Chapter 6
Heizel’s POV
I wasn’t in the mood today. From the moment I woke up, a thick cloud of irritation settled over me, and it hadn’t lifted all day. My team could feel it too, tiptoeing around me like I was a bomb waiting to explode. I hated this feeling—on edge for no reason. I couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong, but I knew I was counting down the minutes until I could leave.
Maybe I should just go home—retreat into the solitude of my apartment where no one could see me unravel. There, I wouldn’t have to keep pretending I was fine. I could work alone, just the way I liked it.
But then, as if on cue, Reggie came over with a glass of wine, interrupting my thoughts.
"Table 10 sent you wine," he said, an amused look in his eyes. He knew exactly how I felt about this regular customer, the man who seemed to haunt my restaurant every night.
"Really?" I muttered, the irritation in my voice barely contained. Him again. Every night. Didn’t he have anything else to do? Was he always here, watching me?
I turned to face him. He caught my gaze instantly, as though he’d been waiting for it, and flashed a smile. The kind of smile that made my heart flutter and my patience fray. He lifted his whiskey glass in a slow, deliberate motion, offering a casual greeting.
Perfectly composed, as usual. He was alone tonight, though I had heard he had company earlier. Now it was just him and that glass of amber whiskey, its liquid swirling like temptation.
I took the wine Reggie brought me and stormed over to his table, my heels clicking sharply against the polished floor, each step matching the rising heat in my chest. I set the glass down on the table with more force than necessary, the sharp clink of it cutting through the air.
"You don’t need to buy me wine," I snapped, trying to mask my frustration. "I can afford it myself, you know. Plus, this is my restaurant. I can get whatever I want."
He didn’t even flinch. Instead, his eyes sparkled with that mischievous gleam. "Then why didn’t you?"
I blinked, thrown off by the unexpected question. "What do you mean?"
"You’ve been sitting there for the last hour, staring at your computer, and you didn’t order anything." His voice was calm, too calm, like he knew something I didn’t.
"Maybe because I didn’t want anything," I retorted, irritation bubbling up inside me like an overfilled pot. Who was he to sit there, to watch me and assume he knew anything about what I wanted? "Thank you for the wine, but I can’t take it."
He leaned forward slightly, his cologne mixing with the scent of whiskey in the air, and I felt something shift inside me. A twinge of unease, of something deeper. It was subtle, but unmistakable. He was too close, and yet I couldn’t look away.
"Can’t take it because you don’t want it... or because you’re too pissed off to admit you do?"
His words felt like a challenge, a dare, and before I knew it, my annoyance flickered into something else—a flicker of curiosity that I tried hard to suppress.
I narrowed my eyes at him, feeling my pulse quicken. Who the hell did he think he was? "What do you want?" I demanded, though my voice had softened, curiosity seeping in despite myself. Why was he always here, sitting at this table, always watching me?
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze never leaving mine. There was something magnetic in it. His smirk widened, just enough to show he knew exactly what was happening—he had my attention.
"I like the food," he said, his tone casual, almost like he wasn’t telling the whole truth. His words felt rehearsed, but not forced.
I scoffed, incredulous. "Are you—are you laughing at me?"
"Not at all." He smiled, the edges of it softening as he gestured to the chair across from him, his fingers brushing the table lightly, like he was inviting me into a space I didn’t know existed. "Sit."
I hesitated. Every instinct screamed for me to walk away, to keep my distance, but my curiosity pulled me closer. What was he playing at? I sank into the chair, folding my arms defensively, my body fighting against whatever strange attraction I felt.
"The truth is," he began, leaning back in his chair, his posture relaxed but commanding, "I’d like to ask you out on a date. But I’ve seen how many guys you’ve turned down, so I thought... why not make it interesting?"
I raised an eyebrow, caught completely off guard. This was the last thing I expected him to say. "A challenge?" My voice was still skeptical, but I was already intrigued. Why would he put himself through that? Why not just ask me directly?
"Exactly." His smile widened again, that damned confidence oozing from him. "I’ll keep coming here, every night, sitting at this table. The catch? Every day, I want a dish that’s not on the menu. Something new, something creative."
I felt the corner of my lips twitch. Was he serious? He wanted me to cook him something new every day? "And why should I agree to that?" I shot back, though the idea, the absurdity of it, had already begun to intrigue me.
"Because you love creating food," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make it feel like we were sharing a secret, a bond only the two of us understood.
"You get this look in your eyes when you’re working on something new. One dish, every day."
I stared at him, feeling something shift inside me. This wasn’t about the food. It was about me. He saw right through me, and I hated how he could do it so effortlessly.
"What’s the catch?" I asked, my voice softer now, curiosity winning over my pride.
"The day you miss making a new dish, or repeat one you’ve already done, you lose," he said, his gaze unwavering, the challenge hanging in the air. "And I win."
I raised an eyebrow. "And what exactly do you win?"
His smile was all confidence now, as if he already knew my answer. "A date," he said, his voice smooth, silkier now. "You pick the time, I pick the place."
The room seemed to hold its breath, the rich scent of wine lingering between us, thick and palpable. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was intrigued.
Caught up in something I wasn’t sure I understood. I studied him, his eyes locked on mine, and something inside me shifted, something daring waking up.
I set the glass down, my heartbeat quickening. This was ridiculous. Childish, even. But still—there was something there, something that pulled me in deeper than I’d like to admit.
I leaned forward, my hands steady as I extended one towards him, the heat from his presence making the space between us crackle with energy.
"Deal."