French Roast by Ava Miles Read Free Book Online

it.
    He turned, brow furrowed. “Ah…”
    She made a slicing motion, shaking off her heavier emotions. “I…can…cut…bread,” she mimed like an ignoramus.
    He snickered. “Sorry, I’m not used to…normal people helping.”
    “So I’m a normal person now?”
    He lurched forward and kissed her smack on the lips. Then he darted back to the stove. “No, you’re the least normal person I know. Which is exactly why I like you.” And he sent her another wicked wink over his shoulder.
    The “like you” comment dropped her firmly in reality. Right, they were still getting to know each other again.
    “How was your day?” He plated the food with flair. His right hand swept out like a painter with a paintbrush as he squirted sauce onto the dishes from a clear bottle.
    Mac Maven’s call came to mind, but she didn’t want to go there, not when she was after Bryan to start a restaurant with her.
    “Meredith, Tanner, and Grandpa came in the shop today, arguing about an editorial,” she said instead.
    “Ah, the Trio of Truth strikes again. They’ve been sparking some lively debates lately. I’ve heard Tanner had them attend the evening journalist class he’s teaching at Emmis Merriam. The students loved it.”
    “Grandpa gave me a hard time when I offered him a raspberry mocha. He said couldn’t believe someone would drink fruity coffee.”
    Brian cleaned up the plates’ edges with a towel. “I love his descriptions. He’s eaten at some of the best restaurants in the world. I wonder what he’d say about them.”
    “He’s probably on his best behavior at those places.”
    “You know he was only kidding.”
    She fiddled with her napkin. “Yeah, but it’s like a burr under my saddle sometimes. I’ve always wanted his approval.”
    He set the towel aside. “Trust me, he doesn’t care that you’re not a journalist. He knows you’re happy running the shop. He’s proud of you, Jill. We all are.”
    “Does it bother you, ever? Cooking in town, where people used to make fun of you for wanting to be a chef?” His family had been brutal about it. She still couldn’t believe all the horrible names his asshole father had yelled at him, especially after Brian’s mom had skipped town.
    “Funny you should mention that.” His eyes narrowed. “I ran into Mrs. Thomilson today in the grocery store.”
    That nosy old biddy, she thought, clenching her fists. “Whoever came up with the term battle axe had her in mind. Ignore her. She wouldn’t spend the money to eat at a nice place.” Jill dashed over and wrapped her arms around him. His back resembled iron. “Trust me, you’re the most smoking hot, manly man I know. All those people who used to call you terrible names can eat Spam.”
    His laugh snorted out. “What a punishment. Thanks. Now go back to your chair and let me dazzle you.”
    She stayed where she was and kissed the place between his shoulder blades. Let her fingers drag away slowly. Smiled at the hiss of his breath.
    “You’re playing with fire.”
    “Uh-huh.” But she did as he asked, watching the play of his back muscles as he finished adding the pecans to the salad.
    He presented a finished plate to her. “Voilà .
    “Incredible! Five stars all the way.” As she draped the white napkin in her lap, Mutt started audibly snoring. “Does he sleep all the time?”
    “Pretty much. He’s my dog couch potato,” he replied, bringing over his white wine.
    “You always wanted a dog.”
    “Yep.” He gestured to the food. “Bon appétit.
    She responded with her best Julia Child imitation.
    His hand slapped his forehead. “Please, don’t ever do that again. It’s like taking the Lord’s name in vain.”
    “Like that bothers you.”
    “Eat, Jill. I want to see what my food does to you.”
    That comment stopped all conversation and almost made it difficult for her to swallow the first bite of mouth-watering gastronomic magic. The cream sauce clinging to the juicy chicken held hints of