LITMIR.BIZ

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been around so many chefs in her life she thought herself immune to the uniform, but the way her pulse sped up around Lachlan McKinnel said otherwise. And he wasn’t even wearing the whole kit and caboodle. Not good. Her hormones needed to calm their farm because whatever ideas they might suddenly have, she wasn’t planning on acting on any attraction, but especially not with someone she worked for.

      “It’s good,” she said as she set the mug down on the table again.

      “Just good?” The smile he’d been wearing since she arrived drooped a little, making her feel as if she’d kicked a puppy.

      “No. Of course not.” She rushed to reassure him. “It’s fantastic. The best coffee I’ve ever tasted. I could get addicted to this stuff.”

      As if to prove her point, she lifted the mug again and took another sip.

      He threw back his head and laughed long and loud. “It’s okay, I was just kidding. I’m not that pathetic that I need constant reassurance, but I’m glad you like it.”

      Eliza hadn’t laughed in what felt like forever and appeared to have lost the ability to recognize a joke or playful banter. She summoned that smile back as she lowered the coffee to the table again, not wanting him to think her some straitlaced grump who wouldn’t be able to sweet-talk the customers.

      “Anyway.” Lachlan folded his hands together on the table between them, his expression suddenly serious. “You’ve got quite an impressive résumé. The list of restaurants you’ve worked for reads like the Michelin Guide.”

      “Thank you.” Her cheeks flushed a little but her stomach tightened as she anticipated his next question: Why did you leave your last job? She’d already decided only to tell him the bare basics and hope he didn’t scrounge around too much online, but miraculously he went much further back than that.

      “Can you tell me how you got into the restaurant business?”

      She nodded, knowing he’d eventually ask the inevitable but happy to put it off a little longer. “My father was a restaurant critic and my parents were divorced. On the weekends I spent with my dad, he often took me along when he dined for a review. I guess his passion for good food rubbed off on me. I’ve wanted to work in restaurants for as long as I can remember.”

      He quirked an eyebrow. “If you loved food so much, why not become a chef?”

      Although she willed them not to, she felt her cheeks turn an even brighter shade of red. She dreaded this question almost as much as the other one. A tiny voice inside her head told her to lie, but she knew from experience that doing so could get her into very hot water. Besides, with Lachlan’s big brown eyes trained so intently on her, she didn’t think she’d be able to tell even the smallest fib.

      “Because I can’t cook,” she confessed.

      When his expression remained blank, she went on. “I’ve tried. Lord knows, Dad paid for every cooking school he could get me into when I was a teenager, but after the fire department had to be called when I burned down the kitchen, word got around.”

      A small smile broke on his face. “Seriously? You burned down a kitchen?”

      She hung her head in shame and mentally kicked herself. Probably not the best way to sell yourself, Eliza. “It was not my finest moment, and after that my grandmother tried to convince me to go into medicine or journalism or law, anything that kept me away from food, but I just couldn’t give up, so I got a job as a waitress instead. Finally, I found something I was good at. Talking about food, serving food and customer service. I haven’t looked back.”

      “Well, usually at this point, I’d ask what your favorite dish to cook is, but I’m predicting microwave popcorn or something, and that’s not really what I had in mind.”

      She grimaced. “Good. Because I burn that, as well.”

      “At least you’re honest. Lucky I’m not interviewing for the kitchen. So tell me your favorite dish to eat instead.”

      Millions of foods whirled through her head—it was like asking someone to pick their favorite child, not that she would ever know how that felt. “That really depends on the situation,” she said, mentally shaking her head at the dark thoughts that threatened. “If I’m dining out somewhere classy, you can’t go wrong with duck confit or a good pan-seared salmon fillet, but if I want comfort food, it’s mac’n’cheese every time.”

      Her heart squeezed a little at the thought of Grammy Louise’s mac’n’cheese—the food she’d practically lived on the last couple of months.

      “Then you’ll be pleased to know I actually plan on having a mac’n’cheese on our menu—not just any old mac’n’cheese, of course. You haven’t lived until you’ve tasted my whiskey-and-bacon take on the old favorite.”

      Her mouth watered. “That sounds amazing. What else are you planning for the menu?”

      Obviously pleased by this question, Lachlan began to speak animatedly about the dishes he’d been experimenting with. “I want hearty food with a unique flair, showcasing McKinnel’s whiskey as much as possible. Every table will get a complimentary basket of whiskey soda bread, and for starters, we’ll offer things like smoked turkey Reuben sliders, scotch deviled eggs and a whiskey-cheese fondue to share. The mains will be even more whiskey focused, featuring slow-cooked bourbon-glazed ribs, a blue cheese burger in which I mix whiskey into the ground beef...”

      He went on and on—listing more delicious dishes, including a steak sandwich with bourbon-sauteed mushrooms and a vegetarian option of butternut squash gnocchi with whiskey cream sauce. Eliza made a conscious effort not to drool.

      “I love the sound of all of that,” she said, genuine excitement pumping through her body. “You’re making me very hungry.”

      “Really?” He grinned, clearly pleased by her response. “And I haven’t even started on dessert yet.”

      “I can hardly wait,” she replied. Food was something she could talk about till the cows came home and talking about it with Lachlan made her realize how much she’d missed it.

      “How does caramel-and-whiskey sauce with steamed sponge pudding sound?”

      “Oh. My. God.” She couldn’t help moaning at the thought.

      “Or are pumpkin pancakes with bourbon-vanilla maple syrup more your style? Perhaps you like the sound of blueberry-bourbon-cream-cheese pie or maple-bourbon ice cream.”

      The way he spoke about the food sounded almost seductive and she felt goose bumps sprout on her arms.

      “Please stop!” She begged, an alien bubble of laughter escaping her throat. “I didn’t eat breakfast and I can’t take this anymore.”

      His lips twisted with amusement. “Why didn’t you say so? I just happened to have been playing with my recipe for an Irish apple crisp. How about you taste test for me while we finish the interview?”

      Lachlan pushed back his chair to stand before she could reply, and as he did so, the door to the restaurant flung open and they both turned to look. A tall, skinny woman with immaculate makeup and peroxide-blond hair stood there, a girl with a sullen expression at her side.

      “Linda! Hallie! What are you guys doing here?” He rushed toward them, stooping to give the girl a hug. “Why aren’t you at school? Is something wrong?”

      “I need you to look after Hallie for a while,” said the woman Eliza presumed must be Linda. “I’m going to LA to look after my sick aunt. She’s got cancer.”

      Eliza’s heart went out to the woman and her aunt, but when she looked to Lachlan, the smile he’d been wearing seconds earlier had vanished from his face.

      “You don’t have an aunt!” he exclaimed.

      Linda narrowed her eyes at him. “You don’t know everything about me, Lachlan. Maybe if you’d paid more

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