Page 3

THREE

Olivia

I slide a little lower in my seat, self-conscious every time anyone looks my way. Is it my imagination or is my makeup running? Can everyone in the restaurant tell I’ve been hiding in a closet crying?

I’m sure all the staff know by now. I can’t believe the head chef caught me in his storage closet!

Maybe it’s not too late to sneak out quietly. Only now I’ll feel really guilty. He seemed so set on making that snapper for me.

At that moment, the door to the kitchen opens and Noah himself comes out holding an immaculate white plate. That only makes me blush more, remembering the fresh salty smell of him and the gentle way he held me as I cried.

He sets the dish down in front of me and I catch a whiff of citrus and fennel, an undertone of white wine reduction and fresh seafood.

It’s beautifully plated. A bright orange splash across the white plate draws the eye.

The pale fish sits on top of a bed of green stems. It’s a plant I don’t recognize, and of course that gets my attention.

“Oh, this looks amazing. What is it?”

“Pan seared snapper with fennel and orange reduction on a bed of aromatic native greens.” He straightens, and I know he’s waiting for me to taste it.

I pick up my knife and fork and compose a neat mouthful, making sure to get some of the wilted greens, the sauce, and the flaky fish. The little noise of enjoyment that escapes me when I lift it to my mouth is completely unavoidable.

It’s delicious.

Noah’s expression lights up into a look of triumph.

I cover my mouth with my hand while I swallow. “Mmm, that’s so good. What’s the vegetable?”

He smiles. “There are two. Saltbush and warrigal greens. Both natives.”

I push the fish a little so I can inspect them. One is stalky and has a little crunch. The other is softer, like spinach. That’s what I thought it was until I tasted it. “I love it.”

The grin stretches right across his face. He was handsome before, but when he’s smiling? The girls of Kraken Cove must have to be on their guard. He’s gorgeous.

“I’ll leave you to enjoy. Please let my staff know if there’s anything else you require. I’ll be back with the next course shortly.”

Noah brings me three more equally complex and well-thought-out dishes. Crispy, melt in your mouth fried squid tentacles, a single scallop raviolo in a delicate butter and pea sauce, and a tiny portion of lamb rump with a red wine jus. Everything is delicious.

I hardly even notice people coming and going.

More miraculously, I’m not thinking about Justin or the message.

Instead, I’m furiously scribbling in my notebook, recording everything so I know what I want to say tomorrow.

There’s no way I’m not posting. This is far too good not to share.

Everyone needs to know about this place.

I look up when I realize Noah has returned and is standing by the table, watching me. He clears his throat. “I’m putting a few finishing touches on the dessert. Would you like a tour of the kitchen while you wait?”

The pen drops out of my hand, and I hurry to my feet. A tour of the kitchen sounds amazing, even though I can see most of it from out here. I’ve always loved the high energy feel of a commercial kitchen. That, and the creativity of a really great chef like Noah.

I used to think I wanted to be a chef. I never really had the talent, but I used to dream.

“Really? I’d love that.”

Noah leads me through the big double swinging doors and into the noise and heat backstage. It’s like stepping into a different world. I’m Alice stepping through the looking glass. I can see back to the real world, but in here, everything is a little bit magical.

“What did you think of the snapper?” he asks me. “I’ve been debating putting it on the menu, but I’m not sure how it will go with the locals. My main staples are deconstructed classics.”

That reminds me, I didn’t really look over the menu. Pretty remiss of me, but in my defense, I was distracted. “I’d love to see some.”

An older man with graying red hair ducks his head as we pass his station.

He’s plating fried chicken sandwiched between two white circles.

As I look closer, I see it’s rice that’s been pressed into a flat disc shape.

He dishes out a mound of dressed cabbage and sprinkles sesame seeds on top.

“Oh yum.” It’s like a burger, but not a burger.

Now I see what he means about deconstructed staples.

“Korean chicken burger.” Noah looks over the plate, gives a curt nod, and a server quickly and efficiently takes it while the chef gets to work on the next thing.

“Beautiful.” I’m staring as another woman bends over a delicate white flower of meringue and cream, carefully placing slivers of fruit and mint on top.

Noah chuckles. “Pavlova.”

I look a little closer. I’ve heard of this traditional Australian dessert and always wanted to try it. I’m a sucker for sweets and fruit, so of course I have.

“And the snapper?”

I look around at him. He’s waiting for my response. “Everything was just perfect. I’ll be honest; I haven’t had a meal that good in a long time. I know I said I wasn’t going to post, but I think I have to.”

He grins. I can almost feel the tension in the air evaporate a little under the exhaust fans. Like his staff have been collectively holding their breath for him to relax.

“Well, let's seal the deal with dessert, shall we?”

“Yes, please.”

He glances down at his watch. “What I have in mind will take about forty minutes. Will you indulge me?”

I’m dead curious and nod enthusiastically. “Of course.”

In the meantime, feel free to look around and ask me anything.”

I’m practically vibrating with energy. I dart from station to station, watching as his staff serve up more beautiful creations.

However, the orders soon slow. Eventually the movement and clamor is directed to cleaning.

Staff wipe down surfaces and stack clean pans.

I turn to look for Noah only to find that he’s disappeared.

I wonder if I should go back to my table. I don’t want to be in the way. Maybe he got busy and forgot about me.

Then the door to the large walk-in fridge opens and he steps out, holding something beneath a silver cloche.

“Just heading home, chef,” the red-haired man calls.

“Righto, Billy. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

“See you Sunday, chef.”

“Night, Sally.”

“Night.”

The door swings shut and silence falls over the kitchen for the first time since I stepped into it. And I realize we’re alone.

That shouldn’t be sending a little tickle of excitement up my spine. It certainly shouldn’t make me want to touch my cheeks to check if my blush has returned.

Noah sets the dish down and slowly lifts the cloche.

Seven neat squares of fluffy sponge cake are arranged on a plate as if they’ve fallen into a stack like toys out of a toybox.

Around the outside there are tiny dishes with sauces and toppings.

I see chocolate and coconut as well as a fruit compote, a dish with a creamy liqueur and some kind of white sauce that could be white chocolate.

“What is it?”

“Deconstructed lamington. It’s still something I’m playing with, but the idea is you customize it by dipping the cake into whatever sauce and topping you like, to vary the flavor and texture.”

I nod. “I’ve heard about lamington. I haven’t had one, though. It’s chocolate icing with coconut right?”

Noah smiles. “Allow me?” He takes a little metal skewer and spears a square of cake, then dips it into the liqueur, the melted chocolate, and finally the coconut. Twisting it dexterously, he lifts it to my mouth.

“Oh!” I open and he feeds the morsel to me.

I don’t stop to think about how sensual this is until I close my lips around the mouthful and he slowly draws the skewer out, brushing it against my lower lip in a caress.

I can’t help the little shudder that runs through me at the way his gaze is fixed on my mouth.

Then the flavors hit me and I forget everything for a second.

The rich, warm chocolate and subtle coconut are underpinned by the dizzying hint of alcohol. “Wow.”

He grins. “Good?”

“Amazing for something so simple. I didn’t think lamingtons had alcohol, though.”

“Nah, but everything’s better with booze, right?”

He takes a new skewer and a new piece of cake. This time he gives me a completely different combination: the creamy sauce, the fruit compote. A twist of his wrist, and he lifts it to my mouth again before I can take it from him.

I moan around this bite. The first was delicious, but these flavors are some of my favorites. White chocolate, the tart fruit, the nutty cake. Perfection. The cake is so soft it practically melts in my mouth, and I need more immediately.

“You’re making me jealous,” Noah laughs. “You might have to share.”

Taking his cue, I pick my own skewer and stab a piece of cake, giggling when it falls off almost instantly and I have to stab it again, this time quite aggressively.

Noah whistles. “Geez. Got some anger issues you wanna talk about?”

Now I’m really laughing. Imagining the cake is Justin’s face sounds like a pretty good idea right about now. Makes me want to turn one into a pin cushion with the skewers.

“What do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

I dip the cake into the liqueur first. I loved the way the light, teasing flavor lingered on my tongue after the first mouthful.

Then into the white chocolate and the coconut.

I should probably just hand it to him, but Noah opens his mouth, and I lift the skewer, noticing far more than I should when his tongue curls around the cake and licks a stray droplet off his lip.

We stare at each other a moment longer, then Noah drops his gaze. He turns and grabs a small bottle of dessert wine, hunting until he finds two glasses and sets them on the counter. Then he pours and hands me one. “So, are you going to tell me what happened?”