“Stop.” She straightened and grabbed a napkin and patted her eyes dry. “Oh my God.” She took deep breaths as she tried to get ahold of her laughter. “I’m going to burn dinner if you don’t stop.”

She checked the oven, adjusted the temperature and moved to the refrigerator, pulling out bags from every shelf.

While she laid things out on the counter, Joe asked Tate, “How’s the camp going?”

“Great. I’ve got another bunch of awesome kids.” Tate gave his dad some of the hockey specifics, lining out the skills he was teaching the kids, and where the kids played during the year. “Will you be able to make it for the dinner?”

“I’m planning on it.” He grinned at Olivia. “Olivia must not be a hockey fan. She’s way too quiet.”

She pulled a white casserole dish from the cupboards and set it on the counter, then moved the cutting board so she could face them while she worked. “I told Tate I watched a lot of hockey with my dad as a kid. He passed away and I moved overseas, and I sort of lost track of the sport.” She grinned at Tate. “But you can bet I’ll be watching this season.”

“I’m sorry about your dad, hon,” Joe said.

“Thanks. Yeah, great man. I wish I’d had more years with him.” She smiled at Joe while she laid out big fat tomatoes and log of buffalo mozzarella on the cutting board. “You two would have liked each other.”

Olivia sliced tomatoes, then moved onto the cheese. Her speed, skill, and grace were mesmerizing and both Tate and Joe watched her layer a broad basil leave on a thick slice of tomato all on top of a generous slab of mozzarella before standing it on it’s side in the dish. She repeated that pattern, filling the casserole dish with two bright rows of red, white and green salad within minutes.

“Are you going to be here tomorrow?” Olivia asked Joe. “I was thinking of making his boys lunch and bringing it to the rink. If you come with me you could tell me what the heck’s going on.”

Tate’s heart was doing acrobatics. She’d just combined two of the most important things in his life together—hockey and family—in a casual morning outing that held no benefit for her. If he wasn’t so jaded, he’d think he was falling in love with her, right there on the spot.

“I have an afternoon meeting,” Joe said. “Then I fly out, but I’m free until eleven, and that’s the best invitation I’ve had since I got here.”

“Hey, now,” Tate joked. “You’re here aren’t you?”

While Olivia washed the cutting board, Joe said, “Now, if you’re just starting culinary school, where’d you learned to do all this?”

She grinned over her shoulder. “On the job training.” She dried her hands and whipped together a vinaigrette dressing, then drizzled it over the top of the dish and set it aside. “I’ve been cooking for years. I learn as I go.”

“Then why school? You’re obviously skilled and experienced. Why not just start a catering company?”

“Probably because I’ve worked for quite a few and I know how difficult they are to run. In fact the whole event planning business is a real struggle. I was trying to explain that to my mom last night. Her business has been sort of limping along for ten years. It can often be a feast or famine environment. And competitive. Mom and Quinn are really good at what they do, but most of the time it’s not what you can do, it’s—”

“Who you know,” Joe finished for her.

She nodded. “And thanks to Beckett and Eden and Tate and all these other great people here, Essex has gotten a second wind. But what I learned from living the work and watching the way company after company after company like Mom’s and Quinn’s ran is that there are a variety of reasons businesses fail, and some of them are the opposite of what you’d expect. Like growing too fast. I’d rather watch others make the mistakes instead of jumping in and making them myself.” She wrinkled her nose. “I think that’s called lazy.”

“I think,” Tate said, “that’s called smart.”

She offered a soft smile and moved to the fridge again, returning with more bags. She drew a pan from the lower cupboard. “I also don’t want to get stuck cooking at a greasy spoon all my life because I didn’t go after a degree. As a cook you make a little more than minimum wage. As a chef with a reputable culinary school’s name behind you, life opens up. You can work as an executive chef, personal chef, run your own business, develop a food-based company.”

“Do you know what you want to do?” Joe asked.

She sighed, leveled a light, careless smile on Joe and said, “Nope.”

Joe and Tate laughed together.

“All right, son,

we should stop distracting her.”

“Thanks for keeping me company,” she told Joe. “I’ll get your number from Tate and check in tomorrow.”

“Perfect.”

“Tate, do you have a minute? I had a couple of ideas on the menu for your event.”

“Sure.”

Tags: Skye Jordan Rough Riders Hockey Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net