Page 4 of Mariah

He’d see one today, he reminded himself. Any moment now the one called Mariah would show up and probably run through the door yelling and giggling with no regard for anyone but herself and not a care in the world despite the fact that this would be a real job he could only assume she’d be paid for.

Shaking his head to try to clear himself of the negative thoughts encroaching, he turned his attention to the menu. The one they’d been following when cooking for themselves was pretty simple, Little-friendly foods like pancakes and waffles. He’d work off it until he had time to create his own menu with his own spin on the favorites and order the supplies he’d need. Pulling a notepad and pen from his apron pocket, he wrote down meal ideas and started a shopping list. He was so engrossed that he never heard her approach and her timid greeting startled him.

“Hello. Are you Chef Graham?”

Startled, he spun on his heel to find her standing at the entrance of the industrial gourmet kitchen. She was already wearing an apron and looked ready to work. Her apron was orange with purple cats, and looking at her, it was the only outward sign of her Littleness.

Her bright red curls had been pulled back into a ponytail tied at the base of her neck and covered with a hairnet. She wore black jeans and a white button-down shirt with no jewelry or other accessories. Her pale skin was smattered with light freckles the color of sand, and he was immediately drawn to her.

Stop it. She’s just here to earn money and assist you in the kitchen, he reminded himself, shifting from one foot to the other uncomfortably to accommodate his growing erection.

“Chef Graham?” she asked again, pulling him from his stupor.

“I… yes… that’s me,” he stuttered. A split second later he remembered his manners and stepped toward her with his hand extended. “I’m Chef Graham. And you must be Mariah.”

“Yep. That’s me.” An awkward blush rose up her cheeks. He knew she was taken aback by his looks. He’d been told how handsome he was far too many times to not believe it at this point. His heritage was Greek and he had all the best features attributed to them in movies and books. Olive skin, dark chocolate eyes, a chiseled jaw and great hair. He kept it as short as he could, being that he worked in a kitchen all day, but his dark silky locks with their natural curl were his one vanity. He’d wear a hairnet all day long before he’d ever cut them really short.

Mariah gulped as she stared at him, and he quickly looked away. He didn’t want to be attracted to a Little or have her be attracted to him. He was here to cook and she was here to help. Nothing more. Nothing less. Keeping that in mind, he moved the introduction along.

“Well, now that we’ve properly met, let’s get started, shall we?”

“Yes, Da—Chef Graham.”

It didn’t escape his attention that she’d almost called him Daddy and caught herself. He told himself it was instinctual for her at this point, but he had no idea if that was true. He had no idea what she called Baze or if she’d ever had a Daddy of her own. Ignoring it, he walked over to the fridge and motioned for her to follow. “This is the menu that was made before I got here. I figured we’d follow it today and order more groceries later. I appreciate the opportunity for carb loading, but I’d like to work in a few healthier options and put my own twist on the classics.”

He expected her to groan and moan here, maybe even stomp her feet and tell him to stop being so fancy. That there was nothing wrong with pancakes and waffles and he needed to stop being so damn judgy. It was what Kaylie would have said. He recognized the toxicity now, but at the time, he’d taken everything she said and did to heart.

Mariah didn’t moan or whine or call him pretentious or judgy. Instead, she looked thrilled, clapping her hands together and bouncing on her heels. “Oh yum. I can’t wait. Do you make a good eggs benedict? Ooh, can you do home fries?” She paused and wrinkled her nose, casting her gaze to the floor.

He saw it then. She was lacking a security that only came with age and experience.

“Sorry. I know I shouldn’t make requests. You’re a big important chef and have your own way of doing things. And what works for us might not work for you. I’ll zip it now.” She drew her fingers across her lips and pantomimed throwing away the key.

Her own hesitation and where it must have come from tugged on the strings of his heart. He immediately felt a kinship with her, having a hunch they’d both experienced similar toxic relationships that had left them scarred and feeling broken. But she was still a Little. And her compliance and empathy could be nothing more than an act—a desperate plea for attention.

He still couldn’t help but reassure. “That’s nonsense,” he pshawed. “I want you and your friends to enjoy the food I cook for you. I’d love a second set of eyes on my list and menu and welcome any feedback you might have. And yes, I can and will make both of those things. How does this weekend sound?”

“Dangerous,” she answered with a grin. “I’m not sure how my friends will feel about grown-up food, but eggs Benedict is my favorite and I haven’t had it in so long.” She looked down at the floor and quickly looked back up. “Would it mess up the menu too much if you did it next Monday instead? That’s my birthday. It’s okay if you can’t. The weekend will be fine. I shouldn’t have asked.”

She asked for the favor and took it back in the same breath, and he had to admit his heart squeezed a bit. “Monday is fine,” he answered because what else could he say? He’d be a jerk if he admitted he didn’t want to make her special requests at all, much less for her birthday. It wasn’t that he minded doing something nice, or that he didn’t like the items she’d chosen, he just didn’t want to lead anyone on or give them the wrong idea. He wasn’t here to become anyone’s Daddy, and he knew from experience, for a Little, especially a wounded one, a massive crush could be launched with a simple kind word. He’d done more than that. Not only had he rushed to reassure her, he’d offered to make her favorite foods, and on her birthday no less. He could already tell he’d have to be careful around her. She was sweet and quiet and tugged at his heartstrings the way no Little had done since Kaylie.

Putting back on the gruff demeanor he’d planned to have, he grunted. “Anyway, we better get to work. People are probably getting hungry.”

Mariah giggled. “Probably. Most of my friends would sleep in if Baze would let them, but he likes to keep us on a schedule.”

Graham groaned. More details he hadn’t wanted. He was going to have to try to keep the conversation centered around work. “Right.” He clapped his hands together. “Well, let’s get started. Today’s menu is simple, just French toast and bacon. You go ahead and start cracking and whisking eggs.”

“Okay, do you want me to like, add in the milk and the cinnamon and all that?”

“No!” he exclaimed more loudly than he’d meant to.

Mariah looked wounded. Great. He was trying to be cold, not cruel.

“I… uh… I like to use my own recipe for the batter.”

Thankfully his explanation worked and she was back to smiling. “Cool. Maybe you could teach it to me sometime. Then I could help you more.”

Over my dead body. That was what he wanted to say. He knew it wasn’t reasonable. A sous chef should know the chef’s recipes. It was part of their job. Normally he wouldn’t think twice about sharing them. Then again, he’d never had a Little as a kitchen assistant before.