Rachel started to check her hair, but then stopped herself. It was easier to pretend this was nothing if she didn’t care how she looked while doing it. But when Nathan opened the door, the wattage of his smile made her wish she would have at least reapplied her lipstick.
“Didn’t think you’d come,” he said.
“Curiosity got the best of me. I’ve never heard of this place.”
“My friend Bobbi works here. Come on in.”
The kitchen lights were on, but the dining room was still dark enough that Rachel stumbled over a chair. Nathan steadied her, telling her to be careful. She wanted to laugh. Like he wasn’t the real hazard.
Rap music blared from a phone, and the sound of pots and pans warred with shouts across the kitchen. Nathan introduced her to a tall East Asian woman with keenly observant eyes. She took in Rachel’s wool pants and silk blouse, then lingered on the pearls around her neck in a way that made Rachel feel uptight and ancient. “There’s grease flying all over this place,” Bobbi said. “I’ll get you an apron.”
Rachel pointed to Bobbi’s Annabelle’s T-shirt. “I’ll take one of those if there are any extras lying around.” Bobbi’s expression warmed, and she led Rachel to a small office with piles of branded swag. By the time they rejoined Nathan, Rachel was swimming in her new T-shirt. She had also peppered Bobbi with enough questions to learn how long they’d been friends, and how successful Bobbi thought Nathan could be if he believed in himself. The affection woven through her voice was obvious. Knowing he had someone like Bobbi looking out for him eased a worry Rachel hadn’t realized was there.
“I saw him whining about your food earlier,” Bobbi said. “Nathan’s my guinea pig for new recipes, so I probably created this picky-eating monster.”
“It’s called standards.” He nodded at Rachel. “She’s picky too. Just less vocal.”
“My daughter is at the Institute of Culinary Education,” Rachel explained. “I’m sure it’s the same with your family. They know just enough to be a chef’s worst nightmare.”
Bobbi glanced at Nathan. “Oh, I never went to culinary school.”
Rachel’s face heated. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“It’s fine. Lots of people make that mistake, but it usually comes after they’ve eaten my food. Because I’m fucking brilliant.” She smiled impishly and winked at Nathan. “Like this one and his art.”
Nathan rolled his eyes. “Okay…”
“You’re right. He is brilliant,” Rachel said softly. Their gazes caught in a brief tangle and slid away. She leaned forward to peek at Bobbi’s cutting board. “Are you making catfish?”
“Yeah. This place is southern fine dining. Fancy grits and shit.” She picked up a jar of cayenne pepper. “Nathan says you like things spicy.”
“Nuclear,” Nathan corrected. Bobbi added it to the fish batter, and Nathan signaled that she should add more. Soon they were dividing up the labor—Bobbi handled seasoning while Rachel cooked the fish. Nathan made a roux for macaroni and cheese and laughed when Rachel told him to sprinkle cayenne in the sauce.
“Your tongue is Teflon.”
She propped a hand on her hip. “Well, you have toddler taste buds.”
Nathan smiled and brushed a bit of cornmeal from her shoulder. “No, just a little sensitive. But that’s a good thing, right?”
Rachel stared at him, suspended in a heady moment that she knew was fragile and fleeting. For the span of a breath, she felt pure longing. To be someone else. To fully belong here, in this moment. To be able to reach up and straighten his collar without caring if anyone saw. Because he was hers.
It was torture, daydreaming of a different life, one with close friendships and trust. And love. Everything she wanted but couldn’t have.
Bobbi had stopped cooking to stare at them. She’d seen everything. She’d probably figured it all out the minute Rachel stepped into the kitchen.
“I should probably go,” Rachel said, overwhelmed. “It’s getting late.”
Nathan frowned. “But the food’s not done.”
“I’m sorry.” She gave Bobbi an apologetic smile. “I promise to stop by some other time.”
She started to leave, but Nathan blocked her path. “It’s dark. Can I at least walk you to your car?”
They left together in silence. Nathan opened the driver’s side door, but held it ajar. “I get it now,” he blurted, like he was afraid she’d leave before he could finish. “Why you love taking pictures.”