I stare dumbly at him for another few moments before collecting myself. I resist the urge to slide my hand into his. As much as I want to touch him, experience has taught me that what I might See will make me even more awkward than I already am naturally.
“I’m CJ Roberts,” I reply, blushing down at his hand. “And I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I don’t shake hands.” I’m so used to saying the words without remorse, but this time is different, and I’m worried about offending him.
“It’s nice to meet you CJ Roberts who doesn’t shake hands,” he replies, withdrawing his hand and sinking into the chair to my left. I look up to see him leaning in and smiling winningly, and if it’s possible to blush harder, I do. “Is it okay to ask what CJ stands for?”
His proximity makes my cheeks burn hotter by the second. “Catherine Jane,” I murmur, looking up into his eyes.
“Catherine Jane,” he replies slowly, as if tasting the words.
“Chef Davies,” I reply teasingly, folding my hands in my lap.
He laughs, deep and booming. “Okay, I guess you can call me Drew. Short for Andrew.” He grins, and I notice a dimple on his left cheek. “Now. Salmon versus halibut?”
I take a deep breath and nod, refocusing. It’s not easy. Being this close to him, trying to have a normal conversation, takes everything I’ve got. It would help if I weren’t so gawky to begin with, but here we are.
He gestures to the bread. “Have a bite. Then try the salmon again.”
I do as he asks. I go to lift the fork to my mouth, and he reaches to stop me. Instinctively, I pull back and look at him, wide-eyed.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says huskily, with a sexy smile that makes me melt under his stare. “Just … I was going to tell you to close your eyes.” Then he clears his throat, as if suddenly aware of the intimacy that’s bubbled between us.
I breathe through my nose, close my eyes, and take a bite. The subtle flavor sings under the lime dressing. I can’t help the groan that slips out of my mouth. My eyes fly open self-consciously to find Drew staring at me with an inscrutable expression.
I swallow hard. “Sorry,” I say. “It’s just so good.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “Thank you,” he replies. His eyes flick down to the bread, then back up to me. “Now, bread, then halibut. Eyes closed.”
Something about his quiet command makes me blush again, but I comply. The firm, slightly sweet fish has a mushroom sauce that complements it nicely. But I realize it doesn’t have the heartiness and the punch of the salmon. This time when I open my eyes, I know exactly what I want.
“Salmon. Hands down.” My eyes meet his. “You’re good.”
He gives a shrug. “I’ve done this a time or three,” he replies nonchalantly. Coming from anyone else it would sound arrogant. But he’s got a humility that is ridiculously endearing.
“What would you have chosen?” I ask curiously.
His answering grin is so gorgeous it practically makes me dizzy. “Life’s too short for absolutes. Salmon for lunch, halibut for dinner, I say.”
“Well, if I could cook like you, I’d probably say the same,” I admit. “Or, if I could cook at all.”
He leans forward on the table. “Well nobody’s perfect,” he replies. Our eyes meet for a moment, and I let myself stare back. The small space between us practically crackles with energy. Until he leans back. “Before you make your final choices, you should also consider the type of event you’re having.”
I tilt my head. “How do you mean?”
“Well, if it’s a celebration,” he says slowly, “like an engagement party, or anniversary, or that sort of thing,” his eyes flick to mine briefly, “then you’d want something that goes well with Champagne. Like the halibut. But if it’s a more formal gathering, like a business function, and people will be drinking wine, the salmon would pair nicely with most of our house blends.”
I raise my left hand to demonstrate the lack of ring. “Not engaged, not married. But I am my brother’s executive assistant, and this is for his quarterly department heads meeting. So doubling down on the salmon.” I end with a smile at the obvious relief on his face.
“Great,” he says enthusiastically, rising from his seat and collecting the breadbasket. “I’ll send Anna out with desserts then. It was nice to meet you, CJ.” He leans in, so his face is inches from mine. “And I look forward to seeing you again at the dinner.”
My mouth pops open, and I’m temporarily at a loss for words. He smiles again and starts to walk away. “Nice to meet you too, Drew,” I blurt out to his retreating back.
He throws a heart-stopping grin over his shoulder before turning and heading off the patio. And as he walks away, I can’t help myself. I stare at his backside. And good lord the man has a nice butt.
Right before he disappears inside, he throws another glance backward and catches me at it. Heat rises in my face, and I give an awkward wave in response to the smile that spreads over his lips. Damn, I am not subtle.
Anna appears just then, with four mini-desserts and another handwritten menu. The writing is different, and I realize there must be a separate pastry chef. It’s a little disappointing that it wasn’t Drew’s strong and capable hands that made these too. But they look damn good anyway.
Anna folds her hands together after arranging everything, then reaches out to name the dishes. “Chef Nguyen has prepared her famous hazelnut cheesecake with strawberry salsa, a peanut butter chocolate mousse, sticky toffee pudding, and strawberry shortcake.”
I give Anna a nod of thanks and she once again leaves me to my gluttony. This time I eat it all. Call it nerves, but I feel something in the pit of my stomach I’ve never felt before. And as practical as I’ve always been, I can’t help wondering if this is what love at first sight feels like.
I shake it off, chastising myself for being so silly as I write down the two desserts I’ve chosen. But I do decide that I’m going to this particular meeting, though I’ve traditionally declined attending previous ones. Maybe I’m not quite over the whole dating thing just yet.
Chapter Two
DREW
As I walk back inside, I take a deep breath and push it out slowly. I’m not usually so easily thrown off my game. I’m a chef, for Christ’s sake. I deal with more pressure than that in the first few minutes of a dinner rush. But fuck. The second I met those big, wide, dark eyes, I was screwed.
Then came the adorable awkwardness coupled with a quiet confidence that was equally intriguing and confusing. Like the not shaking hands thing. Normally I’d find that pretentious and annoying, but somehow she made it seem mysterious and alluring.
And I swear, when she moaned after taking that bite of salmon … being a chef isn’t glamorous 99.99% of the time. But it’s those 0.01% moments when a beautiful woman puts something you made her in her mouth and moans like she’s getting off on your cock that make it all worth it.
Now I’ve got to walk back into that kitchen and pretend like I’m not high-fiving myself for getting her to reveal if she’s single. I don’t care if it was totally obvious. Something about her stirred me on every damn level and I had to know.