Page 55 of Men or Paws

ChapterEleven

Beth

“Don’t judge me,” I said to Houdini as I opened all the windows in the guesthouse. I was preparing the chicken piccata and wanted the smell to travel toward the main house to torture Rocco since he didn’t like it. “Your daddy needs a little payback for his transgressions, that’s all.”

Houdini glanced up at me from his spot in the middle of the kitchen floor, looking like he was fully supporting my plan.

I hadn’t seen Rocco all day, which was a good thing, since it gave me time to focus on a new recipe of pumpkin dog treats I had been trying to perfect. After I had finished a couple of batches and placed them on the cooling racks, I decided I would prepare the chicken piccata and hopefully have it ready just as Rocco was about to pick up Houdini. I couldn’t wait to see the disgusted look on his face when he showed up and saw what I had prepared.

I was disappointed in myself for losing my cool in the morning, but I just couldn’t hold it in any longer, as much as I tried. The more we talked about being a chef, the more irritated I became, but it was the chicken piccata that sent me over the edge.

Sure, my ego had been a little bruised when he didn’t want to eat the dish the way it was prepared at the restaurant, but what really got me mad was that he thought his fame allowed him to do whatever he wanted when the menu clearly stated there were no changes or substitutions. The man obviously didn’t believe rules applied to him, especially when it came to my addendum, the way he blatantly flirted with me and even boldly admitted he was doing so, which I admit, shocked me and turned me on at the same time.

Then there was that other issue of me being a little (or a lot) captivated by his charm and good looks, especially when I fell on top of him. I was so enamored by his closeness and his scent that I considered setting up camp on top of his chest and staying right there for a year or two. I eventually realized how ridiculous that plan was since I would eventually have had to pee at some point.

I pulled the finished chicken from the pan and placed it over the pasta on the serving platter, then drizzled the sauce over the top.

My signature dish looked perfect, as usual.

The timing was spot-on as well.

Rocco came out of the house and walked toward the door of the guesthouse.

“Showtime,” I said to myself.

Maybe my behavior was a bit childish, but someone needed to put Rocco in his place for not considering the feelings of others.

Houdini barked after he heard the knock on the door.

“Settle down,” Rocco said from outside. “It’s just me, Houdini.”

“Come in,” I called out, setting the food on the table and pulling off my apron.

Rocco stepped inside, immediately greeting his excited dog. “Hey there. I know, I know. I missed you, too.” He bent over to scratch Houdini on the head, then stood upright, the radar in Rocco’s nose guiding his gaze toward the kitchen table where I had placed the food. “I thought I smelled something cooking from the house. Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” I lied, following his gaze. “I should’ve waited until after you got Houdini before starting on dinner.”

“On the contrary, this is your place,” Rocco said. “You can eat whenever you want.”

I gestured to the food. “Well, too bad you don’t like chicken piccata or I’d invite you to join me.” I held in a laugh.

This was the point where he would make some pathetic excuse about how the sauce was too tart for his wimpy taste buds and that was why he ate it plain. Or that maybe he was trying to cut back on butter and pasta to maintain those ridiculous ten-pack abs that I’d dreamed about last night like the pathetic fool that I am.

Rocco eyed the food on the table, then turned to me, grinning. “I’d love to join you.”

I blinked twice.

I was certain that I had heard him wrong, but then Rocco walked over to the table, pulled out a chair, sat down, and rubbed his hands together. “Smells fantastic.”

“Are you sure?” I walked toward the table. “You know it’s chicken piccata, right?”

“Believe me, I know!” he said with the enthusiasm of an overgrown toddler with no inside voice. “Why do you think I sat down so fast?” He chuckled, then inhaled. “It smells out of this world. Thanks for the invite.”

I forced a smile. “Of course . . .”

This didn’t make any sense at all.

Why would he stay if he hated the dish?