Page 10 of Good Taste (Mountain Men Crave Curves #6)
Taylor
Three Years Later
It’s Friday night and Green Valley Bistro is, as usual, bumping. Stasia’s got it all under control, though. With a smile on her face, she leads a series of different parties to their tables while servers dance around each other, making sure every guest is having the best experience of their life.
Not going to lie, I’m happy not to be one of them.
In the back office, I punch the final numbers into the spreadsheet and close the books for the night.
In the kitchen, Nick’s voice calls out orders to his crew.
They answer with “yes, Chef,” and pound out menu items with precision and skill.
I grab my purse and stand in the doorway, waiting for the best time to head to the dining room for a quick meal of my own.
My husband flashes me a quick wink and smile.
I don’t even need to respond. He’s on, and I know that he will be until dinner service is over.
Green Valley Bistro is a well-oiled machine, but it took a lot longer than expected to get things up and moving.
Three long years later, we’re the hottest restaurant in this tourist trap of a mountain town—and we’ve never been happier.
I waited tables while helping with finances and accounting. Thank God for insurance!
Nick and I saw each other every day, and every night. Though it took me a full year of dating him before I agreed to move in. With the time-warp speed of the restaurant industry, I needed something a little slower in my personal life. But I knew from that first night that I’d always be by his side.
I slip into the dining room, grab a soda from the bar, and order myself a basket of zucchini fries to hold me over until Nick can step away from the line.
I always have a book on me. In fact, this ritual of reading with a snack and drink before my husband can stop by for a visit has become one of my favorite things.
I can see him through the door when it swings open.
Watching him work is such a fucking turn on.
About an hour later, the final diners receive their entrees, and Nick makes his way around the room checking in with the guests and saying hello. I’m always his last stop.
“Excuse me, ma’am.” He sidles up to the barstool next to me. “I don’t think you should be drinking in your condition.” He puts a hand on my growing belly, then leans in for a soft kiss; it still gives me chills.
“It’s a virgin.” I wink at him, and press my palm against his warm cheek.
He leans into my touch, then presses my hand against his lips.
He catches me up on the mishaps in the kitchen, mishaps only he and his staff would notice.
Being a perfectionist like he is must be so stressful.
But it’s his work, his life. I’m so glad to be sharing it with him.
“Here ya go.” One of the servers slides a plate in front of me.
“I didn’t order—“ A grilled cheese, made the exact way Nick did for me the night of the quake, stares back at me. “You did this.”
“You need to eat.” He shrugs his massive shoulders, looking quite handsome in his chef’s coat.
“You need to relax.” I grab the sandwich and take a big bite.
“Never.” He kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll get changed and we can go home.
” I nod, wiping the crumbs from my lips.
I watch him walk away, behind the scenes where all the magic happens.
So much work goes into a restaurant. My husband is a superhero to me, and I’m going to reward him fondly when we get home.
In fact, there’s a brand new bottle of chocolate syrup in the refrigerator door, and it’s got his name all over it.