Page 22 of Best Served Hot

Someone save me from that look in his eyes, I prayed, and it was then I learned that God has a hilarious sense of humor, because the kitchen door swung open. Out marched a woman carrying a plate. I didn’t see what was on the plate at first, because I knew this woman. She was short and dark-haired, with rosy cheeks and shiny gold Converses that sparkled beneath the ceiling lights. I’d seen her wearing those same gold Converses on TV.

My brain short-circuited a little as she kept on marching toward our table, and I saw what she was holding on her plate. It was some sort of twisted pastry with cherries and a chocolate sauce forming . . . hearts all over the plate. And just one dainty fork.

Oh. Oh no.

She set the plate on our table with a wide smile. “I hear it’s a special day for you, and I wanted to bring you this babka beignet on the house. Happy anniversary!”

Oh my God. I couldn’t believe I had to lie to Chef Sadie Rosen.

“Thanks,” Bennett was saying, so I went with something that was actually true.

“The food here is outstanding,” I said. She turned to me. “I swear I’m not just saying this because you’re here, but I rooted for you your whole season of Chef Supreme.”

“Thank you, that’s so sweet,” she said, cheeks splitting in a wide smile that drilled dimples into the rose. She reached up to push a curl out of her eye, and my own eyes widened at the pear-shaped diamond glittering on her ring finger. She noticed me eyeing it and chuckled. “Luke—yes, Luke Weston, the judge from Chef Supreme—proposed a couple weeks ago. We’re very excited.”

“Congratulations!” I said. I thought they’d had chemistry on the show. “Could we take a selfie?”

“Of course!” She bent toward me as I held out my phone. I smiled extra wide as I took the photo; yes, I was excited to get it for myself, but my readers would love it, too. It might draw some extra attention to my page, especially if I dropped the news about the engagement. A lot of my followers were also big fans of Chef Supreme. Though, to be fair, a lot of people in general were big fans of Chef Supreme.

“Thank you so much,” I said after a quick check to make sure neither of us had our eyes closed or were angled so that you could see up our noses.

“No problem,” she said, then gestured at the babka beignet. “Go ahead, try it!”

Bennett reached for the fork first and scooped up a perfect bite of everything, which was a relief. A relief that turned into panic when he held the fork out toward me. Not for me to take—for me to take a bite. “For you, sweetheart.” His eyes sparkled behind his glasses.

I squared my shoulders. I could not believe this was happening. “Thank you, darling,” I forced out, and let him feed me.

My lips closed over the fork, Bennett watching the entire time. My face warmed again at the intentness of his stare on my mouth, but surely he was just watching to see when he could remove the utensil.

The babka beignet was spectacular, light and fluffy and buttery, the chocolate filling dark and sweet against the tart brightness of the cherry. I parted my lips so that he could pull the fork back. His face was red again.

Fortunately, he didn’t make me feed him, just took a bite himself.

Sadie asked, “So? What do you think?”

“Delicious,” he said, but he wasn’t even looking at the dessert. He was looking at me.

I couldn’t even bring myself to answer. I could still feel the insistent push of his fork against my lips.

Sadie clapped her hands together. “Wonderful! Well, I won’t keep you any longer. Happy anniversary again.” I thanked her for the dessert, and she moved back toward the kitchen. Just before she passed inside, she looked back and called out, across the entire restaurant, “You two make the cutest couple, by the way!”

I was saved from having to respond by the door swinging shut behind her. I took another bite of babka beignet, keeping my eyes averted from my nemesis. Who let out a short laugh. “It’s good she didn’t go back to judge Chef Supreme, because she is not good at judging people. Right? We must have done a really good job at faking it.”

My own laugh came a moment too late. “Yeah. Right. We must have.”

I kept an eye on him as we finished our “anniversary” dessert. At the way his eyes narrowed the tiniest bit right before he laughed, the thoughtful way he chewed, eyes fixed upward as if he were writing about it in his head, the clean lines of his jaw. When one bite left behind a smear of gleaming crimson cherry sauce on his cheek, I had to fold my hands in my lap to resist reaching over and brushing it off with my thumb.

I was in trouble.

9

I hadn’t been out to a bar since I’d been ghosted by the taxidermy enthusiast (a phrase that became sadder and sadder the more I thought about it). Though this bar was nicer than any of the bars he’d taken me to. The Dead Squirrel played at being a grunge bar, sure—the lighting was dim, the walls black, the music loud—but the floors weren’t sticky, and the beers all cost at least twelve dollars.

No way I was paying that much for something that made me grimace when I drank it, no matter how cool it helped me look. I didn’t need to look cool tonight. My followers wouldn’t be seeing any of this. They didn’t need a window into me serving as Alice’s moral support during trivia night. Nothing against Alice or moral support; I was just terrible at trivia.

“Hey!” I waved over the bar until I caught the bartender’s attention. “I’ll take something fruity, please. Ideally where you can’t taste the alcohol.” I’d sip it slowly all night so that I didn’t have to pay for a second drink. Which meant it should be . . . “But strong, please.”

“If you’re looking for something strong, maybe you should look this way,” said the guy next to me. Or shouted, really, to be heard over the guitars clashing through the speakers. Which kind of ruined the suave effect I thought he was going for.