Page 82 of For the Record
“Of course. I would never.” McCoy let out an exaggerated gasp before kissing her deeply. When they broke apart, she said, “I love you, Sawyer.”
Sawyer cleared her throat, glancing away. “Well …” Coughing, feeling like she needed to pull the words from her toes, Sawyer swallowed, murmuring, “What you said before, about me … for you.” Clearing her throat again, Sawyer snatched the last of the wine up and drank it in one gulp. She heaved a sigh. “I can see why you might think so.”
Silence, and then McCoy’s palm was resting on her cheek, tugging Sawyer’s gaze back. Laughter shone in her meadow green depths. “Really. Sawyer Lavoie. You are totally in love with me, aren't you? Told you I’d have you falling at my feet in no time.”
A laugh escaped Sawyer, “Please. If anyone is falling at someone’s feet, darling, it’ll be you.”
She gave McCoy a light shove, only to pull her back in again and place a kiss on her forehead.
Coy winked. “Promises, promises.”
Returning to work after spending almost a full twenty-four hours with McCoy felt like what she imagined coming back from vacation felt like. She was overtired, irritable, and perhaps a tad sulky. Sawyer was woman enough to admit it. Being a respected chef and owning a popular restaurant was incredible—it always had been—but having sex for hours with McCoy, followed by McCoy bringing her breakfast in bed, was nice, too.Realnice.
A bag of potatoes landed with a lightthudon the prep table near Sawyer, and Cindy’s face came into view. “You’re in a daze today.”
“Am I?” Sawyer gave herself a mental shake, blowing air out past her lips. She picked up her rolling pin again. “Surely not. I was just thinking of, you know, um, next week’s menu.”
“Uh-huh,” Cindy snickered, giving Sawyer a gentle shoulder check. “I’m happy for you, albeit a bit disappointed Lori and I have yet to officially meet McCoy.”
“Coy,” Sawyer corrected, although the shortened version of McCoy’s name sounded strange on her lips. When Cindy looked at her blankly, she added, “She goes by Coy.”
“But you call her—”
“Cin, listen to me when I’m telling you something. Please.” A laugh slipped out, and Cindy’s eyes widened in surprise. The chatter around the kitchen halted to a stop, and every one of her staff within earshot turned toward them, stunned expressions on their faces.
A blush so deep set Sawyer’s cheeks aflame, and she scowled, “Calisse. I’m certain you all have better things to do than eavesdrop on my conversation.Retourne au travail.”
“Understood, Chef.”
“Sorry, Chef.”
Barb grinned from where she stood at the stove. “Did all those flowers accomplish that melodic sound?”
“Nah, Barb, I’d say it’s all the orgasms she’s been having,” Cindy said, quick-witted as ever.
“Vas te faire foutre, both of you,” Sawyer sniped, but she didn’t have it in her to be genuinely upset. God, what was McCoydoingto her? She couldn’t afford to go soft in this business. She’d been carving a name out for herself for too long to allow feelings to cloud her senses.
“Hey,Maman,” Bree spoke up behind Sawyer, reaching around to plant a kiss on her cheek. Sawyer relaxed into the kindness of her daughter’s gaze. “Don’t be too hard on them. Your not-so-mysterious lover is all anyone can talk about.”
“Ugh, love,” Sawyer groaned. “Not you too.”
Bree laughed.
The next two hours of prep sped by, with Bree and Sawyer working together to make thetourtières. Cindy shadowed Shane as he created his first dish all on his own, and Sawyer found her attention straying to their station often. Cindy was competent in the kitchen, and from everything Sawyer had seen since she’d returned to work, she’d make a good head chef.
Wait, what?Why was she thinking of that? An interim head chef was one thing, but to come on in a full-time, permanent capacity?
What would that mean for Sawyer?
“This is really nice,” Bree said, glancing up at her. She had a spattering of flour decorating her apron and jawline, and perspiration dotted her hairline from the kitchen's warmth.
“What is, love?”
Bree shrugged, a small smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “This. Working with you. Makingtourtièresand bakingpouding chômeur, butter tarts,tarte au sucre, and everything else. It brings back good memories. I’ve always loved helping you in the kitchen.”
Sawyer hesitated, really considering what Bree might have been saying in between the lines. She’d never asked her if restaurant work could be a serious aspiration. In high school, Bree had mentioned possible careers with a background in social science, and Sawyer had all but thrown her on the plane toward her bright future. Anything to get her away from her father’s toxicity. She’d never wanted Bree to feel trapped in her life like Sawyer so often had.
“You’re not returning to California, are you?”