Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

Ash

I surfaced with a gasp. "What the fuck?"

Sawyer hit the water beside me with a laugh. When he came up, I sent a wave directly into his stupid face.

He spluttered and wiped the water out of his eyes, then retaliated by splashing me back.

We both laughed like loons, continuing to splash and dunk—and for a few minutes, it was as if the last ten years had never happened. I was in the lake with my best friend, horsing around.

The sound of a boat engine snapped me back to reality.

"Shit! I can't serve food drenched in lake water."

"You'll dry off in like five minutes. Go, and I'll stall them."

I swam over to the boat and climbed the ladder, water weighing my clothes down. At least Sawyer had stripped off his shirt first…

Fair is fair.

I took off my tank top, slicked my wet hair back, squeezing out lake water, then grabbed Sawyer's T-shirt from the deck and tugged it on. The sun had dried the excess sweat, and it smelled mostly of grease, anyway.

We were a similar size, but the shirt pulled tight across my chest. Still a hell of a lot better than serving food while dripping wet.

Sawyer climbed onto the deck behind me, and with a scowl, picked up my sopping wet tank top. "I oughta take that shirt right off your back."

I grinned at him. It was an empty threat, and we both knew it. Besides, what was he going to do? Make out with me again?

I waggled my brows in invitation and he huffed and turned away to pull on the tank. It plastered itself to his skin, and damn, that was almost sexier than seeing him without a shirt had been.

Wait. Sexier? Really?

Sawyer had always been my weak point. My best friend who I loved like a brother, then the one I'd lost when I'd stupidly broken both our hearts. But sexy? That hadn't entered my mind before. Not even the first time I kissed him. It had been impulsive and desperate and…somehow urgent that I do it.

But…sexy?

"Hey, y'all having some fun out on the lake?" Sawyer called out to a family that looked wilted from the sun.

"It's been a long day, and I'm too wiped out to grill," the dad called from their little bowrider.

"And I'm not turning on a stove in this heat," the mother added with a laugh.

"You came to the right place," Sawyer said. "We've got a pretty big menu. So you can get tacos—" great, more tacos— " or some more creative things, like this amazing spicy potato?—"

"Tacos sound great," the dad interrupted. "Right, kids?"

The three kids, ranging in age from eight to sixteen, all sported a light sunburn across their freckly shoulders.

"What kind of tacos?" one of them asked. "It's not fish, is it? I don't like fish."

I left Sawyer to explain the ingredients—which he'd mostly likely do in the plainest, most boring terms that didn't do my recipes justice—and ducked inside to wipe out the last of my taco supply.

I sighed as I looked on my spicy sweet potatoes with true sadness. "They don't know what they're missing," I murmured to my dish before getting back to work.

It wasn't a total loss. I'd ask Vera if she wanted to serve it in the restaurant tonight. It might go over better there. If not, I could take it home and invite Mel over for dinner.

A couple of hours later we packed it in without screaming or kissing again. Kind of too bad. I didn't want to fight with Sawyer, but I couldn't deny the results had been enjoyable.

I wasn't sure what that meant yet. But I'd take kissing over punching any day.

When we packed up the leftovers to take to the kitchen, Sawyer surprised the hell out of me.

"Can I take a couple of those spicy sweet potato-beet sandwiches?"

I blinked. "I thought it was frou-frou shit nobody wanted."

He shrugged. "They just think they don't want it. It's still fucking good." He hesitated. "And uh, I really wasn't trying to not sell it. I thought I was doing the right thing."

"Next time, fucking listen to me. I'm the chef, okay? This is my business, and I've worked too damn heard for you to come in and?—"

Sawyer grabbed my face and kissed me, quick and hard.

I blinked, dazed. "What was that?"

"Me shutting you up. Now, let's get the rest of this food packed up. Shua will be waiting for me. They'll love your food."

The neighbor kid. Well, that was…sweet.

We got the boat docked and unloaded, and Sawyer helped me cart it all into the kitchen. I got him the leftovers he wanted, then went to check in with Vera about what, if anything, she could incorporate into the dinner menu.

The restaurant was filled—mostly with locals who loved Vera's cooking—but I noticed a couple waiting to check in at the front desk and a handful of resort guests out in the pool on my way out.

I waved to Brooks, who was bartending by the pool, then dragged my ass home to shower and crash.

The next few days played out much the same way. Sawyer was still a pain in the ass. If I asked him to wash potatoes, he wanted to pack a cooler instead. If I told him to recommend one menu item, he'd ignore me and push something else.

He poked and he poked and he poked until I snapped.

And then? Well, then he kissed the protest right off my lips. And I was a sucker for it every time.

"Double order for falafel," he called Monday afternoon.

"Just the falafel?"

"Yup."

"No Greek salad on the side?"

He shrugged. "They didn't ask for it."

"Saw, come on!" I said. "You've got to upsell the side items. If you're not gonna fucking do the job right?—"

Sawyer grabbed my face and smacked a kiss to my lips. "Just toss the falafel in the fryer, will you?"

I turned with a grumble and got to work. Every time, every freaking time I tried to make a point, Sawyer pulled this shit. The worst part was, I wasn't even mad about it. I liked it too much.

Sawyer went out to the deck to cool off while I finished the order and served it. He had even less tolerance for the heat than I did. Maybe I had his boiling brain to thank for all the kissing.

I walked out the door. "We need to do some cleanup."

Sawyer shook his head. "In a minute."

"It'll be much easier on us tonight if we clean as we go."

"I'm not stopping you."

"Sawyer…"

"You're not my fucking boss," he snapped. "I'm here to help you out, but this isn't my job and I'm tired of?—"

Turnabout was fair play. I grabbed his face and kissed him. His lips parted in surprise, so I took a taste. A soft sound rose in his throat, then his fingers threaded through my hair and pulled.

I groaned and bit his lip in retribution.

"Fuck!" he gasped, pulling back to touch his bloody lip.

"Poor baby," I crooned, then leaned in and ran my tongue over the tiny cut.

Sawyer stood very still, as if he were torn between pulling me closer or shoving me away. I decided not to test my theory that if his restraint truly broke, he'd rip off my clothes before he ever hurt me.

I stepped back. "Take five minutes. Then join me for cleanup."

"Okay," he muttered. "But you're still too fucking bossy."

I shot a grin over my shoulder. "Comes with the territory of actually being the boss."

When we got back that night, I once again had too many leftovers. I couldn't even blame Sawyer this time, because he'd tried to recommend them a few times. Not every time, but definitely more than that first day.

People just weren't all that adventurous after a day on the lake. Vera had sold a few of the items with better luck at the restaurant, but some things just didn't keep well enough to continue serving.

I lingered in the kitchen, waiting until she had a free moment. It didn't look to be happening anytime soon, so I jumped in and helped the sous chef on the prep.

"What are you doing, Ash?" Vera finally asked. "You worked all day on the boat."

"You all were in the weeds."

"Wasn't putting up with my son enough to exhaust you?" She shook her head. "I remember what he was like in the kitchen. Hopeless."

I laughed. "Uh, yeah, he's not much help there. Mostly he takes the orders and infuriates me with his opinions on what I should serve."

She cocked an eyebrow as she plated up a beautiful surf-and-turf with melted blue cheese topping, a spicy sweet potato mash—inspired by my poor unloved sandwich, but at least all my work developing the flavor profile hadn't gone to waste—and bright green asparagus.

"Sawyer has opinions on food? What's he telling you to do, serve nachos?"

I chuckled. "Uh, no. He thinks my food sounds too fancy for people wanting a quick bite out on the lake."

"Hmm." She put the plate into the window and hit a bell that would alert the server it was ready. Then turned to me. "Is he right?"

That was the million-dollar question, wasn't it?

"I don't want him to be right. I poured my heart and soul into these things. This isn't just cooking some quick burgers. It's my creative outlet, you know?"

"I do know," she said seriously. "This work takes a lot of passion, because it sure isn't easy."

"The boat gets so hot. It's fucking miserable. Er…pardon my language."

Her lips twitched. "I'm a chef. I've been cussing out my kitchen staff for years." She checked the tickets. "I've got a few minutes. Come on, let's go sit. I'm dead on my feet, and dinner service is only gonna get busier in the next hour."

I followed Vera to a couple of stools by a back counter where she did a lot of her planning. She didn't have an office, but only because she didn't want one. She kept a tablet that contained recipe notes, important dates, and more.

This wasn't our first time meeting to chat about my menu. We regularly coordinated ingredients. But it was the first I felt out of my depth.

"Sawyer thinks I'm doing this all wrong. He says my menu is too big, and it's too complicated, and what if he's right? He did watch you run a restaurant. Maybe I should listen."

Vera tilted her head, considering. "Sawyer has no passion for this. That's all you, Ash. Only you can decide what's right and wrong for your menu."

"But?" I prompted, because I really wasn't in a state of mind to figure this out on my own.

"But I can give you my advice, if you want."

"Please," I said quickly.

"Step 1: Take Sawyer out of the equation. He was your best friend for years, and he clearly still las a lot of influence over you."

"I guess that's true," I said, thinking of the many times I'd let him kiss me out of an argument.

Not that I wouldn't fight for something important. And my food was important. I just wasn't so sure Sawyer was wrong.

"Okay, so just the facts," Vera said. "How are your gourmet menu items selling?"

I slumped. "Not nearly as well as the basics. I didn't do anything too exciting the first week so I could ease into running the boat and adjust to the equipment."

"A smart move."

"I was so excited to start introducing new items, and then, they just didn't sell as well. I blamed Sawyer because he wasn't recommending them enough."

She nodded, just waiting for me to continue.

"But even once I got him to try more, there's no question they don't go over as well." My lip pushed out, and I was sure I looked like a sulky little boy. "I don't want to serve only the basics."

"So don't," she said. "Figure out a way to make people want what you want to serve."

"How do I do that?"

"Let's pull up your menu," she said, glancing over her shoulder to check the status of the kitchen. "Have you ever heard the expression, Too much jam ?"

"I don't think so. I'm not serving any jam."

She chuckled. "No, it's the premise that if someone is at the grocery store and there's shelves of jam in all sorts of varieties, they can't make a decision. They'll sometimes not even buy it."

"So you're saying Sawyer was right," I said. "My menu is too big."

"You're ambitious, Ash. And so talented. I've served a few things you brought in, and you've got a real talent for flavors. If you decide you want to move to a restaurant instead of a food boat, I'd snatch you up in a heartbeat."

"That means a lot. I know I could learn so much from you."

She patted my arm. "Thanks, sweetie. And I'm not saying Sawyer is right. I'm saying, take a look at this menu. Think about how you can make it easier for people to make the choices you want them to make. Maybe that's a smaller daily menu, but you rotate more things in and out. Or maybe that's putting them in terms your customers might better like. You're out on the lake. Have some fun with it. This is Swallow Cove, after all. Half the places around here have corny names. Why not our menu items too?"

She hopped off the stool. "Whatever you do, just remember, you're cooking for an audience now. When I was at the pub, I had to serve pub food—but I always found a way to put myself into it. You'll figure out the same."

Vera went back to work, leaving me pondering my menu. I would have much preferred she'd just told me exactly what to do, but that wasn't how it worked when you launched your own business.

Vera couldn't give me all the answers.

Neither could Sawyer, even if he tried.

She was right. I was the chef, and only I could decide what I wanted to serve.

I wasn't here to sling burgers and tacos, but maybe I could find a way to cook the food I wanted and make my customers eat it, too.