No one seems intimidated by him, but everyone appears to want his opinion. He’s constantly being asked questions, and he responds to each one of them with patience. In between those moments of teaching, there’s a lot of yelling. Not the kind of yelling I’d expect to find in a kitchen, but people calling out food orders and cooks yelling their acknowledgments. It’s loud and busy, but the vibe is a rush.
It’s honestly not at all what I expected to find. I thought I’d see a whole new side to Atlas—one where he barked orders with anger and behaved like all the chefs I’ve seen on television. But, thankfully, that’s not at all what is happening in this kitchen.
After a thrilling half an hour goes by, Atlas finally steps away from his station. He washes his hands before walking over to me. I get this knot of excitement in my stomach when he leans forward and presses his mouth to mine, like he doesn’t care that all his staff can see us.
“Sorry that took so long,” he says.
“I enjoyed it. It was different than I expected.”
“How so?”
“I thought all chefs were assholes and screamed at their staff.”
He laughs. “No assholes in this kitchen. Sorry to disappoint.” He uncrosses my legs so he can stand between them. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“Josh is staying over at Theo’s tonight.”
I can’t hold back my grin. “What a wonderful coincidence.”
Atlas’s eyes sweep over me, and then he leans his head against mine, pressing his lips lightly against my ear. “Your place or mine?”
“Yours. I want to be in a bed that smells like you.”
He nips at my ear, sending chills down my neck. Then he takes my hands and helps me down from the counter. He gives his attention to someone passing by. “Hey, can you take over the pass?”
The guy says, “You bet.”
Atlas looks back at me and says, “Meet you at my house.”
* * *
I stopped by my apartment before going to his restaurant to pack a bag just in case this was a possibility, so I get to his place before he does. While I wait for Atlas, I use the time in my car to check in with Allysa.
Did she fall asleep okay?
Just fine. How’s your night going?
Just fine. ;）
Have fun. I expect a full report.
Atlas’s headlights shine through my car as he pulls into his driveway. I’m still gathering my things when he opens my car door. As soon as I climb out of the car, Atlas dips an impatient hand into my hair and kisses me. It’s the kind of kiss that screams I’ve missed kissing you.
When he pulls back, he studies my face with a gentle smile. “I liked you watching me in the kitchen tonight.”
A shiver passes over me. “I like watching you.” I can’t say it without grinning. I grab my bag from the passenger seat, and Atlas takes it from me and hoists it over his shoulder. I follow him through the garage. He still has moving boxes piled up along one wall. There’s a weight bench in pieces on the floor next to the unpacked boxes. There are two full baskets of laundry sitting in front of a washer and dryer.
Seeing a little bit of disarray in his garage is comforting. I was beginning to think he was too good to be true, but Atlas Corrigan is behind on life and behind on laundry like the rest of us.
He unlocks his house and holds the door open for me. It’s smaller than his last one, but it’s more him. And it’s not a cut-and-paste brick building in a subdivision of similar-looking homes. The houses in this neighborhood have character. Each one is vastly different, from the pink two-story house on the corner to the modern boxy glass one at the other end of the street.
Atlas’s house is a bungalow-style home nestled in between two larger homes. When I was here last time, I noted that he somehow got the biggest backyard of the three. Plenty of room for a garden someday…
Atlas enters his security code into his keypad. “It’s nine five nine five,” he says. “If you ever need in.”
“Nine five nine five,” I repeat, noting it’s the same number combination as his phone. He’s a man of commitment. I like it.
His security code isn’t a key to his house, but it feels almost as significant. He places my bag on his couch and then flips on the living room light. My back is to the wall, and I’m standing out of the way, watching him. It’s a good thing he informed me that he liked it when I was watching him at work, because watching Atlas is my favorite pastime. I could live my life as a fly on his wall and be content. “What’s your routine when you get home at night?”