The Chef's Choice by Kristin Hardy Page B

through.” And he stepped through the doors into the kitchen, leaving her standing there.

    The final hours of dinner service passed by in a blur of taking orders, delivering plates, opening wine. When Cady saw the last customers rise to leave, she should have felt relief at the prospect of release. Instead, she just felt disoriented.
    Damon. She didn’t know what to think. Nothing about him was as she’d expected. Instead of partying into the wee hours and showing up at work in the late afternoon, he was in the kitchen at the crack of dawn every morning. Instead of shouting at his staff, he presided over a kitchen that was positively serene. Instead of kicking out rude customers, he charmed them.
    And somehow, when she hadn’t been paying attention, he’d charmed her.
    She’d agreed to something in those desperate moments in the dining room, though she wasn’t sure what. And she wasn’t at all sure how she felt about it. Nerves, yes. Anticipation, yes. And confusion. She didn’t like confusion, she never had, and so she took her time with her after-hours duties, changing tablecloths, refilling salt cellars, putting off heading to the kitchen to the last possible moment.
    She couldn’t say whether it was relief or disappointment that hit when she finally walked through the sliding doors only to find the kitchen cleared out. The rest of the floor staff was long gone, the line cooks had finished cleaning up and headed to the locker room to change. Only Denny, the kitchen porter, remained for the thankless job of washing the mountain of dishes and pans, taking out the rubbish, mopping the floors and counters for the new day.
    Damon was nowhere to be found.
    Which was good news. Definitely good news, she thought as she retrieved her keys and jacket from the now-empty locker room and slammed bad-temperedly out the back door. A woman would be out of her mind to take the risk of getting involved with Damon Hurst, with that mind-melting stare that could make her think she really wanted his kisses, wanted his touch, wanted his—
    â€œIt’s about time.”
    Cady froze.
    â€œI was beginning to wonder whether you were moving in.” Damon stepped out of the shadows into the pool of light outside the door. He wore jeans and an open-collared paisley shirt under his leather jacket. With his hair loose, his jaw dark with a full day’s growth, he looked like an artist who’d escaped his garret. The naked bulb overhead threw his eyes into shadow.
    Nerves, anticipation, confusion. Cady swallowed. “I had things to do.”
    â€œWe still do.”
    â€œYou can’t hold me to that. That was extortion.”
    â€œHardly. You were free to say no.”
    Nerves, anticipation, confusion.
    â€œYou knew I thought you were going to kick them out.”
    â€œMaybe I meant to.”
    â€œAfter you’d already made up plates?”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter,” he said, watching her with that unwavering stare. “I think we have some unfinished business.”
    Nerves, anticipation, confusion.
    Nerves won.
    â€œIt’s twelve-thirty in the morning. I think the business can wait.” And a part of her wasn’t at all sure she could handle what that business might be. She started toward the parking area, tucked in pockets among the stands of pines that surrounded them.
    And Damon walked beside her, through the shadows. “I didn’t have you picked for the type who’d go back on her word.”
    She snapped her head around to stare at him in the dimness. “I’m not.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œSo this isn’t the place to have some big talk. We both know there are too many people around.”
    â€œFewer all the time,” Damon observed as the last stragglers headed for the exit. “And who said I wanted to talk?”
    The thick pines loomed around them, breaking the wash of illumination from the arc lamps into stripes of