bending over the stock pots at the back burners. The familiar and welcome smells, sights, and sounds of the only place that had ever made Xavier happy.
He shuffled around the perimeter of the dining room, making a point to be noticed. Pam glanced up, distracted. “Hey, Carolina.”
“
Hola
,” he replied in the lilting voice of Shed’s cleaning lady. Magic tingled on his skin.
Veiled in the disguise of a tiny Hispanic woman, he slipped into the back room where Pam stored her linens and cutlery. He shut the door behind him and sagged against the shelves.
Shed’s front door opened.
Pam’s shoes clicked across the dining room floor. “We’re not open for lunch for another two hours.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Her
.
Xavier groaned, her voice slicing through him like a newly sharpened blade. Desire flowed into the open wound, and despite his mind’s direct orders to stay away from the back room door, his arm reached out and cracked it open.
She stood by the hostess podium, her eyes darting around the dim dining room. The cold touched her cheeks with a gentle pink. “I was looking for someone. Really tall, wavy blond hair to his shoulders? Navy blue down coat?”
Pam nodded and half smiled in the way that looked like she was laughing at some private joke. “You mean Xavier? Hasn’t come in yet.”
The woman tilted her head, the red pompom flopping to one side. What was it about that silly hat that forced Xavier to conjure images of tomatoes being diced to hell?
“I thought I just saw him come in here.”
“Nope.” Pam fiddled with the menus on the hostess stand, perfectly aligning their edges.
“But he works here?”
“Yeah. He’s my saucier.” When the freckled woman looked confused, Pam added, “One of my line cooks.”
She shifted her weight and a snow chunk slid off her fuzzy boot. “Any chance you have a reservation open for tonight?”
Pam flipped open the mahogany leather reservation book and lazily dragged her finger down the page. “So. How do you know Xavier?”
The woman blushed almost as red as her hat. Xavier was horrible at guessing ages, considering his own was about as twisted as a screw, but she was younger than him. Mid-twenties, most likely. She kicked at the dislodged snow. “I…I don’t.”
Oh shit.
Pam looked like the fox who’d swallowed a chicken. Wrong person to learn a woman was looking for him. She’d been trying to get him to date ever since she discovered him working at an acquaintance’s bistro in San Francisco. She’d even gotten her girlfriend to start badgering him. Between the two of them the barrage was endless.
Let’s get the quiet cook laid
. They thought it funny, a game.
It was anything but.
Pam arched an eyebrow at the freckled woman, her wicked smile tipping toward flirtatious. “Oh, really?” She tapped the reservation book. “Look at this. Lucky for you. We have an opening at eight. For how many?”
Shed had been booked up for weeks, if not months.
“Um. Two. Put it under my name. Heddig.”
“Got a first name? Just in case I need it?”
Pam would need it all right—to needle Xavier all shift. He considered calling in sick but knew he couldn’t. Not during thefestival when every table would be full from lunch through close. Not when the only other option was holing himself up in his house. With the Burned Man making such an abrupt appearance, Xavier didn’t trust himself to be alone.
“My name’s Cat,” said the woman.
“Great, Cat.” Pam clicked the pen closed and grinned. “See you tonight.”
TWO
Here’s what Cat knew about the guy she’d followed from the street performer’s circle: His name was Xavier. He cooked at Shed. And he was one of those incredibly good-looking men who didn’t know it and would never admit it, even with a gun to his head.
Here’s what she didn’t know: how she knew him.
She hadn’t thrown him a bad pick-up line out on the street. She’d been standing there, laughing at the
He shuffled around the perimeter of the dining room, making a point to be noticed. Pam glanced up, distracted. “Hey, Carolina.”
“
Hola
,” he replied in the lilting voice of Shed’s cleaning lady. Magic tingled on his skin.
Veiled in the disguise of a tiny Hispanic woman, he slipped into the back room where Pam stored her linens and cutlery. He shut the door behind him and sagged against the shelves.
Shed’s front door opened.
Pam’s shoes clicked across the dining room floor. “We’re not open for lunch for another two hours.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Her
.
Xavier groaned, her voice slicing through him like a newly sharpened blade. Desire flowed into the open wound, and despite his mind’s direct orders to stay away from the back room door, his arm reached out and cracked it open.
She stood by the hostess podium, her eyes darting around the dim dining room. The cold touched her cheeks with a gentle pink. “I was looking for someone. Really tall, wavy blond hair to his shoulders? Navy blue down coat?”
Pam nodded and half smiled in the way that looked like she was laughing at some private joke. “You mean Xavier? Hasn’t come in yet.”
The woman tilted her head, the red pompom flopping to one side. What was it about that silly hat that forced Xavier to conjure images of tomatoes being diced to hell?
“I thought I just saw him come in here.”
“Nope.” Pam fiddled with the menus on the hostess stand, perfectly aligning their edges.
“But he works here?”
“Yeah. He’s my saucier.” When the freckled woman looked confused, Pam added, “One of my line cooks.”
She shifted her weight and a snow chunk slid off her fuzzy boot. “Any chance you have a reservation open for tonight?”
Pam flipped open the mahogany leather reservation book and lazily dragged her finger down the page. “So. How do you know Xavier?”
The woman blushed almost as red as her hat. Xavier was horrible at guessing ages, considering his own was about as twisted as a screw, but she was younger than him. Mid-twenties, most likely. She kicked at the dislodged snow. “I…I don’t.”
Oh shit.
Pam looked like the fox who’d swallowed a chicken. Wrong person to learn a woman was looking for him. She’d been trying to get him to date ever since she discovered him working at an acquaintance’s bistro in San Francisco. She’d even gotten her girlfriend to start badgering him. Between the two of them the barrage was endless.
Let’s get the quiet cook laid
. They thought it funny, a game.
It was anything but.
Pam arched an eyebrow at the freckled woman, her wicked smile tipping toward flirtatious. “Oh, really?” She tapped the reservation book. “Look at this. Lucky for you. We have an opening at eight. For how many?”
Shed had been booked up for weeks, if not months.
“Um. Two. Put it under my name. Heddig.”
“Got a first name? Just in case I need it?”
Pam would need it all right—to needle Xavier all shift. He considered calling in sick but knew he couldn’t. Not during thefestival when every table would be full from lunch through close. Not when the only other option was holing himself up in his house. With the Burned Man making such an abrupt appearance, Xavier didn’t trust himself to be alone.
“My name’s Cat,” said the woman.
“Great, Cat.” Pam clicked the pen closed and grinned. “See you tonight.”
TWO
Here’s what Cat knew about the guy she’d followed from the street performer’s circle: His name was Xavier. He cooked at Shed. And he was one of those incredibly good-looking men who didn’t know it and would never admit it, even with a gun to his head.
Here’s what she didn’t know: how she knew him.
She hadn’t thrown him a bad pick-up line out on the street. She’d been standing there, laughing at the
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