“I’m so sorry,” I said instead. “My meeting ran late.”
Drying my hands on a paper towel, I turned around and faced him. He was leaned over a drool-worthy dish inspecting it closely. With one finger wrapped in a hand towel, he swiped at the edges of the plate, removing a rogue drop of sauce. He passed it to a stoic waitress and nodded. She grabbed the plate and disappeared into the dining room.
Wyatt turned his handsome face to me. “And? Did you get the big, life-changing job?”
I loosed a smile. “I did!”
His lips twitched with a proud smirk. “Atta girl.”
I beamed at him, thankful for his confidence in me. We had been talking through texts more than usual to plan Vera and Killian’s party.
Wyatt’s head jerked in the direction of a counter near the coolers. He was back in super serious mode again. “Everything’s cold now, but that’s what I’ve come up with so far. You’re welcome to taste what’s there and let me know what you think Vera will like best.”
“She’ll like whatever you make, Wyatt. She’s not picky.”
He made a sound in the back of his throat. “I’m not going to make just whatever for Killian Quinn and Vera Delane. They’re beyond picky. Their entire life’s work is based on being picky.”
I rolled my eyes at the obvious hero worship Wyatt still had for Killian. “All right, all right. I’ll be picky too.”
“I appreciate that.”
Wyatt went back to work and I walked over to the spread he’d laid out on the counter. Different entrees on varying plates, bowls and platters covered the stainless-steel countertop. Everything was cooked to perfection and visually appealing. Wyatt had taken a menu and turned it into a stunning piece of art.
I loved to paint and draw. I mean, really loved it. My favorite thing in the world was to take a blank canvas and bring it to life, to make it something more than it was. I saw the world in vibrant colors and interesting angles. I saw people in expressions I wanted to make immortal, and poses that could be painted. I wasn’t an artist, not really. But creating something with my hands gave me a deep sense of purpose and meaning.
That was how I felt about Wyatt’s food. And Killian’s and Vera’s, and all of these friends of mine in the food industry. They didn’t just cook something. They created something—something inspiring and lasting. They didn’t just add spices; they built flavor profiles that would never be forgotten. They didn’t just throw together ingredients; they painstakingly crafted the most perfect dining experience possible. Each dish possessed the perfect bite.
They were artists. And I respected them deeply for what they did.
I picked up a skewer with a hunk of meat, a roasted tomato, and slice of cucumber drizzled in a white sauce that seemed familiar. Shoving the entire thing into my mouth, I moaned into my hand. “Is this the sauce?” I asked around the too-big bite.
“Yeah,” Wyatt called over his shoulder, knowing what I was talking about without having to look.
“These for sure then.” I moved on to mini wedge salads with bacon and blue cheese crumbles, and fresh mozzarella balls wrapped in prosciutto and basil with a tomato puree for dipping. There were meatloaf meatballs, and buffalo chicken smothered French fries. There were even house made sausages wrapped in some crispy dough and sliced to bite-size that basically tasted like more please.
I stared at the spread again, shocked and overjoyed and near tears. “Oh, my gosh, did you make all of her dishes?”
Wyatt sounded distracted when he answered, “The ones I could remember. I did some of Killian’s too.” He glanced at me over his shoulder. “With my own spin of course.”
“Wyatt, this is amazing. And so much more than I was hoping for. You’re a genius!”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Are you kidding? They’re going to love everything. Every single thing.”
He ignored my compliments. “So how many people are you thinking?”
“I’m not sure. Vera only has like ten people on her side. Killian is the popular one.”
Wyatt’s staff laughed like I’d told a joke. But it was the truth. Maybe Vera was a generally more pleasant person than Killian, but she’d never had a wide circle of friends. And I was pretty much her only remaining friend since Derrek had spent so much time isolating her. For as grizzly as Killian could be, he knew a ton of people. Sure, most of them were in his industry, but they were still the kind of acquaintances that got invites to an engagement party.
Wyatt laughed at one of the jokes another chef made about Killian’s popularity and how the only reason he had so many friends was because they were too scared of him to decline. Then he said, “Well, let me know when you have a final number so I can shop for enough ingredients.”
I picked up a tiny dessert cup. Yum! Chocolate mousse. “I sent out like fifty invitations to Killian’s people. Do you think they’ll all come?”
Wyatt’s head bobbled back and forth as he thought about it. “I’ll plan for that many. Someone will take home leftovers.”
I licked the remaining chocolate off my lips. “I volunteer as tribute. Also, when you’re done grocery shopping let me know what the total is and I’ll pay you back.”
He waved me off. “Don’t worry about it.”
This wasn’t the first time we’d had this conversation. He had decided to be obnoxiously stubborn. “Seriously, Wyatt, you’re already making the food. At least let me pay for it.”
“Not happening,” he murmured.
“I’m paying you anyway. Even if I have to guess the total.”
Wyatt turned around, his eyes twinkling and a grin pulling at his lips. “What’s your guess?”
“My guess?”
“Guess the total.”
I looked at the food on the counter and calculated it times fifty and then considered my own personal grocery bill. “One hundred dollars.” The kitchen staff laughed again. “Uh, two hundred dollars?” They kept laughing. “Ten thousand dollars!” I really hoped not because I would need to hit up those paycheck advance places if that was the case.
Four more dishes passed Wyatt’s inspection and then left the kitchen in a flurry of waiters dressed in black and swinging doors. “How are you going to get them here and keep it a secret?”
Just then, the pass-through door opened and Ezra Baptiste stepped into the kitchen. His cold gaze scanned the space quickly before landing on me.
“Busted,” I whispered to myself.
His stare turned glacial as recognition hit him. It was safe to say he wasn’t expecting to find me invading his place of business. His jaw flexed once… twice. But as mad as he was he seemed frozen in place, unable to decide what to do next.
“Hey, boss,” Wyatt greeted him. He sounded more confident than I knew he felt, but I also knew it was because he wanted Ezra to take him seriously, respect him as master of his domain.