watching you."
"I don't need you to remind me how many people watch that show." I smile overly sweetly, grateful that Sophia left her office at a reasonable time tonight so she could be my taste tester.
We've been close since she moved in with me shortly after she arrived in New York almost two years ago. I put out some feelers with friends asking them to keep their eyes and ears open for anyone, preferably a woman close to my age, looking for a room to rent on the Upper West Side.
When I got Sophia's number from a friend of a friend, I sent her a short text asking if she wanted to see the place. An hour later, we were sitting in this kitchen, sharing a beer and talking about what fuels our passion. For me it's obviously food. For Sophia, fashion is her life.
She's helped me understand how to dress my tall, slim frame. She's even given me tips on what colors complement my pale green eyes and medium length blond hair. Even though I spend the majority of my life in a chef's jacket, I now know how to rock a killer dress and heels when I actually do find the time to go out.
"I had a professor in college who told me that the best way to handle speaking in front of a group of people is to …"
"Imagine everyone in their underwear?" I interrupt her. "I've heard that too, Soph, it's not going to work."
"That's disgusting." She shields her eyes with her hands. "Now I'm thinking of my professor in his boxers."
"That's a bad thing?" I swallow the final bite of food that was left in the bowl. "What did he look like?"
"Like someone you don't want to see naked." Her arms fold over her chest. "I wasn't going to say that. I was going to tell you that you should pretend you're here, cooking for me. Forget about the cameras and the lights. Cook from your heart, the way you did just now."
I turn off the burner on the stove and slide the next batch of gnocchi into the empty bowl. "I can't do that when Tyler is standing next to me. If I fuck up, I'll lose my job."
She reaches to pick up the fork before she tugs the bowl back into her
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