Chapter Three
Kady
“It’s too sweet, dammit,” I curse before slamming the fork down.
Two days after I file paperwork to extend my hours and my shop, I'm second-guessing myself. Not just myself, but my recipes, and my design plans for a bigger space. It’s hot in my little kitchen and my newest dish fills the air with sickly sweet aromas that make me angry.
“Well it looks amazing and I think it’s brilliant...and delicious,” Chantel hums as she takes another bite, enjoying the sweetness.
Smiling at her, I'm glad she likes it. I can’t say it doesn’t taste great—the lamb shanks and pomegranate pair well together and they’re cooked to perfection—but for me, it’s too sweet. Or maybe it’s just right. I can’t decide. She’s here to help me, but I should know better—she likes everything sweet.
“Thank you, sugar,” I grin at her despite my sour mood, “I love you for lying to me when I need it most. For a main it is entirely too sweet.” Sighing, I take a bite, impressed with my own handiwork.
For the past few days, I've tried to perfect four new dishes for my menu. Expanding my hours meant expanding the menu options. Only nothing seems to be turning out. I am making it up as I go, trying to be creative and develop some depth of flavors.
Nothing I attempt comes together the way I hoped. I'm frustrated and furious and I know why. Two days ago, that pretty boy at the courthouse made me feel like a whore. One bought and paid for by Baker. Not only is it bullshit but people's opinions haven’t bothered me before.
Until a man with cobalt eyes sharedhisopinion of me.
Ever since he chased after me to apologize for being a rude, condescending, and assuming asshole, I haven’t been right. It took me the rest of the day to realize that I’d seen him before. More than that, I had catcalled him and his hot friend a few months back. I like to flirt, what can I say? So what if I flirt like a man.
Both men blew me off at first, but his friend came in to make nice eventually. Oliver was friendly and polite, so I brought goodies over a few days later, hoping to meet the other looker. It didn’t work so I wrote it off until andkeptwriting it off the past few months—until I saw him standing there at the courthouse—though I didn’t recognize him at first.
“Something is off,” Chantel takes another bite, humming to show she likes it, “and I don’t mean your lamb shanks. What is eating you?”
“Someone called Baker my sugar-daddy. I think people assume the worst of the three of us.” I waggle my brows playfully, but I huff out a sigh, “I don’t care. Let them believe what they want. Forsome reasonthough, this guy assuming it has really thrown me.”
“Oh.Oooh,” she says, snickering as she takes another bite, gives me another hum, and laughs, “he’s pretty then. Like....p-r-e-t-t-ypretty,” she teases, drawing each letter out to taunt me.
“Even if he is,” I shrug because, yes, he is damn pretty, “I don’t know why it’s bothering me. Who is he to me? No one? Lord he was a pretty thing to look at though,” I sigh, taking another bite and realizing maybe it’s not so sweet.
“Wait a minute,” she cocks her head, narrowing her eyes at me, “I just realized what you mean. This pretty boy of yours thinks all three of us are in some.... clandestine relationship? Well, that explains our successful shops—we’rebothbanging a billionaire.”
“Oh, I never said he wasmypretty boy, sweets. Just that he is indeed a pretty boy. Very pretty. Like, your husband is a handsome motherfucker but this guy.... whew, I almost didn’t mind he basically called me a whore.”
I've been labeled worse. But this man thinking I didn’t earn my shop, bust my ass to make it work, and most importantly that my food doesn’t speak for itself, infuriates me. It’s made me unable to create new recipes and that pisses me off even more.
As if a light bulb pops on above my head, I know what to do.
“I am making that man a meal! He will learn just why I don’t need a sugar daddy,” I confirm loudly, certain this is a brilliant idea.
****
Two hours later, I'm more convinced than ever of my brilliance. My kitchen smells delicious. Hints of lime, cilantro and fresh onion fill the air. My fingers are stained with carne asada sauce I keep licking off. With a dollop of my awesome guacamole and creamy sour cream, the handmade tortillas will make for an amazing taco.
“Oh man, I love your carne asada,” Baker’s voice booms as he steps into the shop.
Standing tall and looking good, he could be a sugar daddy, I suppose. In a sleek suit fit for him, the salt and pepper at his temples, and his slightly arrogant air, I can see it. When his eyes circle the room and land on Chantel, I almost laugh. How anyone could miss the way he looks at her—and the way she looks back—I can’t fathom.
Clearly their honeymoon is not yet over if you know what I mean.
“Too bad these ain’t for you,” I shoot back as I wrap up the fresh tortillas carefully, “I made these for one man, and he’s going to eat them and love them. Or else!”
He laughs and scoops his new bride up in an embrace I look away from. I'm still not used to their overflowing love. I love them both dearly and Chantel deserves the knight on a white horse he has truly been. Sometimes though, I feel a little left out and a little lonely.
Maybe that’s why pretty boy next door has me riled up. I'm just lonely. I need to get laid. Or hold hands with someone. Maybe get some good tongue kissing and under the shirt groping.Something.
“Who has you so sour? Do I need to destroy someone? Because for you, I will,” he grins at me before his eyes are back on his wife.