Chapter Four

I squeezed the baster with too much force, causing hot goose fat to spray off the bird, spitting me in the forehead, Finn O’Brien in the face.

I gasped in horror. “Sorry.”

“No worries.” The chef’s usual charismatic smile was a bit lacking in charisma. He slipped the kitchen utensil from my hand and focused on basting, absently wiping his face with a towel.

I fought the urge to pluck several drops of fat from his unshaven chin, not wanting to touch Finn in public when touching Declan was off limits. He, Rachel, Gracie, and Bernice sat lined up in front of the shiny stainless-steel counter in the test kitchen where O’Brien’s restaurant held cooking classes and demonstrations.

Rachel snapped a pic of me finger-combing goose fat from my bangs. I’d informed her that as head photographer I had to approve all shots used for promotional purposes.

I wiped the grease from my forehead with the red ruffled bottom of my fancy apron, a souvenir from Finn. I hadn’t put on an apron since I was seven. When helping Grandma bake, I’d worn her purple apron, and Rachel, her yellow sunflower one.

Finn had prepped the goose prior to my arrival, so I hadn’t had to dig out the slimy giblets or whatever else might have made me nauseous. It was a small goose, able to feed six people, and only took two hours to cook unstuffed. In the meantime, we made dressing with celery, onions, spices, and goose fat droppings. A good thing this bird had a lot of fat to spare since it was also used to roast the potatoes. A bigger concern than wearing the goose fat on my face was wearing it on my butt for a month.

Except for the fact I hadn’t had the opportunity to bring up Brecker beer and secure a bonus, the evening was going much better than I’d anticipated. Finn was doing most of the cooking. I was stirring sauces and measuring ingredients from unmarked containers to retain the chef’s secret recipe. I was keeping my distance from sharp knives and flammable materials. Who’d have thought I could cause harm with a baster?

I stirred the brownish-colored gravy with a spicy, vaguely familiar scent… The timer buzzed, and Finn slid the roasting pan from the oven. He sliced through the bird’s crispy skin.

My stomach growled. “I’ll have white meat, please.”

“It’s all dark.”

“Oh, that’s right. I’ll take a leg.” I used to eat chicken drumsticks when I was a kid.

Finn laughed, sliding a slice of breast meat on my plate. “You have a brilliant sense of humor.”

Asking for a leg was obviously a faux pas.

He drizzled gravy over the meat and added sides to our plates. I snapped a pic of the culinary masterpiece, pride welling up inside me. Even though I’d contributed little to the preparation, I’d made it through three hours of cooking, and the only snafu was basting us with goose fat.

I glanced over at Declan, who gave me a thumbs-up.

I cut off a small piece of meat and took a bite.

A horrible taste filled my mouth.

Curry!

A gag reflex prevented me from swallowing the foul taste. Afraid I might projectile vomit goose curry all over Finn, I covered my mouth with my apron and spit it out. I pretended to cough.

“She’s choking!” Bernice yelled.

Everyone sprang from their chairs.

In one swift movement, Finn was behind me, wrapping his arms around my middle. He grasped one fist with the other, pressed in below my rib cage, and heaved his hands in an upward motion. I was going to vomit. Another big heave, and I waved frantically for him to stop. He lowered his hands and stepped back, wide-eyed and panicked.

Gracie snapped a lovely pic of me still holding my goose-curry-filled apron to my chest. “You saved her life.”

“Sorry…went down…wrong way,” I sputtered. I chugged my glass of red wine to wash away the horrid taste.

“I caught the entire thing on video if you want to use it to train your staff,” Bernice said proudly.

I shot her a mortified look.

Apron still clutched against my chest, Declan drew me into an embrace. He smoothed a hand over my hair, kissing my forehead. “Feckin’ A. You scared the shite out of me.”

I nestled my head against his chest, comforted by his arms and woodsy cologne. Sensing Rachel glaring at our public display of affection, I stepped back from Declan, avoiding her gaze. Finn was too busy slamming wine from the bottle to notice.

“Um, I’m going to clean off my apron.” I fled the kitchen, Rachel hot on my heels.

“I knew this was going to happen,” she said as we flew into the bathroom.

“I’m sorry, but you knew that I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about Declan. Besides, you spit it out because you didn’t like it.”

“Yeah, well, everyone else thinks I was choking.”

Unless Finn reviewed Bernice’s video and realized I hadn’t been. I had to delete the evidence from her phone. I needed that bonus. Finn’s reaction could go either way. He might carry Brecker because he wouldn’t want it getting around that I’d choked on his award-winning goose curry. Or he’d be so traumatized from saving my life that he wouldn’t want the beer as a reminder every time he poured a pint of it.

Rachel glared at me, hands on hips. “Didn’t I warn you about him?”

“Just because Gretchen thinks he’s a player—”

“And dozens of other women. Caity, have more respect for yourself. What makes you think you’re any different than all the other girls he’s slept with?”

“Because I haven’t slept with him, and he told me about Shauna’s death…”

Rachel’s head snapped back in surprise. “Who’s Shauna?”

I’d just broken my promise to Declan not to mention Shauna to anyone.

I shrugged. “Someone he was…close to.”

“When did she die?”

“Three years ago. He confided in me about her when he hasn’t talked to anyone else. You can’t say a word.”

“I won’t.” Rachel shook her head. “I feel so awful for…” She trailed off, peering over my shoulder.

I turned to find Declan standing in the doorway. My hands dropped to my sides, releasing the apron, remnants of goose curry tumbling to the floor.

How long had he been standing there?

Declan’s gaze narrowed. “Was just seeing if you’re okay.”

Was his concerned expression over me choking or blabbing about Shauna? A sick feeling tossed my stomach, and it wasn’t from the lingering taste of curry in my mouth.

“She’s doing great.” Rachel’s sympathetic expression was directed more at Declan than me. “How are you?”

I shot her a warning look. Way to be discreet.

“I mean, that was pretty traumatic for us also,” Rachel said.

“I’m grand.” He looked baffled by her concern. “Right, then. I’ll wait out here.”

He left, and my gaze darted to Rachel. “Gee, that wasn’t the least bit suspicious.”

“Well, excuse me, but I’m still processing what you just told me and what you hadn’t told me.”

After I told you about Gerry Coffey.

For once, her disappointed expression wasn’t over me screwing up my job. She marched out.

Wait a sec. Rachel cared more about the fact that I hadn’t confided in her about Declan and me than she had about me likely messing up Brecker’s shot with O’Brien’s restaurants and our bonuses? This helped lessen the blow that I’d just caused our relationship to take a step backward. And Declan had likely heard me blab about Shauna and would never confide in me again.

Hopefully, I hadn’t just lost the two people closest to me.

Thanks to that wretched bird!