Or maybe it was her feelings that were more complicated.
Deciding that she didn’t want to examine that idea too closely, Élise pulled a couple of plates from the cupboard.
“It’s a beautiful evening. Let’s go out on the deck.” It would feel less crowded. Less intimate.
“First I need to cook the
steak and prepare the salad.” Sean opened a bottle of wine and poured her a glass. “Try this. It’s Californian.”
She sipped and gave a nod of approval. “It’s good.”
“I picked it up in the village when I was buying a few things for Grams. She sent her thanks to you for filling their freezer, by the way. That was kind of you. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Why? Because I’m not family?” The rush of emotion knocked her off-balance like a gust of wind and she knew it was because she’d been looking at that photo. “To me they are like family. And nothing is more important than caring for people you love.”
He reached for a skillet. “I wasn’t questioning your affection for them or your relationship. Simply observing that between the restaurant and the café you already have more than enough to do.”
And she’d overreacted. She could see it in his eyes.
She wondered what it was about this man that brought out the worst in her. She’d tried to tame that part of herself and had thought she’d succeeded.
Until Sean.
Miserably aware that where he was concerned her emotions were all over the place, she walked across the kitchen and found him a bowl for the salad. Her insides churned like an ice-cream maker. “I’ll make a dressing.”
“I already made one. You can relax.”
Relaxing wasn’t an option so she drank her wine and watched as he unwrapped two steaks and heated oil. It was a simple enough meal but still it was all too domestic and for a moment Élise stood there, frozen by her own memories.
Which made no sense because her one tarnished experience of domesticity had looked nothing like this.
He flipped the steaks expertly and threw her a glance. “What am I doing wrong?”
“Nothing. I didn’t know you could cook.”
“I don’t think you’d describe this as cooking, would you?” His mouth was a sensual curve. “I live alone and despite what I tell my grandfather I don’t always want to eat in the hospital, in restaurants or get takeout so I taught myself the basics. And, of course, it’s useful for impressing women.”
“And does it work?”
“Taste it and tell me.” He plated up the steaks and salad. “I bought most of this from the farm shop on my way back from the hospital. There’s a fresh loaf in the bag.”
She placed the bread on a wooden board and cut through it, examining the texture with a nod of approval. “They have wonderful stuff. We serve their jams in the restaurant, although Elizabeth is working on a new Snow Crystal recipe. It’s going to be spectacular.”
“You serve jam and not just our own maple syrup? That’s close to heresy.”
“The maple syrup is available, too, of course. And not just because removing it from the breakfast menu would ensure your grandfather fired me.”
“My grandfather would never let you go. And neither would Jackson. You’re safe.” He handed her a plate, his fingers brushing against hers. “It must have been a big risk for you, leaving a restaurant like Chez Laroche and joining Jackson’s organization.” The question was casual enough, even reasonable, but it put her on edge.
She walked across her little kitchen and picked up napkins and cutlery with her free hand. “Why? Jackson had a very successful company before he came back to Snow Crystal. It was very early in my career and I had more freedom working with him at Snowdrift Leisure than I ever did working for Pascal.”
She’d practiced saying his name frequently so that she could be confident of pronouncing it without faltering or wanting to stick a knife through something.
“What was it like, working for someone as famous as Laroche? Did he have an ego?”
There was no reason not to tell the truth about this part, was there?
“He was complex. Charismatic, demanding, often unreasonable in his quest for perfection. A genius in the kitchen. Everyone wanted to work with him but for every person who came out able to get a job in any restaurant in the world, there were eight who he broke. Some never cooked again after working with him.”