Читать книгу A Dash of Love - Liz Isaacson - Страница 9

Chapter Five

Nikki gave herself the luxury of sleeping in the following day. After all, she didn’t have to be at work until noon.

She rolled over and smiled. Work. She had work.

Because of her new job, she didn’t make it into Delucci’s until much later than she normally did. She had a feeling working with Holly would require a lot of caffeine, but she certainly hadn’t seemed like diva material.

She pushed inside the bakery, inhaling the yeasty smell of fresh bread and the distinct scent of coffee and sugar. A smile rushed to her face, and everything in the world seemed absolutely right.

It didn’t matter that she’d gone without working or that Valentine’s Day was right around the corner. She had a job now, and her future was nothing but bright, man or no man come February fourteenth.

Trish and Marty both worked behind the counter, of course. They came in early in the morning and stayed until afternoon, and she marveled at their strength and tenacity. She stepped up to the counter and greeted them.

“So how come so late today?” Marty asked, finishing up with a customer. He wore a pine tree-colored sweater slightly dusted with flour, and Nikki grinned at him.

“Oh, I got a job! But I don’t start until noon.”

Trish wiped her hands on her apron. “Oh, that’s great news! Congratulations.” Her smile couldn’t have been more genuine, and Nikki reminded herself to call her parents and tell them about the job, too.

Marty leaned forward. “So you’ll be cooking again?”

“Oh, well, not exactly,” Nikki said. “I mean, I’m working in a restaurant, but I’ll be doing office work, so…” She didn’t want to downplay the work, and yes, she’d rather be cooking, but if Finique wouldn’t hire her because of her lack of a culinary degree, she had no chance at Holly Hanson’s.

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Trish said, buoying Nikki’s spirits.

“The best part about it is, I’ll be working for a top chef that can teach me the ins and outs of business.” Nikki didn’t mean to sound so proud of herself, but she had babbled her way into the job, and it was Holly Hanson…

“That is a smart move,” Trish said.

“So who is this top chef?” Marty asked.

“Holly. Hanson.” Nikki giggled, sure they’d leap across the counter and dance with her.

Instead, they looked at each other with disbelief in their eyes. Trish exhaled heavily, her smile gone completely.

Confusion raced through Nikki, but thoughts of the cassoulet quelled the feeling. They probably thought Holly couldn’t teach her anything.

“Have you eaten at her restaurant before?” she asked.

Trish pressed one palm to her heart while Marty seemed fascinated by the biscotti. “Well, we know who she is.”

Nikki glanced down at her phone. The clock ticked closer and closer to noon. “Oh my gosh. I’m so late. I gotta go.” She secured her purse on her shoulder.

“Oh! Don’t forget your coffee.” Trish handed it to Nikki.

Flustered, she took it. “Right, okay. Thanks. Bye!” She ran out of the bakery, fumbling with her umbrella to get it open. Rain fell in a steady drizzle, and she couldn’t show up at Holly’s with frizzy hair. She finally got the umbrella up and transferred her coffee to her other hand as her phone chimed.

She took quick, short steps in her heels, hoping she was dressed appropriately for Holly, who’d been wearing a designer skirt and blouse, heels, and perfect makeup at close to midnight the previous evening.

She managed to type out a text to her mom with only one thumb. I got a job! I’ll call you tonight and tell you about it.

She took a sip of coffee, almost spilling it down her face as she tried to juggle her purse, her umbrella, the phone, and the coffee.

Can’t wait, her mom texted back, and Nikki grinned at her phone.

She was nearly to Holly’s. And she wasn’t going to be late. Satisfaction slipped through her as she put her phone in her purse.

She glanced up only half a second before she was about to run into a very tall object. A very tall object that turned out to be a very handsome man. A very handsome man that her coffee drenched as she came to a screeching stop.

“Oh!” She stared at the huge, spreading stain on his light blue shirt. Then she looked into the face of the man who’d sat next to her at the bar last night.

Paul jumped back as if he could escape the coffee that had already stained his shirt. Irritation sprang into his mind, and he wondered where the phone he’d been looking at had gone.

“Oh my gosh, your shirt! I’m so sorry.” The cassoulet woman looked at him, and the moment she recognized him wasn’t hard to miss. Her beautiful brown eyes widened, and her mouth dropped. “You?” Horror washed over her face, and she struggled to put her umbrella down.

Paul’s smile was born of both gladness at seeing her again and exasperation as he glanced at his ruined clothes. “Well, well. If it isn’t the food critic from the other night.” He flicked his hand to rid it of the sticky coffee.

“My apologizes. But I’m just running late, and I’m—I’m a—a little frazzled.” She circled him in a dance, and he turned back to her.

“I can see that.”

Her feet wouldn’t stop moving, and Paul kept shuffling lest she had something else to throw at him. He checked his shirt again, but it was a hopeless mess.

She sighed and shook her head, clearly unsure what to do. “Uh, look, if you’re here for dinner, I don’t think they open for a few hours.”

She seemed apologetic about that, but he just wanted to get inside and try to figure out why he simultaneously wanted her to stay close but also get far away. He searched his pocket for his keys, but he couldn’t find them. “Thanks. I’m well aware of the hours.” Where were his blasted keys? “And you’re waiting for…”

Before the woman could answer, Holly approached wearing her designer coat and a white scarf. “Good, I’m glad you’re here, Paul.” She stood back an extra step, and Paul didn’t miss the horrified look on the other woman’s face.

“Go ahead, open the door,” Holly said. “I guess you guys have met?”

Paul finally located his keys. “Is there any reason why we should have?” Everything was happening so fast, but he fitted the key into the lock. If he could just get inside, get back to his kitchen, everything would be fine. He’d already resolved not to pick a fight with Holly about her recipes today. He just wanted to cook.

“Uh, yes, this is my new assistant,” Holly said, the words entering Paul’s ears but not making much sense.

“What is your name?” Holly asked the other woman, and Paul watched her, too.

“Nikki.” She said it a little emphatically, in Paul’s opinion, but he also knew it took Holly an extraordinarily long time to remember names.

“Nikki. Nikki, this is Paul, my executive chef.”

And now she knew. She knew she’d insulted him last night, spilled coffee on him this morning, and tried to instruct him about the hours of the restaurant where he’d cooked for five years.

Pure panic poured through her expression. A healthy blush colored her face, and Paul ducked his head so she wouldn’t have to experience any more humiliation than necessary.

Holly grabbed the flap of his jacket and examined his shirt. He glanced down too, realizing he’d have to work the next twelve hours in a damp, coffee-stained shirt.

“For God’s sake, Paul, can’t you wear a clean shirt to work?” Holly gave him a dirty look and entered the restaurant, leaving Paul standing on the sidewalk with the reason for his predicament.

He looked at Nikki, and she stared back, clearly upset and not knowing what to do about any of it. It had been a long time since he’d been out with a woman, but something stirred within him, and he wondered if she might be worth the trouble of an unintended insult and a stained shirt.

She finally drew a deep breath and followed Holly. Paul waved at nothing, sighed, and had no choice but to get to work, coffee stains, beautiful women, and all.