Читать книгу The Christmas Wedding Swap - Allyson Charles - Страница 9

Chapter Three

Allison sat in a corner booth in The Pantry, feet up on the opposite bench. The lunch rush had ended, and she needed a break. Sipping a cup of coffee, she scrolled through her latest possible matches. Nothing interesting. Switching to another site, she scanned those prospects.

In a two-hour radius, there were about three thousand men of appropriate age looking for love. More, if you counted the prison population. Why was it she couldn’t find even one possibility who gave her a spark of excitement?

She sniffed. Allison didn’t think she was particularly picky when it came to men. She swiped right on everyone whose profile didn’t scream hookup. Slumping in her seat, she checked her text messages. There were six guys she’d given her number to, and the messages had been flying back and forth. But none of the men ever pulled the trigger and asked her out.

There was a new message from Joaquin, and Allison tried to muster the enthusiasm to respond.

Her coffee mug was taken from her hand. “Hey!” She glared at Luke. “Has no one ever taught you not to take caffeine away from a woman?”

Luke placed a new cup down, steam drifting off the brown brew, and slid it toward her. “Try this.”

Allison sniffed but couldn’t detect anything besides coffee. She inhaled deeply. Good coffee. A complex aroma with a slight floral note teased her nose and made her mouth water.

“The poisons I use are odorless.” Luke shook his head. “Just try it.”

She took a sip. Only years of poker playing allowed her to stop her eyes from rolling to the back of her head. “It’s fine.”

“Fine?” Placing his palms on the table, Luke leaned down. “The coffee they serve at Starbucks is fine. The coffee you serve is crap. This”—he picked up the cup and took a swallow—“this is an experience.”

“It has its place.” Allison stole back the mug. Her new fry cook didn’t get to offer her dark brown heaven and then take it back. “What is it?”

“A Kona blend I found at the Bean Counter.” Dragging a chair over by the toe of his boot, Luke swung it around and sat with his chest pressed into the back. “Did you know that store not only sells bulk coffee beans but cocoa beans, too?”

“Yes. I live here. I know what our stores sell.”

“Huh.” He scratched his jaw. “I thought maybe you didn’t, seeing as how the only coffee you serve comes from a red tub.”

Grinding her teeth, Allison tried to keep her cool, at least in front of the paying customers. This was the third time in as many days that Luke had questioned the quality of her inventory. And it wasn’t as though she served crap. She bought the best ingredients that she could afford, and no one had ever complained about her food.

“This is a diner,” she explained. “I can’t waste money buying beans that cost fifteen dollars a pound. My profit margin would disappear.” She took another sip.

“Those were more like fifty dollars a pound.”

Allison spat out the coffee. Covering her mouth with her sleeve, she coughed until her eyes watered. “What! That’s insane.”

“No, that’s quality coffee.” He rubbed her back. “You could always charge more for a cup.”

“My customers won’t pay that.” She mopped up the spilled coffee with regret. That one mouthful had probably cost two dollars. Luke’s hand on her back made her feel better, though. Maybe a little too good. She waved him off.

Jenny, one of The Pantry’s waitresses, stopped by with a damp towel. “Here, let me clean that up.”

Allison lifted the two mugs, and Jenny swiped the table clean.

“Thanks, Jenny.”

“No problem.” Jenny responded to Allison but kept her gaze on Luke. She shifted closer, and her boobs came dangerously close to Luke’s face.

Allison narrowed her eyes. Was her waitress arching her back?

“Yes, thank you, Jenny,” Luke said, a grin stretching from ear to ear.

“I think we’re good here.” Allison pointed across the restaurant. “And Herb is waving for you.”

“Of course. If you need anything else…” With a wink to Luke, the waitress strutted off, her snug black slacks leaving nothing to the imagination.

Allison frowned. She had a simple dress code for the wait staff: black slacks, white shirt, and an apron. Maybe she needed to add appropriate sizing to the employee handbook. She glared at her new hire. He was causing all sorts of problems.

He could cook, she’d give him that. A number of customers had already complimented the meals he’d prepared. But he questioned everything. The placement of her salad station, the efficiency of her spice closet, even the color-coding system of her chopping boards and knives.

If he messed around with her waitresses, too, he was done.

The bell above the door tinkled, and a blast of cold air swept in with two older women. Allison groaned. The one thing she didn’t need right now were the Tree Twins. Miss Eugenie Shaw and Mrs. Deborah Garcia had been denied the privilege of decorating the town’s Christmas tree for a second year in a row, and they hadn’t taken the news well.

Straightening her cloche hat, Miss Eugenie headed straight for Allison, with Debbie a step behind. “Allison, I wanted to talk to you about Shep. It’s getting cold—”

“No,” Allison said, her voice firm.

“But, he’s no trouble and—”

“Can’t do it.” Allison gripped her mug, the tips of her fingers going white. The women had that effect on her.

“Who’s Shep?” Luke asked, standing. “And who are these two lovely ladies?”

Sighing, Allison made the introductions. “And Shep is Eugenie’s dog, who cannot come inside. I don’t want a health code violation.”

Miss Eugenie sniffed. “I wash him every week. He’s a very clean dog, cleaner than a lot of people.”

Leaning over the table, Luke peered out the window. “That’s a good-looking dog.”

His t-shirt hung away from his jeans, and Allison caught a glimmer of golden skin bisected by a thin line of hair. She dragged her gaze away from the crotch of his pants and gulped her coffee. Luke Hamilton looked good enough to eat, and it was almost enough to distract her from the drivel coming out of his mouth.

“Shep is not a good-look—”

Eugenie glared, and Allison snapped her mouth shut. She took another sip of coffee, and tried again. “While Shep might be distinguished looking, he is also nine-tenths hair. And he sheds—a lot.” She pinned the older woman with a look. “Not in my restaurant.”

“Fine.” With a huff, Miss Eugenie slid into the opposite side of Allison’s booth. Deborah wedged herself in next to her friend. They stared at Allison expectantly. “Aren’t you going to ask us for our beverage order?” Eugenie asked.

Allison rolled her neck. Her break was over. “What would you two like to drink?”

“Hot tea,” Deborah said.

“Make that two.” Eugenie plucked two menus from behind the napkin dispenser and handed one to her friend.

Luke followed Allison behind the counter and slipped into the kitchen. There were two women the cook didn’t want to spend time with? Allison was shocked.

She made the tea and brought the steaming mugs to the corner booth. “What can I get you two?”

“Before you order, I have a question.” Luke stepped next to Allison, his arm brushing her shoulder. He held a bowl in one hand. “Is Shep allergic to anything? I have a little treat for him but wanted to ask first.”

“Isn’t that sweet,” Miss Eugenie cooed.

Allison’s jaw dropped. She’d never heard a grown woman coo before, and she wouldn’t have expected it from one of the Tree Twins. Both women had been known to make men cry with their sharp tongues. Allison had heard the rumors, of course. The theory that Miss Eugenie’s new and improved mood was all down to one certain someone. But Allison hadn’t given the gossip much credence. The man involved seemed entirely too sensible to link himself to someone like Miss Eugenie. But maybe Allison had been wrong. Could Miss Eugenie be dating Judge Nichols?

If that were the case, Allison would have to tell her sister. Judge Nichols wasn’t single, so she hadn’t violated any clause of their contract by not flirting with the man.

Deborah tugged at the collar to her blouse and simpered. “You can always tell a good man by how he treats animals.”

Nope. It wasn’t the Judge Nichols effect, not if Deborah was turning into a simpering Scarlett O’Hara, too. It was Luke. He had the tongue of the devil.

“I’ll be right back.” Luke sauntered from the restaurant, not bothering with a coat.

The women watched as he scratched Shep behind the ears and offered up the snack. The dog inhaled it in two bites and licked Luke’s chin in thanks.

“I like your new employee.” Deborah turned to face the table and slid off her knees and onto her butt. “Much better than those tattooed kids you have back in the kitchen.”

Allison cocked a hip. “Luke might have a tattoo. I don’t perform body searches when I hire.”

Luke strode back into the restaurant and stomped his boots on the runner, knocking off loose snow. Those boots put all sorts of inappropriate thoughts in Allison’s head. Like maybe instituting an employee strip-down wasn’t such a bad idea.

Deborah stirred sugar into her mug, the spoon clanging on the porcelain. “Allison, I wanted to ask you about the Tinder family? Are they local? Did they just move in?”

Allison blinked. “The Tinder family?”

“Yes. Joaquin Tinder. Max Tinder. Joshua Tinder. They’re listed in your contacts, but I don’t know the name.” Deborah stared at her with wide, unblinking eyes.

Allison’s stomach turned to ice. She looked at the phone she’d left on the table. “You went through my contacts?”

Miss Eugenie pressed her lips together in a flat line. “Well, the phone was lying here. We didn’t know who it belonged to at first. We were trying to find the owner.”

Luke joined them, the bowl dangling at his side. “Sweet dog.”

“Thanks,” Miss Eugenie said. “Now about the Tinders? And who’s Brian Bumble? That’s a strange name.”

“Tinder and Bumble?” Luke arched an eyebrow. “That’s how you list them in your phone?”

Allison snatched her cell off the table. “They don’t give out last names. It helps me remember…”

“Who you hooked up with?” Luke crossed his arms.

“I’ll have you know that, for my age bracket, Tinder isn’t a hookup site.” Shoving the phone in her pocket, Allison tried to will away her embarrassment. But she knew her face was as red as her marinara sauce. “I’m looking for a serious relationship.”

“Serious?” Luke rocked back onto his heels. “With online dating?”

“More marriages happen now that started with online dating,” Allison said. “I’m playing the odds.”

Miss Eugenie’s face cleared. “Oh, those are the dating-site names.” She elbowed Deborah. “I showed you that site I’d thought about joining before, well, you know.”

Deborah exhaled loudly through her nose. The buttons at the front of her blouse hung on for dear life. “Yes. I know.” She turned to Allison. “I always thought those things were for the younger generation. But in your case, I guess you have to use whatever you can. I know how much your mother worries about you.”

Allison’s spine turned to rebar. Her mother had told the Tree Twins, two notorious gossips, how sad it was that her daughter couldn’t find a man? Flippin’ perfect.

She couldn’t even look at Luke. Didn’t want to see the same pity in his eyes he’d shown when she’d belly-flopped in front of him on the sidewalk. “I’ll get a waitress over to take your order. I have to get back to some paper work.”

Chin high, she strode from the front of the house. Reaching her office, she closed the door and banged her forehead against the wood. It was just sad, really. Allison was fumbling through dating sites and awkward texts while Miss Eugenie Shaw no longer needed the help of the internet.

The septuagenarian was getting lucky, and Allison was left holding a pair of deuces.

Pushing off the door, Allison beelined for her bottom desk drawer and the bottle of whiskey there.

* * * *

Allison stomped into her kitchen and glared at her staff. She held up the cardigan she’d been wearing when she’d left The Pantry earlier that morning under her parka. “Okay, who’s the wise guy who put this on my back?” She already knew, or at least had a strong suspicion. And if Luke wasn’t behind the prank, he’d encouraged it.

Jenny leaned forward and squinted. “‘Hello. My Name is No.’”

Delilah snorted and quickly smothered it in the crook of her arm. “You’ve got to admit we’ve been hearing that word out of your mouth a lot lately.”

Allison crossed her arms. “I wonder why that is?” She glared at Luke.

Luke leaned against a counter and upped the ante on her glare with an eyebrow waggle. And a panty-melting smile.

Peeling off the preprinted label that had the word no scribbled in big block letters with a Sharpie, Allison crushed it in her hand and tossed it at the garbage. It fell short by a yard.

Luke bent over and plucked it up, his jeans pulling tight across his butt.

Delilah clapped.

Allison shrugged out of her jacket. “Down, girl.” Totally inappropriate in the workplace. Besides, the coed was much too young for him. Even though Allison supported the sentiment. Luke had definitely upped the yummy factor of her kitchen; he’d also upped her irritation level—which brought her back to the sticker.

“Do you know how many stores I was in without my jacket today? How many snickers I heard but didn’t know why? Finally, Edith Willoughby at the Apothic Garden was nice enough to tell me.”

Jenny covered her mouth.

Allison spun on her. “And aren’t you supposed to be out front?”

The girl held her hands up and backed away. “I’m going. The front’s quiet right now, I promise.”

Allison took a deep breath and nodded. No need to bite the head off one of her best waitresses. “Sorry,” she muttered.

Jenny nodded and sauntered from the kitchen. She tossed a coy look back over her shoulder at Luke, but he was still smiling at Allison.

Turning her back, Allison trudged to her office and tossed her coat on a box. She laid the sweater on top. When had the sticker been applied? In a bustling restaurant, she was jostled and bumped into a lot. It could have happened at any time. But she thought it was when Luke had brushed past her to pour himself a cup of coffee.

She’d become hot and flustered because his hip had brushed hers, and he’d been laughing behind her back. Sweet.

She bounced onto her chair. If it hadn’t happened to her, it would be kind of funny. Maybe.

But that reminded her. She popped up and strode to the kitchen. “And another thing, I said no to the fancy coffee …” The kitchen was empty. “Huh.”

She looked over the service counter into the front of the restaurant. No cooks. Brow furrowed, Allison pushed open the back door. Luke knelt next to a sweater-clad bundle of hair, with Delilah standing beside them, her hands tucked under her armpits.

“What’s going on?” Allison stepped into the alley, the frigid air cutting into her like a knife. She shivered.

“Just giving Shep a treat.” Luke rubbed the dog’s head, and a mop of brown-and-gray hair flopped over Shep’s eyes.

“Why is Shep meeting up with you in a back alley like you’re a dealer?” She looked to the head of the alley. “And where are the Tree Twins?”

“Shopping next door.” Luke held a meatball in front of Shep, and the dog gingerly took it from his fingers. “Shep wandered on down to say hi, didn’t you, pal?”

Allison rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms. She should have put the offending cardigan back on. “But how do you know they’re shopping?”

Luke stood. “When Shep scratched on the back door, I texted Eugenie. She texted back.”

Of course, in Luke’s world, that made perfect sense. That a day after meeting the old woman, he already had her number. And that Shep would scratch at the kitchen door for Luke. Allison frowned. Shep had never done that before. Luke could even charm animals. It was a highly irritating quality.

Luke’s gaze dropped, and Allison looked down. Her nipples were standing at attention beneath her thin t-shirt. She crossed her arms.

“It’s too cold for the two of you to be out here.” Luke gave Shep one last ear scratch. He held the door open. “How about I get everyone a hot cup of coffee.”

Allison and Delilah tramped inside, and the heat of the kitchen seeped into Allison’s skin.

“I wanted to talk to you about that.” Allison followed Luke into the front to the coffee urn. “I believe I told you that I wasn’t going to buy the outrageously expensive coffee that you like.”

Luke poured a cup and pressed it into her hand. “That everyone likes. Besides, this is a more moderately priced Ethiopian.”

Allison inhaled the scent and took a sip. Still delicious. And the price was probably still highway robbery. “That doesn’t matter. I didn’t authorize—”

“I bought the beans on my own. They’re not sending you a bill, so stop worrying. While I’m working here, I want a decent cup of coffee. That’s all.” He poured two more cups and used his boot to kick open the swinging door. He ambled across the kitchen and deposited a mug next to Delilah at the grill.

Delilah greedily sucked the brew down. “Thanks, man.”

Allison trailed after him, chewing her bottom lip. For a wandering fry cook, Luke seemed awfully particular. Still, she couldn’t fault his generosity. Allison rubbed her nose. “I guess I could chip in something for the coffee.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Luke washed his hands and pulled a clean apron from a drawer. “I wanted to talk to you about your fried chicken.”

Allison blinked, confused by the sudden switch in topic. “What about my chicken?” she asked warily.

“It’s really good.” Luke pulled open the door of the walk-in fridge and disappeared inside.

Allison stood at the entrance. “I know it’s good. I make it.”

Luke hefted a crate to his hip. “But it could be better.”

Allison narrowed her eyes and gaped at Luke.

His gaze flickered down to her chest before popping back up. Turning his head to the side, Luke ruffled the back of his hair.

Allison knew the cold air from the walk-in had gotten her headlights going again, but she didn’t care. No one criticized her recipes.

Luke stepped past her, and she dogged his heels. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “It’s crispy and juicy and light. Everyone loves it.”

“You use buttermilk and flour, right? Like ninety-nine percent of America.” Luke dropped the crate on a counter, and pulled a whole bird from it. He handed a cleaver to Allison. “Cut this up, will you?”

Allison took the blade. “I also use a bit of cornstarch and my own special spices. What of it?”

Fingers wide, he spread his hands through the air. “Panko bread crumbs.”

Allison whacked a chicken leg off. “Bananas.”

Luke’s eyebrows drew down. “What?”

“Oh, we’re not blurting out random food items?”

Rolling his eyes, Luke piled some staples onto the counter before him. “I don’t think even you could pull off banana-fried chicken.”

Allison paused, considering.

“If you use a panko crumb and parmesan mix instead of flour, you get a crispier and less greasy bird.” Luke pulled out a large bowl and began tossing in ingredients. “You can even bake—”

“No.” Allison pulled another bird from the crate and ruthlessly hacked the chicken into eight pieces.

“You didn’t even hear me out.” Luke cocked a hip against the counter and crossed his arms.

His fingers dug into his opposite biceps, and Allison swallowed down her drool. His arms were more ripped than any cook’s that Allison had seen.

She sighed. “I don’t need to hear past the word bake. It’s called fried chicken for a reason.”

“Okay. What about the panko and parmesan?”

Pushing a hank of hair back from her forehead with the back of her wrist, Allison faced Luke. “You don’t seem to understand how slim my margins are here. Your changes would require a hike in prices that my customers wouldn’t appreciate. Besides, my menu is popular as it is. And people don’t come to The Pantry for panko-breaded chicken. They come here for good old-fashioned comfort food.”

Luke set his jaw. “They could learn to like better food.”

Allison slowly turned, the cleaver at chest height. “What was that now?”

Raising his hands, Luke took a step back. “Not better as in your cooking doesn’t taste good, but higher-quality ingredients. Healthier cuisine. It really wouldn’t kill this town to embrace something more sophisticated than diner food.” He wrinkled his nose on the last words.

Allison sucked in a breath and counted to ten. Luke sounded like her mother, all snotty condescension and high-class pretension. And where did he, a fry cook, get off insulting a diner? Was he used to cooking for a king?

“Is this restaurant a step down for you?” Allison asked sweetly. She twirled the tip of the cleaver in a circle. “Is my kitchen not up to your usual standards?”

Luke appeared to have more balls than brains. He stood firm. “A kitchen can always be improved. Yours is no exception.”

He was giving her an ulcer. Allison’s stomach grumbled in complaint, and she knew just how it felt. There were some things that just weren’t done, and criticizing your boss’s kitchen was one of them. “Hasn’t anyone ever taught you not to piss off a woman holding an eight-inch blade?”

“That’s a solid piece of advice,” Delilah agreed.

Luke threw his hands in the air. “Fine. I think you’re making a mistake, but it’s your restaurant.”

“I’m glad you remember that,” Allison said.

Luke’s lips twitched, and he rocked back onto his heels. “I’d heard your nickname was the Tyrant, but I couldn’t see it till now.”

Allison spluttered.

“I mean it as a compliment,” Luke said. “You don’t let anyone push you around. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

Luke traced a finger along the slick metal surface of the counter, his eyes hot, and Allison felt it as though his finger danced along her spine. She could see in his expression that he meant it. He did find her take-charge attitude a turn-on. And damn if that didn’t make her go a little weak in the knees. Still, she couldn’t let that claim go unchallenged.

“My name is n—”

“No?” Delilah jumped in.

Luke chuckled.

Allison’s jaw grew stiff. If she could incinerate people with the heat of her glare, her restaurant would be down two cooks. They’d be nothing but little piles of dust. “Not no. And not Tyrant. My employees love me.”

Peals of laughter rang through the kitchen.

Allison wagged the knife in the air. “Delilah, that advice about being nice to the woman holding a knife? It goes for you, too.” Spinning, she hammered the cleaver into her cutting board, the blade plunging a quarter inch into the wood. She stepped back, and the cleaver stood upright, quivering in its new slot. With a pointed look at her cooks, she stormed to her office.

The hoots of amusement behind her back rather diminished the effect of her exit.

Flexing her fingers, Allison tried to remember all the reasons why she needed to keep Luke. She was down a cook, but Allison didn’t mind working overtime. It was Sadie’s wedding that was the roadblock. No way could she cater it and keep her kitchen going while down a man.

So, she’d deal with the nuisance until after the wedding. Luke was like poison ivy, an irritating rash that kept spreading the more she handled him. But she’d survived the itchiness and inflammation before. She was tough. She could take it.

What was harder to take was the sick feeling that she was slowly losing control of her kitchen.