Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
But he’d always been most creative in their bed.
Chapter Eleven
They spent a couple of hours going through everything. Ransom was so good at this. Ava marveled at the enticing menus he created and his fabulous ideas for holidays and special events. She liked to change up the rotating menus every quarter so her people didn’t get bored. But would he be on board with doing this all over again in three months? With looking at her other facilities across the country?
That struck her in the heart—that he might do all of this, then go on his merry way, leaving her behind, ghosting her once again for his fabulous famous chef’s life.
She didn’t mention anything long term, telling herself that she had to think only about the next few months. By then, she would have found somebody permanent. Someone who could continue with all his ideas. Someone who didn’t have another life they couldn’t wait to get back to.
When her stomach suddenly rumbled, she glanced at the computer clock. Three thirty. How the time had flown, and even after that huge breakfast, she was hungry again.
“I would say we could push through on the rest of this.” Ransom grinned at her. “But your stomach is sending out messages.”
Her hand went reflexively to her belly. “I am a bit hungry.”
He handed her one of the menus they’d printed out. “Pick something from this, and I’ll make it for you.”
The fact that she was dying to have him cook for her was going too far. She needed to get off the bus right now. They’d already spent too much time together. And while for the entire time in his office they’d been completely businesslike, she had teased him over the pancakes. It could all turn against her in a second.
She’d been fighting an attraction for him all day long, and yesterday as well. Quite frankly, the exertion exhausted her.
The voice inside her frightened her the most—the persistent little voice asking, Wouldn’t it just be easier to give in?
She sat up straight. What the hell was she thinking?
“So what, you have test kitchens right here in your building?” Her words came off a little sharp and sarcastic.
But he didn’t seem to notice. “I do.” Of course he would. “But now that I think about it, I’d rather take you over to the restaurant. They have everything I need right there. And I’ll choose the menu. Okay with you?”
Her heart, already ravaged by him years ago, screamed at her to say no. But something far bigger ran through her head. Though she’d never been in his restaurant, she’d walked by and maybe once or twice gazed through its windows. Now, here was her chance. She couldn’t resist seeing what would undoubtedly be an incredible kitchen. Nor could she resist letting him cook for her after so many years.
That part of her won. “Yes, okay. You choose.” But she absolutely would not chop vegetables for him. That task would hold far too many memories.
The restaurant was closed between lunch and dinner, so when they entered, they found the staff setting up for the evening. The tables were set apart, with tall planter boxes dividing the large room into smaller corners while low lighting turned the atmosphere more intimate.
Ransom led her straight to the kitchen, though he wasn’t remiss in greeting his people, stopping at a newly laid table to say, “Brilliant work there,” and patting the woman on the arm. He smiled and waved hello as if he actually knew these people. But how could he when he was always gallivanting around the world?
Just before entering the kitchen, he tapped a sweet-faced young busboy on the shoulder. “Could you set a table for two by the window? I’ll be making a meal for myself and the lady.” He looked from Ava to the boy, whose face flushed as if he were being called out by his employer.
“Y-yes, sir,” he stammered and rushed off for linens and cutlery, while Ransom said, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
He was so polite to them, as if they were not just his staff, but people he respected, even down to the busboys.
He pushed through the swinging doors, holding one for Ava so it didn’t slap her in the face. The kitchen was already warm; maybe it never lost its heat. Men and women in white coats dashed about or stood at the counters prepping for the night’s menu. The actual meal would be cooked once a customer ordered, but all manner of things needed to be done ahead of time—preparing dill sauce, chopping scallions, slicing vegetables, peeling potatoes.
He was just as complimentary here. As he passed a woman whipping cream, he said, “Your peaks are perfect.” The woman smiled her gratitude.
Ava wanted to laugh, hearing a vague innuendo in his words, though neither Ransom nor the chef seemed to take it that way. It was just her naughty mind. And watching him in his element, oh yes, her peaks were up and paying attention.