The Single Dad's Family Recipe. Rachael Johns

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СКАЧАТЬ him. A cold sweat washed over her at the thought.

      But he chuckled. “Don’t tell them that, or they’ll get big heads. Now, shall we get started?”

      “Yes, good idea.” The sooner they got down to business, the less likely she was to say something stupid.

      He led her over to one of the tables—she noticed her résumé waiting there—and held out a chair for her to sit down. As she lowered herself onto the seat, her breath caught a waft of his sweet-and-spicy scent. She couldn’t tell if it was an actual aftershave or if he’d been cooking and the delicious aromas of his creations lingered on him.

      “Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Whiskey?” He winked as he said this last word, yet at the same time she didn’t think he was entirely kidding. It might not be afternoon yet, but this was a whiskey distillery.

      She played it safe. “Surprise me.”

      He nodded once and then retreated behind the bar. The urge to turn her head and watch him was almost unbearable but she resisted, choosing instead to take in more of her surroundings. Her eyes were drawn to an old grandfather clock that stood between the doors leading to the bathrooms. It was beautiful and fit right in with the rest of the decor. She could just imagine glancing at it to check the time when she was working.

      “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?”

      Eliza snapped her head to the bar at the sound of Lachlan’s voice and saw him, too, admiring the old clock.

      “My grandfather bought it out from Scotland. It was his father’s, and it’s over a hundred years old. Never misses a beat.”

      “It’s gorgeous,” she agreed as he turned back to what he was doing.

      A few moments later, he returned to the table and set a glass mug in front of her with what looked (and smelled) like coffee in the bottom and cream on the top. “You told me to surprise you, so I thought I might as well try you out on what I hope will be our signature drink.”

      She drew the mug toward her, picked it up and inhaled deeply, the strong concoction rushing to her head and making her mouth water. “This isn’t just coffee, is it?”

      Lachlan grinned, shook his head and placed a second mug down on the table. Then he discarded the tray on the table beside them, pulled out the chair opposite her and sat. “I don’t plan to offer our patrons just anything here. Go on, taste it!”

      She felt his intense gaze boring into her as she took a sip and relished the quick burn of whiskey as she swallowed. It likely wasn’t a good idea to drink on an empty stomach, but she welcomed the little bit of Dutch courage right now. Something about him set her on edge—she told herself it was simply that she needed this job, so she wanted to impress him, but that wasn’t the full story.

      She’d been around so many chefs in her life she thought herself immune to the uniform, but the way her pulse sped up around Lachlan McKinnel said otherwise. And he wasn’t even wearing the whole kit and caboodle. Not good. Her hormones needed to calm their farm because whatever ideas they might suddenly have, she wasn’t planning on acting on any attraction, but especially not with someone she worked for.

      “It’s good,” she said as she set the mug down on the table again.

      “Just good?” The smile he’d been wearing since she arrived drooped a little, making her feel as if she’d kicked a puppy.

      “No. Of course not.” She rushed to reassure him. “It’s fantastic. The best coffee I’ve ever tasted. I could get addicted to this stuff.”

      As if to prove her point, she lifted the mug again and took another sip.

      He threw back his head and laughed long and loud. “It’s okay, I was just kidding. I’m not that pathetic that I need constant reassurance, but I’m glad you like it.”

      Eliza hadn’t laughed in what felt like forever and appeared to have lost the ability to recognize a joke or playful banter. She summoned that smile back as she lowered the coffee to the table again, not wanting him to think her some straitlaced grump who wouldn’t be able to sweet-talk the customers.

      “Anyway.” Lachlan folded his hands together on the table between them, his expression suddenly serious. “You’ve got quite an impressive résumé. The list of restaurants you’ve worked for reads like the Michelin Guide.”

      “Thank you.” Her cheeks flushed a little but her stomach tightened as she anticipated his next question: Why did you leave your last job? She’d already decided only to tell him the bare basics and hope he didn’t scrounge around too much online, but miraculously he went much further back than that.

      “Can you tell me how you got into the restaurant business?”

      She nodded, knowing he’d eventually ask the inevitable but happy to put it off a little longer. “My father was a restaurant critic and my parents were divorced. On the weekends I spent with my dad, he often took me along when he dined for a review. I guess his passion for good food rubbed off on me. I’ve wanted to work in restaurants for as long as I can remember.”

      He quirked an eyebrow. “If you loved food so much, why not become a chef?”

      Although she willed them not to, she felt her cheeks turn an even brighter shade of red. She dreaded this question almost as much as the other one. A tiny voice inside her head told her to lie, but she knew from experience that doing so could get her into very hot water. Besides, with Lachlan’s big brown eyes trained so intently on her, she didn’t think she’d be able to tell even the smallest fib.

      “Because I can’t cook,” she confessed.

      When his expression remained blank, she went on. “I’ve tried. Lord knows, Dad paid for every cooking school he could get me into when I was a teenager, but after the fire department had to be called when I burned down the kitchen, word got around.”

      A small smile broke on his face. “Seriously? You burned down a kitchen?”

      She hung her head in shame and mentally kicked herself. Probably not the best way to sell yourself, Eliza. “It was not my finest moment, and after that my grandmother tried to convince me to go into medicine or journalism or law, anything that kept me away from food, but I just couldn’t give up, so I got a job as a waitress instead. Finally, I found something I was good at. Talking about food, serving food and customer service. I haven’t looked back.”

      “Well, usually at this point, I’d ask what your favorite dish to cook is, but I’m predicting microwave popcorn or something, and that’s not really what I had in mind.”

      She grimaced. “Good. Because I burn that, as well.”

      “At least you’re honest. Lucky I’m not interviewing for the kitchen. So tell me your favorite dish to eat instead.”

      Millions of foods whirled through her head—it was like asking someone to pick their favorite child, not that she would ever know how that felt. “That really depends on the situation,” she said, mentally shaking her head at the dark thoughts that threatened. “If I’m dining out somewhere classy, you can’t go wrong with duck confit or a good pan-seared salmon fillet, but if I want comfort food, it’s mac’n’cheese every time.”

      Her heart squeezed a little at the СКАЧАТЬ