Page 73 of Stolen Dreams
“Yes, Chef.”
I shove my personal problems aside, focus on what matters right now, replate the dish, and garnish it without so much as a flinch. As the plate leaves the kitchen with others for the same table, a new ticket comes in. I scan the order and muster every ounce of strength I own to keep my shit together.
This is their order. I feel it in my bones. It’s rare for a four-top to order only seafood entrées. What’s more rare is to add the rabbit as a shared plate.
Scanning the table number on the ticket, I take a few steps out of the kitchen and peer through the dining room. I lean to the side, squint as I peek around the table blocking them from view. My heart hammers as I take another step, the ticket crinkling in my fist.
Kaya’s back is to the kitchen, but there’s no mistaking it’s her. Her long hair swept over her shoulder, blue jacket on the back of her chair, arms bare. To her right, with an effortless smile on his face, is the man I want to throttle. Poised in his seat, he stares at her as if she’s the only person in the room.
My temper flares anew as I enter the kitchen and call out their order. Then I sidle up to Cameron, grab a frying pan from the overhead shelf, and work alongside her.
“Thank you, Chef, but I’ve got it,” she says, a flush of pink on her cheeks.
My mouth quirks up in a half smile. “I know you do. Just need to busy my hands.”
Several times, I’ve asked myself why I haven’t found someone like Cameron. Someone who understands my way of life. Who reflects my ambitions. Who’d grasp my frustrations. Someone who’d stand effortlessly at my side. It’d be easier. So much easier.
But as I glance down at Cameron, the answer is in front of my face.
Cameron is soft, delicate, fragile—which are great qualities in a partner if that is what you want. She is a true romantic, a woman who wants to be wooed, treated with tenderness, given flowers just because—things I am not above doing.
I just don’t want to do them for her. Or someone like her.
Hell, I already had that with Brianna.
I want more than beauty. I want fire. Passion. The intense weight of her gravity to pull me in over and over. To shackle me to her.
The moment I stepped up to her table, Kaya tethered my heart. I yielded to her magnetic force. Let her lure me in and hold me close. Allowed her the chance to show me what happiness looks like, what true affection feels like.
Then I fucked it all up.
And now, someone else has drifted into her orbit. Someone far more deserving of her affection.
With well-practiced breaths, I concentrate on plating and garnishing each dish. When the order is ready, I signal the server.
“Allow me to help,” I offer, dismissing the other server who comes to assist.
Two lines form between her brows then smooth out as she picks up plates. “Thank you, Chef.”
I take the remaining dishes and follow in her wake. As we pass tables, I smile and dip my chin at familiar faces. They return the gesture in kind. The closer we get to Kaya’s table, the more I question what the hell I’m doing.
What exactly do I expect to happen as I sidle up to her table while she sits with her family?
My mind conjures every possible reason I’d have to assist a server in delivering plates to the table. Halfway through the dining room, I consider turning back and apologizing later. But I don’t. I put myself in this situation, it’s my mess to clean up.
Behind the server as we approach, I stay hidden from Kaya’s view. But not for long. With her parents here, my appearance will spark conversation, likely about the food or restaurant.
The server sets meals in front of the appropriate person, then takes plates from me and continues.
Kaya stiffens in her seat. As if she senses me inches from her.
Yeah, Fire Eyes, I’m here.
“Chef Calhoun,” Sakari Imala greets with a dazzling smile. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Once the plates have been placed and my hands are free, I tuck them behind my back. “Drs. Imala.” I tip my head at Sakari and Tikaani, then shift my gaze. “Kaya.” As vehemently against it as I am, I turn my attention to the stranger at the table, plaster on an artificial smile, and nod. My eyes return to Sakari, my gaze a touch softer. “It’s a rare treat to serve our rabbit dish. I had to see who ordered one of my favorite menu items.”
Lies.