And I’m almost not in the pissy mood I was before she showed, which is saying a whole hell of a lot. Just a shame I didn’t get to stare at her ass too. I almost smile again, remembering the look on her face when I caught her. Too fucking cute.
“Rodrigo, you’re supposed to julienne those carrots, not fucking butcher them,” I bark as I pass my new line chef’s station. I gesture for him to hand me the knife and, with a few practiced motions, show him how I want it done.
“Thank you, Chef,” he mumbles contritely, taking the knife back.
“This isn’t fucking culinary school, get it right or get out of my kitchen,” I snap. But as soon as I turn my back, I smile. In all honesty, he wasn’t doing that bad of a job. But for once I had to pretend to be in a bad mood. Seriously, I’ve still got CJ on the brain and it’s actually taking effort to do anything but smile.
As I move through the kitchen my eyes flick up to see Anna returning. She tilts her head.
“What?” I bark at her, forcing my face back to a neutral expression.
She presses her lips together for a moment as she sets her serving tray back on the station.
“You were smiling,” she teases.
“Was not,” I grunt. My eyes flick over her shoulder and out the windows. “Tell Scott I’ll take private kitchen for Ms. Roberts’ event.”
“Yeah, thought you might say that. She’s cool, huh?” Anna jerks her chin toward CJ, who is clearly demolishing the dessert samples. I can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth.
“She’s all right. Just seemed like she needed reassurance on the menu. I want to make sure it’s taken care of.” Doesn’t even sound convincing to me.
I clear my throat and shoo a smirking Anna off. I’ve got to start dinner prep. I don’t have time to pretend like I can’t get my mind off of CJ. Here’s hoping I don’t chop off a goddamn finger tonight.
There’s a reason I never date. Thinking of gorgeous women and running a kitchen don’t exactly go together.
I shove the thoughts back, making a mental note to revisit them tonight after work when I’m alone. It doesn’t work at all, but I can’t say I’m mad about it.
Chapter Three
CJ
By Sunday I’ve convinced myself that I shouldn’t go anywhere near the director’s dinner. I spent the entire rest of the week digging up anything I could find on Drew, which wasn’t a lot, considering. A few articles on the restaurant, a James Beard award nomination for Rising Star Chef of the Year a couple of years back, and a few other culinary competition placings over the last five years. Nothing particularly personal. There’s no knowing if he’s married, how old he is, nothing.
But I can’t stop thinking about him, and I feel ridiculous. He probably forgot me the moment he walked back into the kitchen. It’s insanity. Right?
“No,” Aunt Meg insists as we prepare Sunday dinner in her kitchen as usual. “Sometimes you just know, baby girl.”
“There’s more,” I say with a sigh as I wash lettuce. One of the few things I’m permitted to do.
Aunt Meg looks at me over her glasses. “Well?” she prompts.
I shift my weight between feet and wipe my wet hands on a towel. “I may have seen the restaurant in a vision. At first, I thought it was for Matt’s dinner, but now that I’ve met Drew …” I trail off, worrying at my bottom lip with my teeth. “Never mind. I’m just crazy. Seriously. This is crazy.”
Her eyebrows raise slowly and delicately. “CJ,” she says, a warning in her voice. “Do you remember when you first started having visions and you didn’t pay attention?”
I shrug it off. “Of course,” I say with a sigh as I pull the strainer out of the water-filled spinner bowl. “They always came true. And once I started paying attention, they never steered me wrong. But this was just a flash. Of a restaurant. That’s all. Just because he’s cute doesn’t mean the vision had anything to do with him.” A frown pulls at the corners of my mouth as I slosh the water I used to soak the lettuce out of the spinner and into the sink.
“Or maybe they only show you what you need to know. They’re not a substitute for following your own heart. Take a risk. It could very well be worth it. And if it’s not, at least you tried. Just don’t be scared.”
I press my lips together as I plunk the strainer back in the spinner. I crank the mechanism and let the noise of the inner bowl whirring around save me from an immediate response.
Aunt Meg isn’t wrong; I should probably see where this goes. Unfortunately, scared doesn’t begin to cover my feelings toward Drew. The man made my insides melt and right now he seems perfect.
“But I am,” I finally admit as I dump the excess water from the spinner. I turn back to find Aunt Meg’s warm brown eyes fixed on me. Her hair, once the same color as mine, is almost totally gray, her slim body softened with age. And she’s giving me that motherly look I’ve known since I was four.
“Of what?” she asks, leaning back against the kitchen island and tilting her head.
I close my eyes and release a deep breath. “That it’ll be just another disappointment. That I’ll have a vision showing me I’m doomed to yet another failed relationship.”
She laughs, though not unkindly. “They all fail,” she agrees, “until one doesn’t. I think maybe you’re afraid you’ll have the vision. The one that tells you he’s it. Maybe that’s why you saw the restaurant in the first place.” She scrutinizes me for a moment before drawing up and setting aside her apron. She pats me gently on the back and leaves the kitchen, also leaving me to my thoughts.
I squirm as I consider what she said. Isn’t that what I want? My happily ever after? If such a thing even exists.
And it hits me: It is what I want. But the thought of finding it is still scary, because it’s more than just risking putting myself out there for one dinner. It’s so, so much more.
My relationship history is beyond complicated by my ability. It would be easy if my visions only told me about my own life. Unfortunately, that’s not the case; they’re always about the other person’s, and mostly relate to what they’re thinking about at that moment, though I do have a limited ability to steer them myself.
So, at nineteen years old, when I got a vision of a guy I’d started dating who I really liked fucking some other girl, I resisted the knowledge. How far into the future was it, exactly? Was it telling me not to waste my time? But oh, did I want to waste my time with this guy, and at that point he already had me wrapped around his little finger. So I ignored it. Repeatedly. Until I caught him fucking the woman from my visions nearly a year later in the flesh. Lots and lots of flesh. Demonstrating once again there seemed to be no escaping the futures I foresee.
But between the pain of that breakup and a vision that preceded the loss of someone dear to me, I became convinced I had to find a way to change the visions. So when my next promising relationship started two years later, despite a warning vision of a lackluster future, I let myself fall in love with the wrong guy because I was determined to make him the right guy. Unfortunately, nothing I did changed the outcome.