Page 47 of Between the Lines

“I can’t have my first dinner guest leaving in tears, wouldn’t be a good look,” I joke, and Fia cracks another shy but beautiful smile.

I plate the food, putting a large portion on her plate. I was kidding about her being hangry, but it seems entirely plausible. And something I’d like to avoid.

Then I set my plate down and go to fill our waters.

Fia lowers herself into a seat at the round table

She chose the chair right next to mine.

20

Fia

My foot bounces incessantly under this gorgeous kitchen table. I trace the wood grain when Caden isn’t paying attention—it looks like European salvaged pine. I’m impressed with his taste.

But that is exactly why I feel like I’ve entered some type of twilight zone. The man sitting next to me in a button-down shirt cannot be Caden Brooks—my grumpy, emotionless, quiet boss.

If it wasn’t for him, I’d be standing over the stove eating processed fake-cheese pasta directly out of a pot tonight.

I wait for him to take the first bite, then I take a bite of salmon. He’s put some type of honey and rosemary glaze on the fish that literally makes it melt in my mouth. And I moan like a freaking porn star, recoiling instantly as I pop my eyes open and am met with Caden’s amused stare.

“I’m sorry.” I cover my mouth, face on fire.

“The food’s that bad, huh?” he teases, and I swallow hard, completely thrown off my axis by his genuine smirk.

“It’s horrible. The worst I’ve ever had,” I reply playfully.

Oh my gosh, I think I just flirted with him.

Caden forks another bite. “I’ve been perfecting this recipe for years, so I’m glad to hear you hate it.”

I take another huge bite, covering my mouth with my hand again.

“Loathe it, actually. You suck at cooking,” I add.

Caden laughs. An actual laugh?

Yes, this is a dream. I’m sure of it now.

Daisy bangs on the pot, panting like a happy puppy, barely noticing me right here.

“So, tell me,” I say. “If you’re such a chef, why not open a restaurant? Why a coffee shop?” I stab smaller pieces onto my fork, holding back from inhaling every delectable morsel.

He touches his fork to his potatoes. “Coffee is business, simple economics. But cooking is something just for me.”

“Separation of pleasure and business,” I say simply, but when I look up, his eyes read of something I didn’t expect to see.

A flash of sadness maybe.

“I understand,” I add politely.

Caden might be standoffish, but he’s also a man of integrity. He’s made it no secret what his business means to him if he’s willing to do so much to help me out. His coffee shop manager.

Caden pulls out his phone and hits play on a music app. Acoustic pop plays through the speakers in the ceiling. Very fancy.

“Speaking of business,” I say, studying my salmon like it’s much more interesting than his face, “I wanted to let you know, I worked out my budget, and I can start paying you back next pay. I can send you the money monthly, or in installments. Whatever works best for you.”

I’ve already been here for a week, and I don’t want him to think that I’m not serious about paying back the loan. Every last cent.