Opposites Attract: The complete box set

by Higginson, Rachel

  Forcing a relaxed smile, I agreed with him. “I’m positive I will be too.” Even if I would never tell Killian that.

  “The wine list.” Shane tapped his finger on a golden, shimmery folder in the middle of the table. “Our sommelier has selected the very best bottles to accompany your meal. Or if you’d prefer, our bartender is a master craftsman with cocktails.” He took a step back and bowed his head. “I’ll give you a few minutes to look over the menus. I’ll be back soon.”

  Molly leaned forward smiling, “Waterboarding might be more effective.”

  I followed Shane, watching as he walked around the restaurant. “But how to get him to meet me in the bathroom?”

  She laughed. “You’re ridiculous. Why don’t you just ask him all these questions yourself?”

  I met her gaze. “And let all of my detective talents go to waste? It’s like you don’t even know me.”

  She pushed the wine list toward me. “At least pick out something good to drink. If I have to endure this amazing dinner while you try to steal all of Killian Quinn’s secrets at least let me get drunk.”

  I didn’t argue with her because she had a point. “What do you feel like? Cocktails or wine?”

  “What’s cheaper?” she whispered.

  Quickly scanning the menu, I whispered back, “Water.”

  “Cocktails it is.”

  Molly did well for herself, meaning she could pay all her bills and afford her cute downtown apartment and newish car payment. But she didn’t have unlimited amounts of cash sitting around. Or enough to justify tonight’s meal.

  Neither did I for that matter.

  Just one more reason I loved her—she splurged with me just for the hell of it. Some girls went shopping together. When Molly and I wanted to blow all our savings, we went to five-star restaurants and gallery openings. When we wanted new clothes, we hit our favorite thrift stores and raided each other’s closet.

  Shane reappeared to take our drink orders, two variations of the bartender’s signature Moscow Mules, one with pomegranate and the other with elderflower, and I ordered the pork belly and wagyu beef heart kabobs for an appetizer.

  He disappeared again, and with another look around, I relaxed into my seat, secure in the feeling that Killian had no idea that I was here. And there was no reason for him to know I was ever here.

  Lilou was as charming as I imagined it would be. The white brick looked just as quaint on this side as it did the outside, especially with the dimmed overhead lights and candles set on the tables. The tablescapes were elegant, classy, without being over the top. The linens were pristine. The cutlery was perfectly modern. The atmosphere engaged and whimsical.

  I loved it.

  It was the kind of restaurant I had dreamed of working in. I imagined what it would look like in the daytime with the lights fully up. The servers would hustle from table to table, setting up for supper service. The phone would ring constantly as last minute diners tried and failed to get reservations. The clatter from the kitchen would fill the restaurant like a theme song, the never-ending background music as Killian prepared for the evening and his army of chefs obeyed his every command.

  My heartbeat picked up speed, dancing in my chest, responding to the electricity humming in the air. Killian was probably too arrogant to realize what a gift a kitchen like this was. Entitled and spoiled, he was used to this level of success. But from where I sat on a pile of ashes that used to be dreams, I knew he held a rare and precious thing. For as many restaurants as there were in this city, he had the privilege of running one of the nicest. For as many chefs as there were in this industry, he had the honor of being one of the best.

  And still, I couldn’t find it in me to be jealous of him. Maybe at first I had been. But that had been a generic jealousy, born from the bitter taste of my mistakes. Now that I knew him a little better, I realized he deserved this kitchen. He’d earned it.

  Even if I hated admitting that.

  “What are you thinking?” Molly asked quietly when I’d been silent for several minutes.

  I shook my head, curling my shoulders forward and playing with my linen napkin. “Nothing, really. I was just taking it all in.”

  “It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Molly agreed. “Almost too pretty. From everything you’ve said about Killian, it doesn’t seem to be his kind of place.”

  Shane arrived with our drinks and first course. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  He went over the dishes, explaining the crispy pork belly over grits with basil crème and oyster mushrooms. My mouth started watering as I took in the food, inhaling the savory scents. He pointed to the beef kabobs, explaining the Mediterranean take on them and the tzatziki inspired sauce.

  My gaze narrowed on the skewers with laser focus. He wouldn’t.

  He didn’t.

  Before Shane could walk away, I’d already dragged my finger through the white sauce and tasted it. “That bastard!” I hissed.

  “What?” Molly asked, leaning forward with alarm at the same time Shane panicked. “Is something wrong?”

  I sucked my finger clean because damn it if he hadn’t made it even better than the one he’d helped me with. “No, nothing. Sorry.” My cheeks turned red with embarrassment. “It’s just so good.”

  Shane smiled, appeased by my compliment. “It really is. I could drink that sauce by itself.”

  Molly tilted her head curiously, but waited to try anything until Shane had walked away again.

  “That’s my sauce,” I told her. “The one he stopped by to improve.”

  Her voice dropped, and she immediately plated one of the kabobs to try it. “He stole it?”

  I wished. “No, not really,” I admitted. “Mine was good. His is from a different planet of good. But it’s definitely similar to mine.”

  “Could we call it ‘inspired’ by yours?”

  I ignored her sly grin and shook my head. “Only in the general sense of he realized how awesome he could make it and how not awesome I had made it. Besides, I keep changing up my menu, so it’s not a huge deal. Those meatballs were so last month.”

  “You’re not mad? Really?”

  Honestly, I was flattered, but I didn’t want to admit it. “I’m always mad at him. The man is obnoxious.” Although I hadn’t expected him to ever steal something from me. Killian Quinn was a complete original. I got the vibe that he loathed doing the popular thing. He wanted to be the first, set the tone, create the trend. Not follow in someone else’s footsteps.

  We were going over the rest of the menu, trying to narrow our main courses to a couple of options we could share, when Wyatt stepped out of the kitchen. He walked over to Shane, who pointed in our direction.

  “Oh, no! Molly, we’ve been made!”

  She ducked down, holding the menu to the side of her face. “I told you we should have worn disguises!”

  “Well, well, well,” Wyatt crooned, stepping up to our table. “If it isn’t our nosy neighbors.”

  I peeled the menu from the front of my face and braved looking at him. “I would have had you bring me something, but I felt sorry for you and didn’t want to get you fired.”

  The high planes of his sharp cheekbones turned pink. “Thanks for that.”

  Offering him a genuine smile, I made a show of glancing around. “I mean, I don’t personally understand why anyone would want to work here, but I guess if you need to pay your bills or whatever.”

  He laughed and held out the tray I hadn’t noticed yet. “Yeah, I just need the basics really. Like electricity, water, cat food.”

  Molly and I shared a look. Cat food?

  “I think you need better priorities, but hey, I’m not one to judge.” I leaned toward the tray, pulled in by the interesting bites of food he’d brought with him. “What do you have there?”

  He grinned at me. “A little amuse bouche, compliments of the chef.”

  “How generous,” I mumbled.

  “He wanted to thank you for stopping in. He alway
s loves another chef’s opinion.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “We were hungry,” I explained. “We didn’t have anything else going on tonight.” Lie. “We’re not here to spy.” Another lie. “Besides, if anyone has been spying lately…” I pointed to the remnants of the tzatziki sauce that hadn’t yet been licked off the plate. “I think I’m the one with the right to complain.”

  Wyatt chuckled, not taking me seriously. “You know the entire kitchen blames you for the new menu.”

  “What? Why?” Panic jumped around inside me. My insides became a mosh pit of confused emotion. The very notion seemed too absurd even to consider, and yet the sauce sat there glaring at me, proving that it wasn’t entirely impossible.

  “The last time Killian changed the menu in the middle of a season, was after a Jarod Campbell review. Killian had all but lit the menu on fire and started from scratch. It was terrifying.”

  Jarod Campbell was one of the toughest critics in the country. He never gave glowing reviews. He preferred scathing criticisms with a few positive notes sprinkled throughout. But I was surprised even Killian had suffered Jarod’s harsh opinion.

  My eyebrows jumped to my hairline. “So you’re saying he hates me as much as Jarod Campbell?”

  Wyatt gave me a goofy look. “That is not what I’m saying at all.”

  I didn’t know what he was saying. Nor did I want to know. “You better get back in there before he realizes how much he doesn’t need you.”

  Wyatt chuckled again and turned to Molly, setting down the fancy little bites of food on a fresh plate. “Enjoy.” To me, he said, “He’ll be out when he can catch a break.”

  “He doesn’t need to bother! I swear we didn’t come here to visit.”

  Wyatt backed up a step. “But you did come all this way. It’s only polite.”

  Before I could embarrass myself further, Wyatt was swept away in the current of bustling servers and trays of food. He disappeared into the kitchen with his now empty tray, and we were left with our amuse bouches that suddenly felt like less of a friendly gesture and more of a deal with the devil.

  “Well, this was nice of him,” commented Molly—poor, sweet, naïve Molly.

  “Killian Quinn isn’t capable of being nice. He’s just rubbing his superior skill in my face.”

  She picked one up; it had a small toast on the bottom with a thin piece of prosciutto and maybe mascarpone on it? There was a brown drizzle that I suspected was balsamic based. “Oh, my God,” she groaned after consuming it in one bite—like it was intended. “He’s such an asshole. I hate him.”

  “Liar.”

  She grinned at me. “I’m sorry, but a man that makes that cannot possibly be entirely evil.”

  “That’s the whole point, Molly! He’s tricking you with his good looks and delicious food. Meanwhile, your soul is damned to hell.”

  “Stop being difficult, Vere, and try the damn food before I eat yours.”

  I gasped, immediately picking up a flakey piece of white fish with a perfectly peppered crust on a lavosh-like cracker. I couldn’t stand the man, but there was no way I was giving away my food. “Fine,” I huffed. “It’s more ammunition for the Yelp review anyway.”

  Molly just shook her head at me, her mouth too full for her to verbally respond.

  Shane didn’t return to take our order. A bus boy cleared our plates, but nobody checked on us until Shane reappeared with a tray full of plates, the bartender at his side replacing our drinks with new ones.

  “We didn’t order this,” I pointed out.

  Shane smiled politely, his eyes darting around the table afraid to meet mine. “The chef wanted you to enjoy a variety of dishes.” He stepped back so the server with him could start setting the plates down. “And drinks,” he added.

  “That’s unnecessary—”

  Shane held up a hand. “He insisted. He also said that you should stop arguing with him.”

  “I didn’t—” But at Shane’s look of complete helplessness I backed off. It wasn’t Shane’s fault that Killian was so heavy-handed. “Alright, fine.”

  Shane watched me for another minute, probably trying to figure out why we were getting such special treatment.

  Honestly, I wanted to know too.

  Finally, after every plate had been squeezed onto our tiny table, he asked, “Would you like me to thank the chef for you?”

  “No.” I tore my eyes from the feast in front of me and smiled apologetically at Shane. “Thank you, but no. I don’t want you to thank him for me.”

  “You’d like to do it yourself?” he guessed.

  “I’d like to punch him in the throat, but I’ll have to settle for icy silence.”

  Molly snickered, already plating for both of us, while Shane floundered for a response. “I, uh, well, if you need anything else, please don’t hesitate.”

  “We won’t,” Molly answered for me. “Thank you so much.”

  “The nerve of that man,” I grumbled while I consulted my menu and matched the dishes with the plates in front of me.

  “Should we send it back?” Molly had already started eating from the plate in front of her, not even bothering to disguise her blissed-out reactions.

  “Are you kidding? I’m irritated, not crazy!”

  She waggled her eyebrows at me, and we dove in. I tried to explain the dishes to her so she knew what she was eating, but she didn’t care about the individual components of each plate. She just wanted to eat in peace.

  So, I let her. Meanwhile, I dissected every single thing in front of me, studying it, examining it… enjoying it. Killian wasn’t just a good chef, he was a phenomenal one. I couldn’t help but picture those strong fingers of his, carefully crafting each dish, putting it together with all that dynamic focus, refusing to let even one peppercorn fall out of place.

  The meal wasn’t simply sustenance. It wasn’t even as simple as a memorable experience. This was a work of art, the masterpiece in front of me reaching all five senses and even further than that, down into my soul where I would remember this meal for the rest of my life.

  Everything was perfectly cooked, perfectly crispy, perfectly moist, perfectly whatever it needed to be to make the flavors explode in my mouth and burrow deep down in my bones. Braised rabbit legs, creamy truffle risotto, slow-cooked bone-in duck breast with fig sauce, succulent filet with duck fat fries, golden trout with leeks and pineapple and heirloom tomatoes.

  This wasn’t just a meal, it was a religious experience. I would never be the same after this, unequivocally altered by the sheer genius of each bite.

  I tried to ignore the warmth blooming inside my chest. Killian wasn’t trying to rub his food in my face; he had given me a gift. Only I didn’t understand why.

  When we were halfway through our meal, the table looked more like a massacre than an elegant evening out. A tingle of awareness prickled the back of my neck. I suppressed the urge to run. I wouldn’t be able to hide my admiration or trick him into believing I was anything but completely enamored. With his food.

  Only his food.

  He pushed through the kitchen door, striding through the dining room with domineering steps. His gaze went straight to our table. Straight to me. His mouth was all but hidden behind his full beard, but there was a satisfied smile sitting in his eyes. He didn’t have to see my reaction to know how I felt.

  He already knew it. Before he’d even stepped foot outside of his kitchen.

  And I just sat there staring at him, shivery and impressed and awestruck.

  He owned this restaurant. Maybe not literally, he had a boss after all. But he commanded it. He was the captain, and this was his ship.

  This was his empire, and he was the king.

  Patrons swiveled to watch him move through the narrow aisles. Everyone recognized him, if not because they already knew who he was than because of his presence—because you couldn’t mistake him for anyone besides the man in charge.

  He walked directly over to us and by the
time he reached our table, my mouth was dry, and all the delicious food I’d inhaled had been turned to dust in my stomach.

  I was nervous. And slightly turned on. It was so out of place and ridiculous that I wanted to face plant in my risotto. Instead, I pasted on a charming smile and said, “You stole my tzatziki sauce.”

  His green eyes flashed with surprise. He gestured at the half empty plates on the table. “So what are you going to steal from me?”

  I had already decided on about a half dozen things, but to him I said, “I don’t need to steal anything from you. I’m good.” His gaze narrowed and I knew he didn’t believe me, but he didn’t call me on it. “Have you met Molly?” I asked him.

  “Not formally.” He turned to her. “Hi.”

  She took his hand, eying him warily. “Hi.”

  “Molly this is Killian. He’s the chef I keep telling you to call the cops on. The one that keeps stealing all of my dishes.”

  He turned back to me, fire in his gaze. “Inspired.”

  “What?”

  “My sauce is inspired by your cute little meatballs. It’s plenty different, and you know it.”

  His admission of truth was such a surprise that I momentarily lost the ability to speak. When I finally found my voice again, I said the first stupid thing that came to mind. “Where’s your charcuterie board?”

  Killian’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “Excuse me?”

  “They’re all the rage,” I pointed out. “Doesn’t Lilou want to be on trend?”

  His lip curled back in disgust. “Lilou likes to go against the grain, not with the masses. Risks get you noticed, Delane. Or were you planning on cooking chili dogs for every meal?”

  Before I could argue with him, another man called his name from a short distance away. “Killian.”

  We all turned and watched the most gorgeous man I had ever seen approach the table. Black, wavy hair, perfectly tanned, flawless skin, tall, lean, muscular—he was perfect. Completely perfect. And the absolute opposite of Killian.

  Clean cut where Killian was basically a lumbersexual. Business sleek where Killian was tattooed and wild. Sophisticated and reserved where Killian was… upfront and unapologetic.