Chapter 24

 

 

 

Luke

 

 

I watch Afton close the door after saying goodbye to her brother and his husband.

They’re good people. It’s apparent how much they care for Afton.

I felt welcomed by them. There wasn’t any of the expected awkwardness often there when you spend time with people you just met.

Afton spins around to face me. “I didn’t have a chance earlier to thank you for saving the day when I burned our dessert to a crisp.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I smile. “I have every confidence that the tart would have tasted incredible even with charred edges.”

I’ll never know whether that’s true or not since Afton tossed it out while she was preparing her second dessert of the night.

Her hands drop to her hips. “I disagree.”

“When I first started to cook, burned food was all I ate,” I confess. “Until I realized that I couldn’t fuck up sandwiches or boxed cereal.”

Her head bows as a broad smile glides over her lips. “You claim to be a great cook now.”

“Claim?” I spit the word out in a hearty laugh. “I’ll have you know that I got the Martina Calvetti stamp of approval on my cooking.”

Her eyebrows bounce up. “Really? You don’t think there’s a chance that she stamped that approval on you because you’re her grandson?”

I fucking love this.

The teasing is effortless. It feels so damn good to be with her. It’s easy to smile when I’m around her.

“I’ll prove it to you,” I say while trying to keep a stoic expression on my face. I fail hard. “How late do you have to work tomorrow? I’ll throw something together if you want to stop by my place once you’re done.”

All of my hope deflates when I hear the sigh that escapes her. “I expect to be working until at least eleven. I’m shooting for a private chef.”

Man or woman?

I don’t know why that pops into my head, but I keep it to myself. I’m not a territorial guy. I’ve never felt a stab of jealousy. Hell, the day Brooklyn married Dennis jealousy wasn’t on my radar. That was strictly a combination of confusion and regret, which has slowly subsided and been replaced with indifference.

“Do you know who Porter Knight is?”

You can’t stroll through Times Square without noticing the larger-than-life billboard flashing an image of Porter Knight’s face across it. I should know. I take that route every time I’m heading to the subway for a shift and again on my way back home.

The guy is a rock star in the culinary world. That fits since he was an actual rock star before he traded in his guitar for a set of knives.

I nod. “I’ve heard of him.”

“I’m doing some shots for a teaser for an upcoming project of his.” Her gaze wanders over my face. “I’ll probably be tied up most of the night. Joel usually helps with assisting duties, but he had a callback for an audition for a TV show, so I’ll be on my own.”

I should ask about Joel’s acting gig, but I see an open door that I need to run through before it slams shut, and I miss my chance.

“I can lend a hand,” I offer.

She eyes me up. “You want to help?”

I take a step closer to her. “I don’t have any experience, but I’m good with directions, and if a fire breaks out, I’m the man for that job.”

Her top teeth scrape over her bottom lip as she studies my face.

Fuck me, she’s hot.

“I can pay you what I pay Joel.”

“No.” I wave that notion away with a swat of my hand in the air. “I’ll tagalong as a friend. Whatever you need help with, I’ll be there to take care of it.”

“As a friend?” she repeats.

I just fucking friend-zoned myself again, but I get time with her tomorrow, and a bonus is that I’m about to witness her in action as a food photographer and stylist.

I nod. “You tell me where to be, and I’ll show up on time. Do I need to wear the apron you got for me?”

A laugh falls from her as her cheeks plush pink. “I’ll pick up theChef Lukeapron tomorrow. I think I’ll toss out the other one. It’s too small, and besides, that caption on it is…”

I cut her off because there’s no way in hell I’m letting her get rid of theEat My Meatapron. I sense it’ll put a smile on her face if she sees me wearing it again. “I’m taking it with me.”

“You are?” Surprise fills her expression.

“It’s mine.” I jerk a thumb over my shoulder to where I placed the apron on the counter before we sat down to dinner. “It’s going home with me.”

I wish to fuck she was going home with me too, but since I just reiterated that we’re strictly friends, I’ll take a win wherever I can get it. Knowing that I’ll be seeing her tomorrow night feels like I just won the fucking lottery.

“I’ll text you the address of the shoot tomorrow,” she says quietly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

I am, too, more than she knows.