All The Way (The Sarah Kinsely Story - Book #1) Read Free Page A

the years watching the Cooking Channel and realized how very little I actually knew about kitchen life. It looked much different in real life.
    “Damn. I want to take that one home.” Peyton said pointing to the cook standing at the head of the kitchen. He wasn’t standing over a stove but he seemed to be the one in charge, barking orders and handling tickets.
    “Well I want that one.” Angela pointed to the muscle bound cook who was gently laying cuts of fish on a hot pan. We could see the oil popping and cracking but he seemed unphased to use his hand to place the fish in the pan.
    “Hmm, I would take any of them home. Find me a man who can cook and I am in heaven.” Lizzy licked her lips and thrust her hips.
    We all laughed.

Chapter 3
    Just as Angela began to get restless and suggest we go somewhere else, the chef arrived.
    His hair was just long enough to be pulled back and just dark enough to shine against the bright florescent kitchen lights. He wore thick framed glasses, but took them off to shake our hands. His hand was rough, and it nearly wrapped entirely around mine. A towel was flung over his shoulder and he wore a dark gray chef’s coat that hugged his body in all the right places.
    It may have been the alcohol, it could have been the atmosphere, but I was certain that he had lingered a bit longer in shaking my hand than the others. I could have sworn that he gave a little extra squeeze before releasing. And if I hadn’t emptied so many glasses just minutes before I would have testified in court that he gave me a little side smirk.
    But one can never be sure about these things with lightening courage coursing through the veins.
    “Thank you very much for coming.” He said, his voice smooth and deep.
    “Well, thank you for having us.” Peyton said as Lizzy gave her a little nudge with her elbow.
    I had this funny feeling that we were all in high school again and the star quarterback had just waltzed into our slumber party - but like I said; alcohol. Either way, we were giddy and he played right along.
    He showed us around his kitchen. Introducing the cooks, talking about what each station did in the line and at every station he asked, insisted , that we sample something being cooked at the station.
    I tried the smoked salmon in lemon-herb soy glaze, the fresh truffles and pickled garlic. I would have hated the pickled garlic except he hand fed me the little devils and I just couldn’t resist. I had to have another .
    At just about every turn our four bodies would get jammed in a corner. The kitchen didn’t seem to be made for people but for ovens and stoves and when it was time for us to move on to the next part of the tour the chef would have to wiggle his body past ours to get out of the trap we had made. Lizzy could barely contain her delight when he would rub past her. I tried my best to steer clear. As hot as he was, the last thing I needed in my life at that moment was to be touched by a man. Especially a man like that .
    He took us to an area of the kitchen where beef was being prepared. He said something unintelligible to the cook and took the knife from his hand. He made quick slices of the beef and laid it gently in the pan. The sound and smell of searing meat had me nearly drooling on the floor. After a very short time he pulled the beef off of the pan with his bare hands and laid it on a white plastic cutting board. He effortlessly ran the knife back and forth, back and forth against the meat until he had enough shards for each of us. Not even Gordon Ramsey made cutting meat look so damn sexy.
    We tasted the meat. It was soft and flavorful.
    “What did you put it in?” Angela asked still chewing, savoring each morsel.
    “Love.” The chef said and walked on to the next station.
    They say that if you can’t handle the heat in the kitchen that you should get out and normally I would have gone running out the back door but the girls kept ushering me along.
    I had to stay.
     
    After the