It’s her. Her.
Blonde curls plastered to her forehead. Big green eyes that swallow the room. That swallow me. Everything else fades, until there’s nothing left but her. That gorgeous face. Her sweet scent. Those beautiful tits I pressed into my chest and marveled at.
Soft.
Perfect.
Seared into my memory like a brand I never asked for but couldn’t burn away.
She takes a step back, still clutching the chef jacket.
Five years. Five bloody years of dreaming about her.
She came to interview for a junior role, but I’m giving her the role of sous chef. I’m being impulsive, but I don’t care. I’ve been given a second chance. I’m not going to waste it.
“If you don’t want it, there are many who’d give anything to trial as my sous chef.” I yawn, pretending a casualness I don’t feel.
“It’s a trial?” Suspicion sharpens her tone.
“Every employee has a three-month tryout. Consider your probation period as interviewing on the job.” I nod toward the empty station that belonged to Miller.
“Yes or no, Richie?” I glance at the clock above the pass.
“We’re ten minutes late for lunch service. I need to keep the line moving.”
“Well?” I cross my arms over my chest.
Her jaw tightens.
“Yes.” She nods once, decisive. “Yes. I’ll do it.”
Thank fuck. I release the breath I wasn’t aware of holding.
Excitement flickers in her eyes. It turns her green irises molten, gold sparking through them like something lit from within.
Ember. That’s what she is. She could light up my life by being herself. The nickname suits her.
That’s what I’ll call her from now on.
Welcome to my lair…I mean, my kitchen, Ember. I’m never letting you go.
I clap my hands.
“Show’s over. Service in ten. Let’s go.”
