Happily Ever After Collection - Melanie Moreland Page 0,2

reservations of the night and we had lingered over dessert, so the lot was now almost vacant and I was alone with Byron.

“Do you wait for all your customers in the parking lot?” I managed to gasp out.

He shook his head. “Only the dissatisfied ones. So, you would be the first.”

“I apologize, Mr. Lord. Obviously, I’ve insulted you, and that was not my intention.”

“Chef.”

“Pardon me?”

“At my restaurant, I am addressed as Chef Lord.”

I bit my lip. He was angry. He was a friend of Mark’s, who was very dear to me, so I needed to fix this.

I drew in a deep breath and used the politest tone I could muster. “Chef Lord, I apologize.” I offered contritely. “I’m a simple girl. Your food is wonderful, I’m sure, but it’s just lost on someone like me.”

He pushed off the car and stepped toward me. “Someone like you? I don’t understand.”

I shrugged and waved my hand toward the restaurant. “I never went out to dinner as a child or even as a teenager. Meals in my house came from a can or a box.” I chuckled. “I never learned to cook, so they still do. Food is just a necessity for me.” I looked at him, the strangest feeling welling up inside me. I wanted him to know I wasn’t insulting him. I didn’t want him upset. “I know for someone like you, food is your life. No doubt you live it twenty-four hours a day.” I shrugged again. “If it weren’t for the fact that I had to eat to keep going, I wouldn’t bother. It’s just fuel for me.”

His eyes widened. “You don’t like to eat?”

I thought about it. “It’s not that I don’t like to eat. I just don’t really get any enjoyment out of it. I don’t think I have very good taste buds. Everything basically tastes the same to me.”

For a minute, he was quiet. When he spoke, his voice was softer and without the trace of anger it had held previously.

“That is a shame. You’re missing so much.”

I shook my head. “I think that, like someone born without one of their senses, I never know to miss it. It’s just the way of it for me.”

He edged closer. “Food is a vital part of life, yes. But it is meant to be savored. Enjoyed. I love spending time, selecting the right ingredients, blending them together so they are perfect. Mixing, measuring, tasting as I create a dish is critical. The experience is incredible. I spend hours perfecting a recipe, making it flawless. One ingredient can change the flavor, the composition of an entire dish.” He paused his fervent speech and sighed quietly. “Watching people eat a meal I have cooked and seeing their reaction is…almost orgasmic at times.”

I blinked at him. He was mesmerizing in his passion. His face came alive, his hands gestured in the air, and his voice was rich and vibrant.

“I wish I could feel that way about it, but I don’t. I can’t understand your passion,” I whispered. “I’m not sure I feel that way about anything in life, to be perfectly honest.”

He studied me intently. “What did you have for lunch today?” he demanded suddenly.

My eyes widened. I shook my head, remembering Melinda’s words.

“What? Tell me.”

I straightened my shoulders. I didn’t have to defend myself to this man. “A cheeseburger.”

“From a box or a package?”

“Um, McDonald’s.”

His expression was filled with revulsion. “McDonald’s? And that filled you up so much you couldn’t eat the entree I made for you?”

I shook my head. “I-I didn’t know you had made it yourself.”

He nodded. “I made your dinner. I thought it was for Mark and Melinda, so I made sure I looked after that ticket. I wanted it to be perfect for them. It was perfect. But you barely touched it…because your cheeseburger had filled you up and left you so satisfied you couldn’t eat my cuisine.”

I felt my face flush. “I had fries, too…” I mumbled. “And I like the food at McDonald’s,” I added.

The look on his face was pure horror. “That is not food. It is overprocessed, unknown ingredients, kept warm on the heating rack for a couple of hours, garbage! You shouldn’t be eating that!”

I snorted. Didn’t he watch TV? All their commercials gave you the information. “It’s 100% beef, Byron. And I order it with extra pickles, so they make it fresh,” I huffed at him.

His head fell forward, and I was sure I heard a whimper escape his throat.