Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26260 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 88(@300wpm)
My two older brothers are more like stand-in fathers, since mine has never been in the picture. They are monolithically protective, and maybe that’s why I’m still single at twenty-six years old. That, along with my seemingly pathological obsession with cooking and running my restaurants, which takes up what feels like twenty-seven hours a day, twelve days a week.
Tor is my business partner at both my restaurants, and Cyrus takes care of my personal investments, making me a great passive income on the side. He also makes sure my house stays standing and my car gets the oil changed every 3000 miles. They are great, if not somewhat oppressive at times, but I know how lucky I am to have them.
“They’re not morons,” I start as I gather my backpack and tap my phone a few times to bring up my boarding pass. “The chef/restaurant life is tough. They self-medicate a bit too much, maybe. It’s stressful.”
“You’re supposed to be going there to de-stress,” he grumbles, as Natalie offers a sympathetic look, “not babysit a bunch of ‘friends’ who sound like they need a stint in rehab instead of a debauched vacation in…where are you going again? What island?”
“San Phillipe. Between the Keys and the Bahamas. It’s close enough for a three-day trip and great food. Two five-star restaurants, and it’s known for its amazing street food as well.” My mouth waters, thinking of the new culinary experiences that await, and a renewed excitement perks my spirits.
I’d always wanted to be a chef and own a restaurant as far back as I can remember. I cooked with my mother and grandmother since I could stand on a stool at the counter. I love the idea of putting ingredients together to create something magnificent that brings people pleasure and joy.
Watching people enjoy what I cook is like giving love to them, something I am pretty sure I’m never going to find in the traditional sense because work is my life and I can’t see any man putting up with my workaholic tendencies—or my smart mouth and general pain-in-the-ass nature, as my brothers call it.
Besides that, there’s my epically-wary nature when it comes to men. My brothers excluded, I don’t think men actually know how to tell the truth. Having a lying ass, abandoning piece of shit for a father probably has something to do with the sunshine and rainbows prickly cactus I am today.
I hate, hate lying.
Lie to me and that’s a one-way ticket out of my life. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.
No second chances.
So, saying dreams of white dresses are not on my dance card is an understatement. But, I’m not missing anything.
Food doesn’t lie. Food doesn’t leave. I fucking love food.
Everything about it. Obsessed?
Maybe. After the restaurant closed last night, I should have been packing, but instead an idea popped into my head and everything else was forgotten.
That thought turned into the combination of goat cheese and beets, lamb and a Greek spice mix of my own made from oregano, basil, dill and a few other spices, all wrapped in a phyllo-dough crust with a balsamic honey reduction glaze on top.
By 3 am I had the third and final version perfected, and it will be on the menu when I get back from my trip.
“Don’t have that baby before I get back.” I lean forward and give Natalie the best hug possible over the back of the seat, then land a soft punch into Tor’s shoulder. “Try not to be too much of an asshole to my staff while I’m gone. If I come back to find they’ve all quit, I’m going to kick your ass all over the walk in. Just let Yiorgos run things. Only step in if there’s blood, fire or police involved, then before you do anything, call me. Got it?”
“I’m not calling you. Try to relax,” he says with a look of exasperation.
I huff. “Relax. Sure.”
“Yeah, you, relax.” Tor is using his big bad brother tone now. “Google it. It’s something humans do to enjoy life.”
“You should talk.” Natalie smirks, tipping her head his way, aiming her eyes back to mine. “He worries so much about me and the kids…the only time I see him relax is when I’m giving him—"
I cut her right the fuck off. “Jesus. Okay, I gotta go.” I flap my hand between us in the universal gesture for shut the hell up, then open the back door and slide out as the skycap stands ready and smiling with a cart. I lean into the open door, my fingers curled around the door frame. “You guys need to learn some boundaries.”
I sling my backpack over my shoulder and close the car door, the fall air chilling my exposed legs as I stuff my hands into the pockets of my Hell’s Kitchen hoodie.