Not that there was anything wrong with that.
So when Garnet walked into North by Northwest wearing a swingy little skirt, my cock sprang into action. I had a vision of walking down the street behind her with just enough wind blowing up the back of her skirt, leaving me a delicious little view of her ass cheeks. Of course, framed by a pretty lace thong of some sort. God, I loved a woman’s ass in a thong.
But I was getting ahead of myself.
I’d grabbed a seat at the restaurant’s bar for a quick drink before she joined me. The place was pretty much closed for the night, with just a couple tables left to finish coffee and pay the bill. We didn’t like to rush people out—it was a shitty way to treat folks who’d just dropped a boatload of money. Plus, it gave the head chef and me the chance to come out, say hello, and thank them for coming by. That was one of the most important roles of being a chef, welcoming diners. It made them feel real special.
“Brose, hi!” She was all smiles. I loved that.
“Well, look at you,” I said, trying not to drool. I didn’t want to be that sort of guy. At least not yet.
“You don’t look too bad yourself with those cool duds you’ve got there,” she said.
I looked over my chef’s jacket. “I managed to keep myself pretty clean today. No major spillage.”
“Well done.”
She was eyeing the bar, probably comparing it to the place where she worked. “Can I get you a drink?” I asked her.
“Oh, that’d be great. I bet you guys have the good stuff here. Unlike Drive By.”
“Hey, there’s a time for everything. Sometimes a fancy place like this is called for, and sometimes a down-home place like Drive By is just what the doctor ordered.”
I called the bartender over to get Garnet something bubbly and pink, and I got a refill on my Jamesons. Garnet turned to face me on her barstool and held up her glass as a toast. She also gave me a peek at her long, long legs, which ended in those little high-heeled boots all the girls were wearing.
“Here’s to making new friends,” she said with that crooked little smile that just about killed me.
“Cheers to that, goddammit,” I said. Christ, I wanted to kiss her. Down boy…
“So Brose, how long have you been here as sous chef?” She looked truly interested, unlike some women I dated who just wanted to know if I was making bank yet.
I took a swig on my whiskey. “Four years. Started as a line cook and moved up pretty quickly. The head chef yells a lot, but that means he likes you.” I laughed, shaking my head. The restaurant world was a funny one, no doubt about it.
“Are you hoping to be head chef some day?” she asked.
“Not sure. My real dream is to open my own place. But that takes a boatload of money. And time. And business skills that I don’t have.”
“There’s always something in the way of the dream, huh? Did you always want to cook?” she asked.
As she was looking around, checking out the restaurant, I was able to stare at her without being a creep. She wore some sort of crisscross sleeveless top that showed just enough cleavage and also showed off her silky skin. I followed her arms down to her fingers, which were long, thin, and delicate. Hard to believe she shilled cheap beer all day long.
“Hell, yes. Ever since I could reach the stove I’ve been cooking. My mom taught me a lot about the southern dishes she was raised with. When I get the chance to develop a recipe, I take what I learned from her as a starting point and kind of update it with today’s trends.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you gonna cook for me tonight?” she asked.
“Heck yeah. The last of the diners are just about gone, and Chef said I could have the run of the place. I picked up some groceries. I gotta be honest with you, however.”
Trepidation washed over her face. “What?”
“I’m putting you to work. You’ll be my assistant.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “Fair enough! Let’s go.”
I unpacked the steelhead trout I’d picked up from the fishmonger and got Garnet to work chopping vegetables. I had to see if she was competent in the kitchen. I didn’t mind teaching, but if she had no interest in fine cuisine, that would be a problem for me. Just like Win would expect whatever woman he was dating to have some affinity with the great outdoors. She didn’t have to hike the Himalayas, but if she couldn’t get her hands dirty with a bit of gardening, all bets were off.
To my delight, she sliced and chopped like an old hand.
“Hey, you’re doing great there,” I told her.