Page 18 of For the Record
“Stretch it out now. No sense waiting.”
“Copy that, Chef.”
Tristan, a new hire for the floor, appeared by Sawyer’s side. “Chef, a customer is asking about what’s included in these coupons. It’s the first time I’ve seen them, but it looks like your signature on the bottom.”
Sawyer examined the two vouchers, paying special attention to the grease smudge on one corner. McCoy’s face instantly came to mind, and she bet if she sniffed the slips in Tristan’s hand, they’d carry a hint of her cologne.
She wrinkled her nose. Why would she think ofthat?
McCoy hadn’t given Sawyer an answer yet regarding the McLaren, and Sawyer was curious to see who would accompany her to an upscale French fusion restaurant like Desmarais. Honestly, she had expected McCoy to give the vouchers away. She didn’t strike Sawyer as the fine dining type.
“Barb, cover the line!” she called to her sous-chef, removing her apron. To Tristan, she took the vouchers from him and said, “Which table?”
“Um, thirty-four, Chef.”
“Thank you. I can take their order, Tristan. Check back when their meal is ready to go out. In the meantime, go change yourshirt. You’ve spilled sauce down the front. Any one of those customers out there could be a food critic.”
Tristan examined his black dress shirt like he was seeing the stain for the first time before his gaze darted up to Sawyer’s again. “U-understood, Chef,” he stammered and scurried from the kitchen.
Sawyer paused just inside the front house and took a breath. She always had to screw her head on a little tighter and focus when she greeted customers. Heads often turned, as if people in the dining area had never seen a chef approach a table before. And, well, interpersonal skills weren’t Sawyer’s strong suit. She held her chin up proudly and forced her feet to move, but in reality, her knees quaked, and her entire posture felt unbalanced.
McCoy had a deuce seater corner table, not too far from the bar, so Sawyer was able to use that to her advantage. Instead of flouncing right out in the middle of the restaurant where everyone could see her, she got within earshot first.
“You look happy, Abs. Settled.”
McCoy’s smooth voice rushed over Sawyer, doing wonders to excite and annoy her at the same time. She didn’t know why, but there was something about McCoy that made Sawyer’s pulse work harder when she was around.
“I am. Life is falling into place, Coy. Tess’s …”
Sawyer drowned out the other woman’s voice, focusing only on the nickname she had for McCoy. So, the mechanic didn’t go by her full name all the time?Interesting. Sawyer wondered who had the privilege of calling her Coy. Friends, or was it a pet name reserved for lovers?
What is wrong with you? Get your head in the game! Two stars, remember?Sawyer took a deep breath, exhaling as she stepped past the plant and came into view.
“Cheers to that, babe,” McCoy was saying, and Sawyer watched as she raised her wine glass to toast the other woman. “Abs”, as McCoy called her, was a gorgeous woman with stunning glacier-blue eyes and caramel-highlighted light brown hair. She looked closer to Bree’s age than McCoy’s and light years younger than Sawyer felt on the best of days. She didn’t know why but seeing her smiling and giggling with McCoy made Sawyer’s stomach clench.
She approached their table, standing tall with her hands folded behind her back, and cleared her throat. “Good evening.”
McCoy’s mouth dropped open when she noticed her. “Sawyer!” She was handsomely dressed in a black buttoned short-sleeved dress shirt with red suspenders. If there was one thing Sawyer could say about the younger woman, it was that she certainly had an eye-catching, eccentric style. Her body art covered one whole arm, and on the other, it looked like just an upper half sleeve. Sawyer’s gaze lowered, observing McCoy’s black cargo shorts and the large tattoo covering most of her muscular calf. Decorative socks were pulled up as far as they could go. Handmade bracelets adorned both wrists. Quite a different look from her usual work attire.
Sawyer glanced back and forth between McCoy and her mysterious friend, finally narrowing her eyes on the mechanic. “You had a question for me?”
McCoy visibly gulped, like she was trying to draw in all the air in the room. “Ah, um … uh-huh,” she stammered, staring up at Sawyer with a pair of widened, pretty green eyes. Her chiseled jaw was slack as if merely looking at Sawyer made speech impossible. An intriguing dusting of blush stained her cheeks. The striking red bowtie fastened around her neck obscured any rosy skin underneath, but Sawyer imagined it was as arousing as the display before her now. She could admit this—she verymuch enjoyed a frazzled McCoy. There was nothing like putting cockiness in its place.
“Coy and I were wondering what you recommend at Desmarais,” Abs smoothly cut in, making Sawyer bristle. Abs shot McCoy an amused smirk before giving Sawyer a wide smile and tilting the menu closer. Pointing to the one dish most customers inexperienced with a French menu ordered, she said, “I was thinking of tryingratatouillesince it was always a childhood curiosity of mine, but what do you recommend, Chef Lavoie?”
Oof, she was a smooth talker; Sawyer could tell already. It was hard to hate a woman who came off so friendly. Not to mention, she memorized Sawyer’s last name just to use it later in conversation.
Sawyer relaxed a little, admitting, “Ratatouilleis excellent. Rich and flavorful, but I suppose it depends on what you’re in the mood for.“ Her gaze returned to the second woman at the table, watching the moment McCoy realized she had an audience. Perverse enjoyment filtered through Sawyer when McCoy almost knocked her wine glass over. She sniggered, turning back to her enchanting guest. Scanning the menu momentarily, Sawyer pointed out a few of the more popular options.
“Desmarais’sbouillabaissesoup is our most popular right now, as most of our fish come fresh from the market each day. Or if you’re craving stew, then Barb makes the bestblanquette de veauthis side of the Pacific.“ She paused, adding, “If simple and wholesome is on the menu tonight, my version of theQuébécois tourtièreshould hit the spot.”
“Tor-tortei what?” McCoy sputtered, perking up in her chair like Sawyer had offered her the keys to her house. It was hard to concentrate on anything except the exhilarating way McCoy waswatching her. She looked willing to do anything, even get on her knees for Sawyer right in the middle of the restaurant.
Where did that come from?she thought, clearing her throat. Sawyer repeated in a thick voice, “Tourtière. It’s a meat pie. Savory, double-crusted—”
“Sold,” McCoy cut in, a silly grin on her face now. Somehow, she managed to be both annoying and endearing.
“I’ll have Barb’s specialty,” Abs added, smiling up at Sawyer. “Thanks for coming out here. Coy hasn’t stopped talking about the project she’ll be helping you with.”