I laughed and stole a carrot stick. “Be nice to Tracy, okay?”
He frowned. “He’s a punk.”
I lifted a brow. “He’s a sweetheart. If you think he’s a punk, it’s probably because you’ve been a moody prick.”
That was the moment Tracy came out of the kitchen. “Who’s a moody prick? Griffin?”
Crap. I said nothing. I chewed on my carrot instead.
Tracy’s mouth twitched. “Silence speaks.”
“How about you respect the chef?” Griffin shot back.
Oh boy. One jaded, rough-around-the-edges, grumpy man stared down a cocky, defensive sweetheart with a crush.
A beat later, Tracy turned to me. “I miss Adam already.”
I squeezed his hand. He had all my sympathy. “Okay, well…don’t burn down the restaurant. And Griffin, I have your mother’s number,” I said. “Don’t make me use it.”
I left before things could escalate further, and I took the elevator to the third floor.
Nerves fluttered inside me as I opened the door and was met by music and the smell of Adam’s cooking.
“Shit.” I almost dropped the boxes in an attempt to remove my beanie. That would have to wait. Instead, I kicked off my boots and trailed into the kitchen. Adam sent me an indecent little smirk. Then again, everything about him was indecent.
“Hi, Chef.” I set down the boxes on the kitchen island.
“Hey, you.” He was baking something. He didn’t bake many different things, so I assumed it was buns for the burgers.
“It smells amazing.” I shrugged out of my coat and stepped closer to the stove. “What’ve you been up to?” Three pots were on the stove, and something was in the oven.
“Chef’s secret.” He was amused; I was the one who searched for presents around the house weeks before Christmas. “I’m gonna need another hour or so. You can…do whatever.”
I snorted and trekked back to the hallway. “I guess I can take a shower and get the alcohol. By the way, why don’t I smell the brisket?”
His low and slow brisket was possibly my favorite in the whole world.
“It’s resting downstairs,” he replied. “You’re gonna love the bark.”
I had no doubt. It was almost the best part of the brisket. And that got me thinking… “When did you get up this morning?” Because low and slow was slow. But oh so delicious. Totally worth waiting twelve hours for.
Adam smirked lazily. “Around four?”
“Jesus. I hope you got some rest.”
He nodded and washed his hands at the sink. “Got a couple hours around noon. Now, get out of here.”
“Aye-aye, captain.” I disappeared into my room and aimed for the shower.
Nine
Alessia Rossi
I didn’t have to get the alcohol for the desserts from downstairs, because when I was done pampering myself, having almost fallen asleep in my tub, Adam had finished every task on the list. Including getting the brisket. All I brought was my phone and my notebook and a pen.
Since it was just the two of us, I’d gone with Isla’s advice again. Too-short pajama bottoms and a top I normally wore underneath button-downs and blouses. I wasn’t usually a spaghetti-strap type of girl, but…
I wanted Adam, all right? Maybe he would like it.
The memory of how his previous girlfriends had looked crossed my mind, and I forced it out again. I had to jump.
My mouth watered on the way to the kitchen, and my heart melted too. He’d dimmed the lights and lit candles on the kitchen island, and he’d set a corner for us to sit at. Buying the kitchen island had been a bigger priority than having an actual table, because he needed the space to work. He’d cleared it now, though. And treated the heavy oak top with oil, I noticed.
One of his country rock playlists was on in the background.
He’d always loved to cook to music.
“I have no words.” I truly didn’t. He was still working on the plates on the counter next to the sink, but what I saw was enough.
Homemade burger buns, smoked brisket falling out over the sides, crisp lettuce…shit, he was using Brie. Oh my God, I was going to fall into a food coma after this.
He’d placed four bottles of wine and three types of beer on the island, so I figured we were going to put together a wine and beer list for the menu too. Always in marketing mode, I snapped a couple photos of the cozy setup.
“Have a seat and pour us some wine, lo…” His voice trailed off when he faced me, carrying two plates. And I didn’t know where to look. At him watching me or those plates. My gaze flittered all over, and my cheeks heated up. Adam cleared his throat. “I didn’t know the dress code was dirty lingerie.”
I coughed and blushed furiously. “This—isn’t dirty.” Mannaggia, I’d gone too far, hadn’t I? My clothes weren’t dirty. Far from it. It wasn’t even lingerie! It only proved how plain my wardrobe was when it came to comfy clothes. “Your jeans are probably dirtier.”