Jasper doesn’t call me on my blatant hunger, fortunately, just moves to the kitchen. “Where’s Dustin?”
“He went home. Today was a long day for him, and he was tired.”
“I made him a burger,” he adds, setting the two containers down on the end of the large island and pushing one in my direction.
“He was cooking a frozen pizza when I left to come back here,” I tell him, not reaching for the food, even though it smells like absolute heaven.
Jasper’s wide eyes meet mine. “Frozen pizza?” he shudders, making a big display of his disgust.
I roll my eyes and pop open the lid of the container in front of me. “We can’t all be world-class chefs,” I tease, my mouth watering as I gaze at the fresh fries and gooey cheeseburger.
Jasper snorts. “Uhh, we graduated from the same school, Lyn.”
I wave him off, taking a fry and popping it into my mouth. “Yes, but we had our eyes set out on two different types of cooking. I’m a baker, and all that other stuff was just fluff. Your fries are amazing,” I state, sliding a second between my lips.
“We cut them ourselves and it’s my own blend of seasonings,” he confirms, leaning a hip against the island, the smallest smile playing on his lips as he watches me eat. Usually, I’d be embarrassed to be the focus of someone’s scrutiny like this, but I know Jasper. He likes to watch you eat. He wants to witness every expression, every moment someone enjoys his food. And he’s just cocky enough to know they’ll enjoy it. Always has been, always will be.
“You don’t make your own pizzas?” he asks, clearly unable to get past the quick Tombstone meal.
I shrug. “I’ve made homemade before, but frozen wins hands down when you’re under a time crunch.”
Jasper stares at me as I eat another fry. “I suppose I can understand that, but nothing beats homemade anything.”
“You’re right,” I agree, picking up the burger and examining the toppings. “Is that avocado?”
“It is. Try it before you knock it,” he instructs, watching me intently as I bring the burger to my mouth.
“I’ve had avocado before,” I retort with a clip to my tongue. “I was just looking at what was on here.”
He just smirks, as if he’s enjoying getting me all riled up. “Avocado, bacon, and mayo. Oh, and cheddar cheese.”
My mouth waters, but to be honest, it would probably do that without knowing what was on the burger. I’m so darn hungry, chastising myself for not hanging around and stealing a slice or two of Dustin’s pizza. I take a tentative bite, enjoying the hell out of the savory explosion of bacon mixed with mayonnaise. “Wow, this is delicious,” I mumble with a mouth full.
The smile he gives me spreads slow across his lips, my body reacting immediately. Heat floods my core, a sharp tingle between my legs, like I was shot with Cupid’s lust-tipped arrow. “Isn’t it?”
I point to the other container, and as soon as I can get words out past the mangled meat and bun in my mouth, ask, “Aren’t you going to eat?”
Jasper snorts, shoving his hands in the pockets of his pants. “Classy lady,” he mocks, causing me to roll my eyes. “And I brought this for Dustin.”
Once I swallow, I reply, “He’s already eaten. You might as well have it, so it doesn’t go to waste.”
He seems a little uncertain, and maybe even a touch uncomfortable. “Oh, I wasn’t going to stay. Just dropping off food.”
“Well, you don’t have to stay, I guess. You can take it with you, but something this good shouldn’t be wasted,” I state, wishing my heart wouldn’t beat a little harder at the thought of him leaving.
“I don’t have to go,” he replies quickly, reaching for the food container and opening the lid. His mouth opens but doesn’t say anything. Instead, Jasper shovels a handful of fries into his mouth, as if they could keep him from saying whatever was on the tip of his tongue.
We stand in silence, both eating our food and stealing glances of the other without getting caught. Of course, every time I look his way out of the corner of my eye, he busts me, and I can feel his occasional gaze on me like a caress.
“So, tell me what you’ve been up to since college,” I finally say when my burger is almost halfway done.
Jasper clears his throat. “Well, after graduation, I went to Cleveland and worked at a restaurant there. I started as a sous-chef for an abysmal man who barely knew the difference between braising and broiling. On top of that, he smelled like meat, but not the kind he was preparing. It was like he rubbed it in his armpits every morning and forgot to shower.”
My face must show how incredibly horrifying his words are, because he laughs when his eyes meet mine.
“True story. I dealt with his incompetence and lack of personal hygiene for a couple of months before I had to do something. Renaldo’s had a ton of potential, but the customers just weren’t returning the way they should have been. The food was subpar and overpriced. I went to Renaldo one night and told him if he made me head chef, I’d double his profits by the end of the year, or he could fire me. He gave me six months to help turn around his restaurant, and if I did it, he’d rewrite my contract and include profit sharing. It was really a no-brainer for him.”
“Cocky,” I blurt out, wiping a smear of mayo off my lip.
He just gives me that arrogant grin. The one I know and expect to slide so effortlessly across his face. “You know it.”
“And did it work?”
“Three months. He doubled his profits in three months and had reservations booked up almost two months in advance.”
“Wow, that’s amazing,” I reply, proud of a young Jasper to be able to walk into a kitchen and turn it around within such a short amount of time.
He lifts a shoulder. “It was. I only stayed through the end of that year, though.”
“You did?” I was surprised by this revelation. If Jasper was offered a new contract, including profit sharing, why on earth would he leave before he was able to take advantage of it?
He nods. “Sure did. Believe it or not, some of the staff didn’t like me much. Several tried to overthrow me,” he replies with a chuckle.
I try to cover my laugh with a cough, but he doesn’t buy it.
“It’s okay, you can laugh. Their coup didn’t work. I would have stayed, making their lives miserable as long as possible, but I was offered another job just down the street. I helped Renaldo’s, and then turned around and worked for his biggest competitor,” he states matter-of-factly.
“Really?” I ask, the food I’m chewing suddenly stuck in my throat.
Jasper shrugs. “Sure, why not? Isn’t the name of the game to make money, while doing what you love? Otherwise, why else do it? Lamonte’s had a great reputation and excellent cuisine. Their head chef was retiring after almost thirty years, and they were willing to pay me what I was worth.”
“Wow, good for you,” I reply, only finishing about three quarters of my food before my stomach feels like it could explode.
“I’d probably still be there, if not for beers and burgers with my friends one night several years ago. We had always said in college there was no place to eat good burgers, even went as far as considering what we’d do if we ever had our own place. Well, one night, we were sitting around at Walker’s house. He was bitching about the bar he was working at, when Numbers mentioned we should just open our own place. It was the first time we actually considered it, not just friends bullshitting, you know? We ended up deciding to check into it, which was the start of our partnership. That was about six years ago,” he says, taking another healthy bite of his food. “Are you done?”