The Chef's Choice Read online

  Chapter 3

  For some reason, while he worked Peter spent the next hour and a half reflecting on everything Jack had told him about Emille tonight. Was she really wearing red? Was she wearing heels? Did she really like this guy that she'd brought to dinner tonight? She'd mentioned that he would be coming with her, but who had done the inviting? Jackson's Mark was Emille's spot. Had she been the one to ask this guy out?

  "They're done, Chef," Emille's waitress informed him as she posted another order.

  "Alright," he replied. "Thanks, Cathleen."

  Burning with curiosity, Peter left the kitchen.

  Jack stopped him just outside the swinging doors. "No use pulling the big brother routine," he advised. "This one's not her type."

  Peter couldn't prevent the exhaled laugh. No one really knew what Emille's type was, but Jack was convinced he knew her preferences. On top of Jack's list was 'a very tall man.' His logic was that extremely tall men were rare, so that's why Emille couldn't find one. From what Peter could see of his shoulder height, the guy sitting across the table from Emille was about six feet, which was tall. In most circles.

  He strode across the room and positioned himself behind Emille's chair. His long arms wrapped around her shoulders as he planted a smacking kiss against her cheek.

  She sucked her teeth in playful annoyance, but he just chuckled against her face.

  "Oh. It's just you," Emille said in a bored tone that bellied the happiness in her eyes. "I thought for sure Dwayne Johnson had finally left his ex-wife and decided to come find the woman of his dreams." As she'd intended, both men laughed at her quip. "Jeff Stafford, I'd like you to meet Chef Peter Anjou," she introduced. "Peter, this is Jeff. He's the one that replaced you."

  Peter, who had been pleasantly shaking Jeff's hand, swung his head around to level a look on Emille. What did she mean by that? She was so sneaky with her words, you never quite knew what she meant. Any of the patrons in the restaurant hearing her now would think that there was more to her words. But, the truth was, other than a mild flirtation when they'd first met, there was no attraction there between him and Emille. She was his buddy. The one he called up when he needed company for a low-pressure activity like a movie when he was between girlfriends. And he was the guy she called up for events that required a date.

  She recognized the look he'd given her, because Emille rushed to explain, "He's one of the engineers at Orson and Sons. He's got your old office."

  "Oh?" he grinned, turning his attention back to Jeff. "Have you found the plug-in cooler behind the filing cabinet?"

  "Yep," Jeff said with a laugh. "Em here showed it to me on my first day."

  "Did she? Em's always been a helpful lady." The cooler was Emille's idea. It was where they'd kept their lunch whenever Peter decided to practice a new dish.

  Emille's lips were pursed tight as she avoided Peter's gaze.

  "She is. You left a big gap when you resigned," Jeff continued to say. "If it wasn't for her, I think I'd have had a much harder time fitting in over there."

  "No…" she gushed, "you would have done just fine. You're awesome at your job."

  Peter's eyes narrowed. "I've got to get back into the kitchen, Emille," he said. "I just came out to remind you that you're responsible for lunch this weekend."

  Emille looked across the table at Jeff, then back at Peter. "I'm sorry Peter, but I have plans this weekend."

  His brows shot almost to his hairline. And considering Peter had a decently long face, that was saying something. "Come again?" he asked. She moved to stand, and he hastened to help her with her chair, noting that Jeff hadn't even thought about the courtesy. Jack was right. This guy wasn't her type. Emille might be one of the guys, but they'd never forgotten she was a lady. In fact, Peter would much rather she remain single than date anyone who didn't know her worth.

  "I made plans for this weekend."

  Peter had a system. He never had sleepovers on Saturday nights because he went fishing on Sunday mornings. Sometimes his other friends joined him. But most of the time, it was just him and Emille out on the water. So, it wasn't unreasonable for him to expect that Emille would be there this coming Sunday morning.

  "What kind of plans?" he asked, once she was on her feet.

  "Unbreakable plans," she replied crisply.

  For the first time since he'd left the kitchen, Peter took a good look at what Emille was wearing. Jackson hadn't lied. Emille was indeed wearing a bright red dress. It even looked like a halter, but he couldn't tell because of the little jacket she was wearing. What he did notice was the expanse of creamy white cleavage. He'd always known that she had a sizeable bosom, but things like that were easy to forget when they were so well hidden. With her smoky eyes and matching red lipstick, she had put a good deal of effort into looking good tonight. After a quick glance at her companion, Peter started thinking that maybe Jackson's first impression was right. Maybe Emille really was seriously into this guy. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. If that was the case, then good for her. But he couldn't help the feeling of loss that came over him. She was already cancelling their fishing trips to spend time with this guy. Next thing she'd be calling to cancel dinner on Wednesdays. She'd already asked him if the fish would be enough to share with this guy. What next?

  Perversely, he took a step back to check out her shoes. Sure enough, she was wearing a wicked pair of leopard print stilettos. He hadn't even remembered that Em had such shapely calves. If that didn't confirm it, then nothing would. He could barely remember ever seeing her calves.

  "You look nice," he said, abruptly changing the conversation.

  Emille blinked at him. "Thanks?"

  "Hey," he pointed over his shoulder. "I've got to get back to work. Let me know when you're ready to come out again. It will still be your turn to bring lunch."

  "Okay," she said on an exhaled breath. "I will."

  Peter reached out to shake the other man's hand. "Jeff, it was a pleasure to meet you. Don't be a stranger around here."

  Jeff accepted the handshake with a wry smile. "I would, if it wasn't so hard to get reservations to this place."

  Because Peter knew deep down in his heart he wanted this to be the first and last time he ever saw Jeff Stafford, he didn't pretend that the other man could use their association to get reservations. "Yeah," he said with false pleasantry. "It's the kind of place that people come back to." With one last wink at Emille, Peter turned to leave.

  Emille watched him walk away, a puzzled frown on her face. When she'd changed her plans for this coming Sunday, she hadn't thought that it would matter all that much to Peter if she wasn't there to go fishing with him. All she'd wanted was a day at home to relax and enjoy her own company. Most of the time, they spend all morning out on his boat, not even exchanging proper sentences. Not even really fishing. Just taking the morning to decompress. Judging by the way he was acting now, she wasn't so sure that her company wasn't as important to him as it was to her. She stepped away from the table, her hand extended as if she could reach out and stop him from walking away. Peter, are you okay? That's all she intended to say.

  "Pe-"

  He swung around quickly, instinctively grabbing for her hand. But it was too late. They were too far apart.