Page 24 of Next Season

Riley grimaced. “Whoa. A cup? That’s disgusting. And what do you mean homemade? Do people really make their own mayonnaise?”

“I hate to break this to you, Riley, but there is no such thing as a mayonnaise tree. It’s a nice idea, though. I would love to plant one outside next to the herb garden and pluck jars off the branches whenever I need one, but sadly…they don’t grow in Vermont. Or…anywhere.”

He snickered. “You’re a dick.”

“I know. Now we continue. Add the—”

“Hang on. Why so much mayo? It isn’t good for you. Can we cut that in half?”

I stared at him until he burst into laughter. I had a hard time not joining in, and eventually I had to look away to hide my smile.

“Can we cut that in half?” I repeated. “Sure, Riley. Cut it in half and kill the flavor.”

“I thought salt added flavor.”

“So does fat. If you’re interested in a chemistry lesson…when fatty acids oxidize, they produce compounds that enrich—”

“Nope.” He waved dismissively and scooped the mayo in the bowl. “Not interested in the science part. Let’s carry on. What’s next?”

We added the sweet pickle relish, lemon juice, and garlic. Soon, it was time to chop. I had a feeling this would be the challenging part, and I was right.

“Please watch your fingers. I have a first-aid kit if necessary, but I’d rather not call the 9-1-1. That knife is very sharp,” I cautioned, hovering like a helicopter mom as he hacked a red onion into small slivers.

“How’s this?”

“Good.” It was terrible, but I was being nice and encouraging. See?

“Celery next?”

I nodded. “Cut it in half, then lengthwise into strips to make it manageable and—wait. What are you doing? Stop. Drop the knife. I’m calling the police.”

Riley snorted, his eyes alight with mischief and humor as he set the knife down and held his arms up in surrender. “What did I do?”

“You are murdering the celery. Murder.” I shook my head somberly and motioned for him to step aside. “Celery is good for texture. It gives an extra crunch, but it must be diced thinly or it becomes a celery salad and a choking hazard. No one wants either. Am I right?”

He chuckled. “You’re right. So…that’s it?”

“Yes. Add salt and pepper to taste, stir, and refrigerate till you’re ready to enjoy. Simple.” I pulled out a to-go container and transferred the tuna salad, added a few slices of rye bread to a bag, and pushed it across the island to him. “You’re all set.”

“Thank you.” He untied the apron and draped it over a stool, casting a curious glance around the kitchen. “This is a cool space.”

I followed his gaze, trying to see the controlled chaos through someone else’s eyes. The area was divided into three main sections—food prep, cooking, and serving with a large storage and wine room and two commercial refrigerators. For breakfast, the fry cook generally only needed the cooking and serving areas, so the rest was my domain to prepare and plan for dinner.

To me, it looked like any other restaurant kitchen with its stainless steel appliances, wide islands with prep counters, and open shelving. The atmosphere was upbeat and fun with music playing and friendly chatter buzzing in the background in the mornings. I liked it to be more serious during the dinner hour when the diner transformed into a haute-cuisine establishment.

As Nolan’s head chef, I’d been personally responsible for overseeing the kitchen renovation, and perhaps that was why I liked it more than any other place I’d worked. It was mine. Well…sort of.

“Yes,” I agreed. “I like it. If you’re ready to go, I can let you out through the side exit.”

Riley tilted his chin and met me at the door. He moved outside, pushed his sunglasses on his nose, and snapped as if he’d just remembered something. “Shit. I forgot the tuna.”

“I’ll get it.”

I grabbed the bag from the island and stepped onto the porch. Riley had wandered along the hedged-in walkway toward the gate leading to the herb garden in the backyard. He paused when he saw me and removed his glasses, tucking them into his shirt collar, his gaze fixed on the package.

He grabbed the bag from me, set it on the ground, and shoved me against the wall, fusing his mouth to mine.

I was too shocked and dazed to respond immediately, but that didn’t last. I cupped his neck and pulled him close before slipping my tongue between his lips. We moaned at the first glide and twist, picking up where we’d left off last night.