Dirty Chef

Not wanting to barge in like a lunatic, I exited the building through the back and went next door. It was the entrance to our kitchen and would allow me to sneak up on her instead—like a normal person.

I unlocked the door and came through the small entryway, and I found Tracy in the kitchen with a bunch of crates filled with vegetables.

“There you are.” He cocked his head at me. “You usually come the other…” He gestured toward the dining area, then went, “Ah. Never mind.”

“She out there right now?” I asked tightly.

He nodded, confused.

I clenched my jaw and walked over to the door, where I could peer out the round window. And fuck. Yeah. She was there, all right. In the empty dining area, she was legit treating this motherfucker to a private date. No. Get your shit together. She wouldn’t. I growled under my breath.

I assessed the situation as well as I could from this angle, and all I could see was the two of them. The bar blocked their table.

Why was she sitting with him?

Just tell him to piss off.

I glanced back at Tracy. “Are they eating? Has she cooked?”

We did serve lunch some days, but today wasn’t one of them. If they were eating, if this was a legit date, she must’ve prepared food for them. Unless he brought it. Regardless, it infuriated me.

Tracy shrugged. “I don’t know. I just got here a little while ago. I saw she wasn’t alone out there, so I didn’t bother them.”

He should’ve.

Fuck.

I was seriously trying my hardest to stay rational here, but the girl wasn’t making it easy for me.

This wasn’t the first time I’d been jealous because of something Alessia did, though things were different now. Right? Yesterday had changed it all. Even though we definitely had shit to hash out, I had some say. This was us. We weren’t strangers who’d been on their first date.

Maybe you should consider the dumb-ass rep you’ve tried to uphold in front of her.

I flinched.

What’d once seemed like a brilliant plan to make sure she didn’t think I was practically her personal stalker didn’t seem so smart anymore. What did she even think of me? She thought I’d slept around like a dog. She’d joke about my manwhoring ways without having a single clue of the truth.

She also believed I didn’t want a family, because up until yesterday, that’d been the case. I’d never wanted the stereotypical version of a family, which I’d made abundantly clear, but I hadn’t thought there was an alternative.

I was an idiot.

So was she, in my wounded opinion. She shouldn’t be with that dick.

I couldn’t stop myself. I pushed the door open and walked straight out into the dining area, and Alessia glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes widened.

Did someone feel caught?

“Adam. What’re you doing here?”

I eyed the guy she was with and wanted to scoff. He wasn’t her type. He looked entirely too wholesome and plain. Alessia needed a man who could challenge her, a man with a strong voice, someone who didn’t act like a doormat. ’Cause she’d walk all over a man like that.

“I’m one of the owners,” I said and faced Alessia again. “Is that enough?” I didn’t wait for her response. Instead, I dragged a chair from a nearby table and joined them. “This looks cozy.” They were having coffee.

“What the hell do you think you’re up to?” Alessia asked under her breath. News flash, we could both hear her just fine.

The blond dude cleared his throat and jerked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing at the exit. “Maybe I should…”

“Best idea I’ve heard all day,” I agreed and stared at him.

“No.” Alessia was pissed. She threw her napkin on the table and stood up. “We’ll both leave. Garrett, let’s go.”

I gnashed my teeth.

Was she serious?

I thought I was gonna blow my fuse when I watched them leave. They were fucking leaving! He opened the door for her, and she stepped out before retrieving her keys so she could lock the door. She wasn’t wearing her coat.

I sat there, floored.

What the fresh hell?

She’d walked out. With another man.

The anger took over completely, and I marched out to the kitchen again.

Fuck rhyme and reason, fuck giving her the benefit of the doubt.

“Hypothetically speaking,” I snapped, “say you hook up with a woman—”

“Gross,” Tracy noted and furrowed his brow. “You okay, boss?”

I ignored the question and summoned whatever patience I had left. “Say you hook up with a dude—better? You get along great. Maybe you’re in business together. Maybe you’re best friends. Then, the day after, she—he—goes on a date with someone else. Would you flip your lid?”

Tracy offered me a lazy grin.

So I felt the need to repeat, “Hypothetically speaking.”

He snorted at that. “Well, hypothetically, I’d be pissed. Kinda like you are right now. So I suggest you talk to her because maybe there’s a misunderstanding. Also, congratulations. I’ve been rooting for you two—hypothetically.” He smiled.