Simmer Down

by Sarah Smith

  I lightly smack his shoulder. “Most of the people in that room have eaten every item on our menu week after week. The last thing I wanted was for one of them to figure out we cooked this meal together.”

  As soon as I say it, I wish I could take it back. It sounds so harsh.

  His mouth is a straight line. He offers a single nod. “Right.”

  I touch his wrist. “I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was I don’t want to be the focus of their gossip. I really enjoyed cooking with you, Callum.”

  He pulls away from me like I’m made of fire. “You’re right. It’s best that no one finds out about us. Like you said.”

  On the inside, I’m cringing so hard. Really enjoyed cooking with you. I sound like a home economics teacher.

  The longer I look at Callum, the more obvious his hurt is. He refuses my eyes, occupying himself with washing dishes at the sink.

  “Callum, I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s fine.” His tone is a soft bark, but I get the message loud and clear.

  His hunched shoulders, the way his back is turned to me, the way he refuses to look at me say it all. I’ve hurt him, and he doesn’t care to even look at me right now.

  The longer I stand there engaging in this staring contest with his back, the more unbearable my faux pas becomes. I scurry through the door and out of the kitchen, unconcerned that I’m breaking my own “do not leave the kitchen” rule.

  I stumble a few steps before noticing the dull roar of comments coming from the dining area.

  “Crazy delicious,” someone sings.

  “The flavors are on point.”

  Curiosity takes hold of me, and I dart behind a nearby plant so I can eavesdrop more without blowing my cover. From behind the overgrown ficus, I strain my neck for a look at the diners. The soft murmur of conversation fills the room. Every single person at the tables is chewing or raving about how good the food tastes. Inside I’m bursting. Every foodie big shot in Maui is head over heels for my and Callum’s food.

  I scan across the room and zero in on the familiar blond man bun I’ve been looking for. Matteo shakes his head back and forth, eyes closed, lips puckered while chewing. An older man in a sport coat sitting next to him starts to speak, but Matteo cuts him off by holding up his hand.

  Everyone else at the table stares at Matteo, brows raised, eyes unblinking, waiting for him to say anything. I do an internal eye roll. The way his foodie groupies hang on his every word in person and on his blog is a bit over-the-top.

  After several seconds of making “mmm” sounds and exaggerated faces, Matteo swallows and smiles. He opens his eyes, patting the arm of his sport coat–clad companion.

  “My sincerest apologies, Jonas, but sometimes when you’re enjoying an otherworldly bite of food, all of your senses must be focused on it to fully appreciate the flavor overtaking your body.”

  His companion nods, as does everyone else at the table.

  Matteo holds up a forkful of fish. “Just take this exquisite bite of fish. The way it plays on your tongue—the salt, the richness, the luscious texture.”

  A wave of “oohs” and “aahs” travels across the table.

  “And the crunch on the outside.” He practically sings the words. “Goodness me.”

  Matteo chomps on his forkful. The rest of his dining companions do the same, then rave about the perfect flavor.

  Matteo takes his butter knife in his left hand and brushes a mound of pineapple fried rice on his fork. He holds it up in front of him, catching the light of the nearby overhead chandelier. It’s like he’s an appraiser scrutinizing a gemstone in the light.

  “And this rice. My oh my, this rice. The perfect complement to the delicately fried fish with its sweet chunks of succulent pineapple and salty bacon.” He slaps his free hand on his knee and lets out a throaty chuckle that booms against the dining room walls. “Who would have thought to add bacon as a twist in fried rice? Not me, ladies and gentlemen. Not me.”

  After his monologue, he rewards himself with the bite of fried rice. Everyone else at his table follows suit, taking bites, then raving.

  Despite Matteo’s rambling, I’m beaming. He may be ridiculous, but he loves Callum’s and my food. And that matters. It means the most discriminating palate on the island thinks my last-minute attempt at an upscale dish is damn good. That means he’ll rave about it on his vlog and his website. And even though he has no idea it was me who helped prepare the meal, it’s still validation. It’s proof that even after flipping my life upside down, I can still go back to my roots—my passion—and cook a solid high-end meal.

  I wait a beat and walk quietly backward until I’m out of the line of sight from the dining room. I spin around to head back to the kitchen, then bump chest-first into someone.

  “Shoot, I’m sorry—”

  The woman I collided with flips her blond hair out of her face, straightening out her dress. “It’s okay, I . . . Holy crap, Nikki?”

  Penelope, the Instagrammer I took a selfie with at the farmer’s market all those weeks ago, beams at me.

  Chapter 15

  Oh, um, hi.” I tug at the hem of my chef’s jacket.

  Why the hell didn’t I just stay in the kitchen? Ted was raving about how good everyone thought our cooking was. That should have been enough. Did I really need to blow my cover just to satisfy my need to see it for myself?

  “What are you doing here?” Her berry-hued lips stretch into a smile so wide, just looking at it makes my cheeks ache. Understanding crosses her face. “Oh, wait, did you cook the meal tonight? Oh my gosh!”

  “Well, I um, technically, yeah.”

  She grabs my hands in hers, squealing softly. “Oh my gosh, Nikki! Amazing meal! Seriously amazing! So different from your food truck meals, but just as good. You know what I mean?”

  I nod and let out a choke of a laugh. I fail to match her enthusiasm once again, but I need to play it cool. If I seem weirdly tense, she might think something’s up.

  “I know exactly what you mean. And thank you,” I say in a hurried tone.

  “So who’s the other chef? Your mom? You are seriously a dynamite team. Your food is the absolute best!”

  The silver bracelets on her wrists jingle with each excited shake of her arms.

  “Well, um, that’s the thing. It’s supposed to be a secret.” I hope my smile doesn’t come off as too pained. “I filled in as a favor at the last minute, and we don’t want any special recognition in the run-up to the Maui Food Festival. You know what I mean.”

  She nods, her face turning serious. “Oh, of course. You can count on me. I won’t peep a word, promise!”

  She pulls me into a hug, and I nearly tumble to the floor. My God, tiny Penelope is stronger than she looks.

  When she leans out of the hug, she still holds me by the upper arms. “How crazy that we—”

  The kitchen door swings open and out steps Callum.

  When Penelope gazes at Callum, I know the jig is up. In the few seconds he stands in front of us, she stares at him, standing there in his white chef jacket that’s identical to mine. Then she looks back at me, her widening eyes and mouth making it obvious that she’s putting two and two together.

  “Wait . . . you two are working together?”

  The wonderstruck expression on Penelope’s face is reminiscent of when a little kid is told that Santa isn’t real.

  “But I thought . . . You don’t even like each other . . .”

  Callum’s brow raises. “This is all your fault, Penelope.”

  I mouth, “What are you doing?” at him.

  Penelope seems to be going through the same thought process, because she’s staring at Callum with her eyebrows all the way at her hairline.

  He crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Wh-what?” she stammers.

 
“Remember that selfie you posted of you two with a caption calling out Hungry Chaps?” Callum says. “Well, this is the outcome. Nikki and I had it out over that, but now we’ve come to an understanding.”

  Penelope furrows her brow. “And now you’re cooking together?”

  “Something like that.” Callum lifts his eyebrow for just a half second, but the message it sends is indisputable.

  His cheeky little nod is more than enough to clue her in. She’s beaming again and turns to me. “Oh my gosh, it’s like those enemies-to-lovers romances! Those are my absolute favorite!”

  I tug her arm, finally understanding what Callum is doing. Sometimes the best way to hide is out in the open. Penelope is already a fangirl. If I can convince her to keep this a secret as a friend and fan, she’ll feel special. And our secret will be safe.

  I turn Penelope to face me. “We have you to thank, Penelope. You brought us together. Sometimes we even call you Cupid.”

  The lie doesn’t flow as smoothly as I hope, but she’s too excited to notice, thankfully.

  “You do?” she squeals.

  I nod. “But we have to keep this quiet, okay? The Maui Food Festival’s coming up, and we don’t want this to ruin our chances. People will think we’re just a cute love story and make unfair assumptions about us working together. But we are still two separate food truck businesses. We don’t mix that part of our lives at all.”

  I bite my tongue as soon as I say it. Love. Way wrong word to use, but maybe it will sell us better to Penelope.

  “You don’t mix—except for tonight.” She winks. “Say no more. It’s our little secret. I won’t breathe a word until you two are ready to make things public.”

  I wink at her. “You’ll be the first we tell, promise. We just want to get through the festival before, though, okay?”

  “Okay!”

  She pulls me in for one last squeeze of a hug, then softly punches Callum in the shoulder before yanking him into one of her death-grip hugs. Even though he’s twice her size, he winces at her strength.

  “You nabbed a good one, buddy,” she says.

  Callum can’t seem to contain the grin tugging at his mouth. “Don’t I know it.”

  Penelope makes a zipper gesture with her lips, waves good-bye to us, then scurries back down the hall to the dining room.

  I pat Callum on the chest. “Bold move deciding to let her in on us.”

  “It’s obvious how highly she thinks of you,” he says. “She doesn’t want to let you down.”

  “Way to think on your feet. I was sure we were busted as soon as she saw us together.”

  He raises his eyebrow at me. “So according to Penelope, I’m the lucky one in this arrangement.”

  “She speaks the truth.”

  He chuckles and turns toward the kitchen.

  “Wait.” I catch his wrist. “About earlier. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. Cooking here with you was a dream. I’m so sorry if I made it sound like anything else.”

  His mouth curves up in a soft smile. “Thank you. I feel the same way about working with you.”

  We say nothing, the tension between us from earlier melting like an ice cube on a hot sidewalk. With his hand on my waist, he pulls me against him and leans down so we’re nearly mouth-to-mouth.

  “Come on,” he rasps. “We’ve got dessert to plate.”

  * * *

  • • •

  Ted walks into the kitchen, arms outstretched. He pulls me and Callum in for a double hug.

  “You two blew everyone away tonight!”

  I slip out of Ted’s grip and step away, leaving him to strangle-hug Callum. Ted boasts a tall and thin frame, but he has the hug-strength of a grizzly bear.

  Callum pats his back and Ted lets go.

  “So it went well, then?” Callum says, straightening his shirt.

  A wide grin rips across Ted’s face. “More than well, mate. Bloody brilliant. Everything from the starters to the mains to the dessert was a hit.” He turns to me. “Nikki, remind me to get that turon recipe from you. You gave multiple mouth-orgasms tonight with that one.”

  I cup my cheeks in my palms to keep the blushing at bay.

  “Is it really just bananas, brown sugar, and lumpia wrapper?” Ted asks.

  “Yes, but it’s fried, and that’s what makes it.”

  Ted raves about the tempura crust on the fish, then whips out a room key card from his inside jacket pocket. “And this is my way of saying thank you. The most luxurious bungalow on the resort property, free of charge for you two tonight.” He pats the key into Callum’s hand, then winks at us. “Have fun.”

  Ted whips out his phone before hollering “Happy Easter” at us and waltzing out the door.

  My eyes cut to Callum, who immediately puts his hand up in surrender. “I didn’t say a word to him about us, I swear.”

  I press my lips together to muffle the squeal aching to let loose. I’ve never, ever stayed in a resort this luxurious before, and tonight I get to enjoy it on the house, with Callum.

  “I don’t even care. We get to stay at a luxury resort tonight. For free. I’m pumped.”

  Callum leans his mouth to my ear. His lips barely graze my skin, but I still shiver. It’s a whisper of a kiss but just as hot as everything else he’s ever done to my body. This is a whole new level of arousal.

  “How about we go play dirty, Nikki?”

  My eyes flutter and a moan rips from my throat. “Yes, please.”

  We do the world’s fastest cleanup of the kitchen, thank the staff and servers for their hard work, throw our chef jackets in the dirty laundry bin, then slip out to be as discreet as possible.

  The roar of conversation and elevator music wafting from the dining room drifts all the way down to our end of the hallway.

  Callum touches my arm mid-step. “Bollocks, I forgot my phone.”

  I grip his wrist, pulling him down to me. “Hurry back. We’ve got some dirty business to take care of, remember?”

  I leave him with a chaste peck on the lips, but my stare combined with my firm grip on his body give away just how eager I am to get filthy.

  A mischievous gleam shines behind those hazel eyes. He practically sprints back into the kitchen. I lean against the wall to check my phone and see a text from Mom.

  Hi, anak! How was your friend’s dinner?

  I text back while fighting the guilt warming through my chest. What I told her earlier today was half-true—I was helping a friend with Easter dinner service at Travaasa Hana. I just hid the fact that the friend was Callum.

  ME: It went well, everyone loved the food. How was Easter with Mrs. Tokushige’s family?

  MOM: Good! Very fun and too much food. Her family’s so nice. They all wish they could have met you though.

  ME: I’ll meet them next time, promise.

  I take a deep breath, thankful that I don’t have to look her in the face when I tell her the next part.

  ME: The manager here comped me a room tonight as a thank-you for serving dinner last-minute, so I’m going to stay here and drive home in the morning, okay?

  MOM: Sounds fine. Have fun, love you

  I text “love you” just as Callum walks back out. He takes me by the hand. Warmth coats every inch of my skin. It’s like I’m standing outside, eyes closed, face turned up to the sky, soaking up endless rays of sunlight.

  Hand in hand, he leads us through the back entrance to the ocean-facing bungalows. A gust of salty sea air washes over me. Closing my eyes, I breathe it all in. This time, I enjoy the slight burn of the salt in my nostrils, how it glides down my throat and to my lungs. The guilt disappears, and I’m smiling once again.

  * * *

  • • •

  “What the . . . Whoa.”

  My eyes scan the room, like I’m the Terminator trying to
slowly process all the images around me. This bungalow is the single most luxurious space I’ve ever set foot in. Honey-hued bamboo floors and furniture set give off an elegant yet tropical feel. I walk over to the sliding glass door, which takes up nearly the entire opposite wall of the room. When I pull it open, the crash of waves echoes softly through the room. The deep blue ocean rests against the indigo-hued evening sky, making this a tranquil nighttime scene. But it’s the plush king-size bed calling my name. I fall into the center of the impossibly soft sheets, burying my face in the softness and moaning.

  The soft buzz of Callum’s phone hits my ears. “Speaking of ‘whoa.’” I twist around to gaze up at him. He holds his phone up. “Ted just offered us a job.”

  I sit up in the bed. “He what?”

  Callum stares at his phone screen, his eyes sparkling as he grins. “He asked if we’d be interested in cooking dinner one night a week at the resort together.”

  Callum glances up, his wide smile the most joyful I’ve ever seen it.

  “Um, hell yes!”

  I jump up and down on the bed while Callum looks on, chuckling. “Before you break what is most certainly a several-thousand-dollar bed, do you want to see the hot tub?”

  I jump off the bed and onto the floor. “There’s a hot tub?”

  Callum points to the balcony, and I dart through the open sliding glass door.

  “Holy hell, there’s a hot tub!” I gaze up at him, smiling through my dropped-jaw shock. “This is . . . Oh my God! Okay, screw the bed, I’m taking a dip in there right now.”

  Shedding all my clothes, I step into the tub, which is thankfully secluded from all of the surrounding rooms by the line of palm trees crowding this end of the balcony. I hold Callum’s gaze as I grip the sides and slowly lower myself in. I hum at the shock of hot water hitting my bare skin, how it instantly soothes my sore muscles.

  For a tiny second my mind slips, and I wonder if Callum has ever shared a hotel room like this with anyone else before, but I push it away. That’s not relevant to us or to this moment. I need to enjoy this for what it is: a sexy night with a sexy friend.