At first, the dog wouldn’t leave Bash’s feet. But eventually, she came over and crawled onto Chelsea’s lap.
She was so tiny, and kind of adorable.
“Do you have the capability to care for a dog?” she asked.
Bash turned away from the stove to shoot her a look. “She survived the night, didn’t she?”
“It requires a commitment of more than one night, Bash. She isn’t one of the women who slide in and out of your life.”
He waved the spatula at her. “Funny. And yes, I’m aware of what it takes to care for a dog. I had several when I was a kid.”
She looked around at his spacious house. The kitchen was open and led into a dining and living area that afforded awesome entertainment space. The kitchen was tiled and the other rooms had wood floors. Much better than carpet, especially with a dog.
“You’ve had this house for how long now?”
“About four years, I guess.”
“So how come you never got a dog before?”
He shrugged. “Never got around to it, I guess. Plus I work odd hours.”
“Aha. So what are you going to do with Lou while you’re working?”
He got two plates out and set them on the kitchen island, then laid bacon on the plates, as well as the eggs he’d made. “Come on and sit.”
She’d had no idea he’d cooked breakfast for her as well as himself. “I didn’t expect you to cook for me.”
He frowned. “You’re here. Why wouldn’t I cook for you?”
First he ignored her, then he fixed her breakfast. She could not fathom Bash at all. She stood, placing Lou on the floor. “What if I’d already had breakfast?”
He smiled at her. “Then I’d have eaten your portion.”
He poured out food for Lou, who dashed over to her bowl and started chowing down. Chelsea took a seat at the breakfast bar and Bash got out some orange juice, hovering over her glass, giving her a questioning look.
“So have you eaten yet?”
“Well … no.”
He poured juice into her glass. “Okay, then. Let’s eat. I’m hungry.”
She dug into the food, which was surprisingly good. Maybe she should have added “a man who can cook” to her list. It wasn’t too late to revise it, or add items. It was, after all, her list. She could do anything she wanted to it.
“Maybe you could become the cook at the bar,” she said. “What did you do to these eggs?”
“It’s a secret recipe. I can’t divulge the ingredients.”
She shot him a look. “Seriously.”
“I am serious. Besides, if they’re that good, I might consider using the recipe for the bar.”
“You’ll serve eggs at the bar?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll do an ‘after midnight’ menu, with breakfast choices.”
“It’s not a terrible idea.”
His lips curved. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Anyway, I have to give the customers something to eat besides burgers.”
“Well, thank God for that.” She studied him as she ate. “You’re serious about expanding the bar.”
He leaned a hip against the counter, his plate in his hands as he scooped the last of the eggs onto his fork. After he took the bite, he swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. It’s something I’ve been working on for a while. I needed to save the capital first, and work out a design scheme that made sense, but I think I’m ready. I’ve already got the permit work started and a contractor picked out. Once that’s all in place, it shouldn’t take more than three to four months to get the project finished.”
“Do you know who you’ll hire to cook for you?”
“Jason Longmire. He works at Tadashi’s in Oklahoma City as a chef right now, but he was raised in Hope. We went to school together. Do you know him?”
She shook her head. “The name doesn’t ring a bell. I know the restaurant, though. It’s a good one. Why would he want to leave there and work at your bar? No insult intended.”
Bash finished off his juice and set the glass on the counter. “None taken. His mom is selling her house and wants to move in with her daughter—his sister—in Tennessee. Jason wants to buy the house and live here.”
“He could probably get a job as a chef in one of the Tulsa restaurants.”
Bash laid his hands on the island. “Are you trying to find my chef another job?”
She tore off a piece of bacon and slid it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before answering. “No. Just playing devil’s advocate. I mean, the bar is basically a bar, not a restaurant.”
“Not yet.”
She studied him, trying to figure out his angle. Then it hit her. “You’re thinking of expanding into the restaurant business and you need a really good chef to help you.”
“Maybe.” His lips curved.
She had no idea he had such grandiose plans. “How long have you had this idea?”
“Awhile. You finished with this?” He motioned to her now-empty plate.
“Yes, but why don’t you let me do the dishes?”
“Nah. I’ve got this.” He pulled her plate across the island and went to the sink.
Refusing to just sit there after he’d fed her, she slid off the barstool and went into the kitchen, taking a peek at Lou, who’d finished her food and was taking a snooze next to her food bowl.