That Secret Crush (Getting Lucky #3)(79)

My jaw works back and forth as I stare down at the covered plates in front of us. The difference between the two of us, though, is that I fucking love Eve, I was with her before the opportunity came about, and restaurant or no restaurant, I don’t know if I want to wake up another day without her in my arms.

With every day that goes by without a text from her, without seeing that contagious smile or hearing her sharp tongue, I realize more and more just how attached I am to her. And every time I see her at Knight and Port, I wonder if I made the right decision. We’re working seamlessly right now, but we were beforehand too. Did I make a gigantic mistake and let go of the one thing in this world that truly made me happy?

In all honesty, I don’t think I’m good enough for someone like Eve—someone with so much damn confidence and drive. I may not be good enough, but what I do know is that she’s good for me.

But before I can say any of that, I swallow my pride and lift the cover off the first plate.

“A classic take on the baked bean sandwich. French toast bread, grilled and buttered, baked beans, crispy applewood bacon, cheese, and thinly sliced Granny Smith apples.”

“French toast bread? Like this is actual french toast?”

I nod, the previous conversation vanishing the minute we start talking food. “The idea came to me the other night when Griffin was going on and on in a text message about Ren wanting breakfast for dinner, french toast in particular. Since baked bean sandwiches are such a New England staple, I thought it would be fun to have a breakfast-for-dinner take on it.”

Eric picks up the sandwich, examines it with a sniff and a cautious eye, and then takes a large bite. The crispy bacon crunches against the soft beans and tart, fresh apple. I know it’s fucking good. I spent most of the afternoon perfecting it.

I push a small dish toward him. “Dip it in the bourbon-pecan glaze.”

“Oh, dude.” He smiles and dips the sandwich in the glaze before taking another bite. I swear his eyes roll into the back of his head as he slowly chews. And for a brief moment, I forget about my deep-rooted pain at the loss of Eve. And instead, I’m transported back in time to when I used to test new dishes and flavors with Eric. We spent so many long nights in the kitchen, trying to top one another with secret ingredients like on Top Chef, throwing each other off, and reveling in the challenge.

“This is damn good. Fuck, it’s really good.”

“Thanks.”

“This has to be on the menu, no question about it.” He picks up his notepad and starts writing down the details about the sandwich.

“Would you change anything? I wasn’t sure if I should add nutmeg or not.”

He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”

With a surge of pride, I uncover the next dish and pour the sauce on top before he picks it up. I didn’t want the bread going soggy.

“This is a take on a meatball sub. I made lobster balls with panko and egg as a binder with some lemon seasoning, and the sauce on top is a cheesy clam chowder, all on a New England bun, buttered and toasted.”

“Cheesy clam chowder sauce? Where the hell did you come from?”

I chuckle. “It’s something I’ve been dreaming about for a while. But I never tried to make one because, well, I wasn’t cooking. So there it is. Let me know what you think.”

I hold my breath while he takes a bite, and as a slow smile creeps across his face, I know I have another winner on my hands.

My heart might be broken, but at least my cooking talent isn’t.



“Here.” I plop a plate of cider donuts down on my parents’ empty dinner table and then take a seat.

My mom comes over to my chair, grips both of my cheeks, and plants a kiss on my head. “There’s my favorite chef. What are these?”

“Cider donut bites.” I pop one in my mouth. “Eric and I had a competition to see who could make a better one, and he won. He’s always had a way with the sweet stuff. So we’re going with his recipe. Now you get to eat the rejects.”

“How thoughtful.” She reaches out and takes a small bite. “Wow, these are amazing; if these are the rejects, I can’t wait to taste the winners.”

“He does something fancy I still can’t pinpoint.” I shrug and drum my fingers on the table.

“Can I just say”—yup, I knew this was coming—“I’m so proud of you, Reid, for taking another shot at this. Dad’s been telling me all about the progress you’ve been making over the last month, and I took a sneak peek in the restaurant the other day. I can’t believe the transformation. The crew is working really hard.”

“They are, and I’m impressed, actually. They think we’ll be able to do the soft opening in just two months.”‘

“Seriously? Just two more months?” Mom’s eyes widen. “That’s . . . soon.”

“I’ve been putting in some work, and so has Rogan.”

“Well, he is the renovation expert in the family. That’s so wonderful. I can’t wait to see how everything comes together. Your dad is positively giddy.”

“Yeah, he’s been hugging me a lot lately. I’m guessing that’s his way of silently thanking me.”

“That and he’s a little heartbroken about you and Eve.”