Susan giggles again and feels him watching her as he takes a sip of his drink.
“Champagne always made you giggly,” he recalls, smiling.
“And beer always made you argumentative. Remember that time you and one of the line cooks at Regent Street got three pints in after a Saturday service and started debating what fruit would win in a fight if fruit were, in fact, able to fight?”
Chris laughs. “Oh, yeah. I went for pineapple because, obviously, pineapple would win—it’s practically got armor on. What did he go for? Kiwi or something?”
“I don’t remember, but you were both wrong. Obviously, coconut would win. Talk about something with armor. You want to drive yourself insane? Try getting any flesh out of one of those things.”
“I have, and you’re right. There was an episode of the show where we made the contestants fetch coconuts, and then they had to come up with some kind of a dish with them, but the only tools to hand were rocks and things. One guy concussed himself knocking them down from the trees; two needed stitches after their rock knives slipped; and one was so enraged after he finally got into the thing and found there’s only a teensy bit of liquid in there that he nearly had a nervous breakdown. And then I tried the challenge and realized it was basically impossible and had words with the producer whose idea it was, and we had to scrap it and come up with something else. I bought everyone a really nice dinner that night.”
“That was sweet of you,” Susan says, unable to stop herself from cackling at the mental image of Chris going crazy on some beach over a coconut. “And I’ll bet you put some of that amazing Scots slang to work with that producer too.”
“Oh, aye, that I surely did. He’ll still be scratching his head, the numpty.”
* * *
Chris leans against the bar, chuckling, and watches her. She’s more made up than he’s ever seen her, and she looks good, but it’s not a look he prefers. He thinks again of that long-ago afternoon in the park, with her Pimm’s-stained lips. And more recently, at the Foodies Festival, the way she looked as she turned away from the effusive judges. She was beaming in a way he hadn’t seen since their earliest days together. Her cheeks were flushed from her exertions, eyes shining, hair curly from the humidity. She was glowing with excitement and success, and he was thunderstruck, thinking, Goddamn, she’s beautiful.
Honestly, he can’t believe that everyone doesn’t find her stunning.
She glances up, catches him staring, and looks away, blushing. Chris clears his throat and takes another sip of his drink, casting about for something to say.
“How’s Rab getting on?” he asks, grateful beyond measure for the kid’s existence.
“Splendidly! He made some delicious macarons and little edible spoons. And learned all about the perils of sugar work.”
Chris groans. “I don’t even allow it in my kitchen. One mucked-up batch and the whole restaurant smells of scorched sugar all day.”
“Ah, the drawbacks of an open kitchen.”
He toys with his glass, then says, “Thank you for taking him on. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate these days, and having someone shadow you probably isn’t the best or easiest.”
“Not at all—I enjoy it! I mean, I did worry that it might be too much, but it’s nice having an apprentice. Makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something.” She smiles self-deprecatingly.
“You are accomplishing something,” he reassures her. “And not just with Rab.”
* * *
Susan feels heat creeping up her neck and across her cheeks. And again, it’s hard to swallow. She shrugs. “If you can take the time to mentor a kid who needs it, then I can too. We all must play our part to bring along the next generation, right?” She sips her drink, then smiles playfully. “But I’m not going to give him that brownie recipe, so if this is some kind of elaborate plan, you can give up now.”
“Aw, dammit!” He slaps the bar in pretend frustration. “You’ve found me out!” He breaks into a grin. “Well, I guess some things are worth working for.”
Susan isn’t sure what to say to that, so she just stares at him. And then an arm snakes around her waist from behind, and Philip is whispering in her ear, “Hey, baby. You look great! How’d you like the play?”
“Oh, hi!” She turns and hugs him. “You were brilliant! Really wonderful!”
“Aw, you’re too kind.” He kisses her and then seems to notice Chris standing there. “Oh, hello, I’m Philip,” he says, extending a hand.
Chris takes it in a firmer grip than is strictly polite. “Chris.”
“Oh, hey, you’re Scottish!” Philip’s face lights up. “You know, I’ve been thinking I might do a Scottish accent in my next role. Been working on it since I’ve been up here. What do you think?” He clears his throat and says, “Ocht, aye, we’ll be off to the loch on a bricht mornin’ eh?” He grins, seeking approval.
Susan wishes she could vanish into the floor.
“Can’t wait to hear that in surround sound,” Chris tells him, somehow—miraculously—straight-faced.
Susan begins to giggle but manages to cover it up as an inelegant snort. Chris glances at her and smiles.
“Aw, thanks, mate. What’d you think of the play?” Philip asks.
“It was good,” Chris allows.
“Just good?”
“I’m no critic. High culture is not really my area, ye ken?”
“Oh, I ken. Huh, ‘ken.’ That’s a good one. I’ll have to remember it. Susan, do you have something I can write that down with?”
“Uh, no,” she answers.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just remember. ‘Nae bovver,’ as they say up here, right?”
“That they do,” Chris agrees in a tight voice. Susan once again begs the floor to open up and swallow her, remembering the cruel jests of the other chefs in London, all those years ago. Chris’s hands clenching under the table as he struggled to control himself.
Philip is oblivious.
“Hey, what’s that? Champagne cocktail? You mind?” Philip reaches across Susan and finishes her drink. “We’ll get another in a minute, but first, you, milady, need a dance! You don’t mind, Chris, do you?”
“No, I think she’s done with me,” Chris answers, looking away, drinking his beer.
Susan recoils at the unexpected sting.
“Thanks, mate!” Philip takes her hand and leads her to the dance floor. He pulls her close and murmurs, “I know this goes without saying, but you look absolutely spectacular tonight.” The look in his eyes makes her swallow hard, and she tries to forget his incredible awkwardness with Chris just now. He was only trying to be friendly. She thinks about Julia and Gloria telling her she needs to move on and give someone else a go.
She responds with a sultry smile, shimmies up against him, and tries to put Chris out of her mind.
* * *
Ass. Hole! Why can’t he seem to stop doing that?
Chris watches Susan turn away, face pinched in hurt and confusion. He watches the two of them press close together on the dance floor, a sight that causes a hard yank down in his stomach, until the view is blocked by Kay, who sashays over to the bar and takes the place so recently vacated by her niece.