Page 89 of A Chef's Kiss for Christmas

She ignored his silent request. “You must be proud of him though,” she pressed. “Of his career.”

Selena shuffled her salad around her plate. “I don’t know if you can really call working in the kitchen of some country pub a career.”

“It’s not a pub,” Anna corrected her. “It’s a hotel.”

“Same difference,” Selena said, setting her knife and fork down on her plate.

“No,” Anna said, ignoring the warning look Warren gave her. “It’s not the same at all.”

His dad cleared his throat. “The problem is, he spends his days taking orders from someone else. Which is fine for some people, but he could do so much more. It’d be good to see him fulfil his potential.”

“But… I…” Anna’s brain struggled to comprehend the conversation.

“Don’t bother,” Warren said while he chewed. “It’s really not worth it.”

Anna stared at him as his eyes pleaded with her to drop the subject.

“But he’s the head chef,” she finally said, her voice coming out far louder than she’d intended. “You talk as though he has some lowly kitchen job, but he’s the one in charge. He gives the orders.”

“Really?” Selena said, a flicker of appreciation flashing in her features. “Is that true?”

Warren merely nodded.

“It’d be different if he owned the restaurant,” his dad said, swilling his wine in the glass. “But as things are, he’ll always have to answer to someone else. And he’ll always be on a fixed wage.”

“It’s also not as though he’s the head chef at an upmarketrestaurant,” Selena added. “It’s some tiny place in the middle of nowhere. Hardly high-class dining.”

“It is, though!” Anna’s heart was galloping, and her hands had gone all clammy. She knew her cheeks were bright red. “Michelin even published a review of his cooking.”

“A good one?” Selena asked without a hint of mocking.

“Of course a good one!” Anna growled. “They don’t give bad reviews.”

His dad sat up straighter. “You got a Michelin star?”

“No.” Warren rubbed at his forehead.

“He probably will get one,” Anna argued.

“Restaurants get stars, not the chef,” Warren said, frowning at her. “And wewon’tget one.”

She tried to read his features. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out how he could stay so calm while his family made derogatory comments about his career, but got angry when she praised him.

“It doesn’t even matter.” Anna’s eyes shifted between his sister and parents. “The restaurant gets booked up weeks in advance, thanks to Warren’s cooking. Have you even looked at his reviews? People love his food.”

“That’s fine,” his dad said, looking completely unfazed as he tucked into a slice of quiche. “But at some point he’ll realise that he wants the freedom that money buys, instead of being tethered to a dead-end job and being constantly in debt.”

“But it’s not a dead-end job. He’s thehead chef.” She couldn’t fathom the comment about debt, but the man seemed so far removed from reality that he probably assumed everyone who didn’t own their own business ended up in debt.

“Anyway,” Warren said cheerfully. “This quiche is lovely.”

“It’s delicious,” his mum said. “Rachel really is a godsend.”

“I don’t understand,” Anna murmured.

“Just drop it,” Warren said. “It’s not an issue.”

“But itisan issue.” She glared at Jen. “How can you be socomplimentary about Rachel and so dismissive of Warren’s talent?”