A Feast of You (17 page)

Asa intercepted me as soon as I left the Palm Court. The black sedan was waiting, and Asa helped me inside, then climbed into the front with Anthony. “Hello, Miss Cat. Back to the penthouse?”

I glanced at my watch. It was just before two o’clock, too early to return to the gilded cage.

Then I had an idea. “Actually, Anthony, I’d like to go to Morrison Hotel.”

He nodded and put the car in gear. “Morrison Hotel it is.” I watched as we pulled out and headed down Michigan Avenue.

Hutch wasn’t expecting me, but he had told me he wanted candid shots of pre-service prep for the cookbook, and I did happen to have all my gear. So technically this
was
work, but it helped that I needed an escape. I didn’t want to go back to lockdown at the penthouse at the moment and a visit to Morrison Hotel seemed like the perfect way to reconnect with my own life. Zoe had rattled me, and I felt like I had forgotten who Catherine Kelly really was, outside of William.

Asa had probably given George our itinerary as soon as I mentioned my change of plans, but I texted William anyway and told him I had some work to do. I didn’t mention Hutch or where I was going. He’d know soon enough and I figured we could talk about it later.

I’m with Asa and Anthony
, I texted to finish.
So don’t worry. See you for dinner.

XOXO

M
y car arrived at Morrison Hotel, and Asa opened the door for me and helped me pull my camera bags out of the back. The minute my feet hit the sidewalk, a surprisingly brisk gust of wind ripped right through me. “Shit, that’s cold,” I said through nearly chattering teeth.

“That’s March in Chicago for you,” Asa chuckled. “We better get you inside and warmed up before you blow away.” His cheeks were red and his eyes watered in the wind. It wasn’t sunny, but thankfully it wasn’t snowing either. I shivered as the wind kicked up again. A return trip to Tropos sounded like a good idea right about now.

I took a deep breath and tried to shake off the lingering effects of my luncheon conversation with Zoe as I headed into the restaurant. I hated that William’s cousin—ostensibly the cousin he was closest to—didn’t like me. I had no idea why, and it stung. Admittedly, I was sensitive, but how could I not be? I had been unfairly vilified after Jace’s death by his family, some of his friends, and lots of his fans. I walked away from all that hate, but what was I supposed to do about Zoe? How does one say, “Hey, I think your cousin hates me for no reason” to one’s boyfriend? And would said boyfriend side with his girlfriend over his favorite family member?

Mindy, one of the hostesses, was on the phone when I walked in but gave me a smile and pointed to the back. I felt totally comfortable here now, which was all Hutch’s doing. He’d introduced me to his entire staff and told them to give me whatever I wanted. The man truly had a talent for making people feel welcome. No wonder Morrison Hotel had a waitlist a mile long.

Asa took a seat in the booth closest to the kitchen, and I set down my gear just as Hutch came through the kitchen doors. His serious expression turned into a warm smile the instant he saw me, and he changed course from wherever he was initially heading to turn toward me. He wiped his hands on the white apron tired around his waist, covering distressed jeans. His black T-shirt molded to his chest and his tattooed arms popped with color against it.

“This is what I love about you, Miss Catherine.” He took me by the shoulders and kissed me on both cheeks. He smelled like spices and wood smoke. “You keep me on my toes, and you’re certainly never predictable.”

“Predictability is very overrated, don’t you think?” Being so warmly welcomed by a gorgeous man was exactly what I needed to snap me out of the funk of Lauren’s shower.

Hutch always seemed thrilled to see me, and with that wide, infectious smile, how could I help but feel a little fluttery inside? He was off-limits for so many reasons, but there was just something about him. If I was being honest, I knew what it was: he reminded me a little of Jace. His confidence. His blond hair. His easygoing, laid-back attitude. All of these connected powerfully with who I used to be in California. Cat Ryder, surf photographer, would have had a major crush on Hutch. And maybe Catherine Kelly, Chicago food photographer, did too.

I cleared my throat, smiled, and tried to focus on why I was here. “I thought today might be a good time to do the candid pre-service prep shots you wanted for the book. I happened to have my equipment with me, and I was already out. But if this is a bad time, I can come back.”

“I’d never send you away, Kitty Cat. Not now that I have you here.” He grinned like a mischievous child. “Come on back and you can get started. The
mise en place
is done, and Angie’s already staging,” he said over his shoulder as he led me into the kitchen. He lowered his voice. “She’s a ballbreaker, that one. She’s the secret to my success, you know.”

“I doubt that,” I said, dropping my bag and reaching for my camera and a lens. My hands were shaking a little. ‘Kitty Cat’ was what Jace had called me—intimately,
in bed.
Hearing Hutch call me that was unexpected, to say the least. But he didn’t need to know. I plastered on a smile.

“Don’t doubt it,” Hutch said, oblivious to my internal drama and sounding serious. “My grandmother always said, ‘Behind every successful man there’s a good woman.’ You wouldn’t argue with my grandmother, would you?”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Smart move because you’d lose.” He winked, then headed over to where Angie was working.

I took in the activity of the kitchen, then got quickly immersed in my work. The food was gorgeous, and the staff didn’t seem to mind that I was present. The shots really did look candid and not at all stiff. Maybe it was the dynamic between Hutch and Angie. He was clever with the innuendo, and she brought him back down to size with her sarcasm. Watching them work was fun, and I was having a great time. Mostly, though, I enjoyed watching Hutch’s genius realized. The way he cooked was intense and wild and free all at the same time. It would have been easy to get caught up in looking at him, in witnessing him create his art on a plate, but I remembered to watch through the lens of the camera and take what I hoped were great shots.

The entire time I watched Hutch, I kept thinking about Beckett. I wished he was here, witnessing what I was. He would love it. I pulled out my new phone and snapped a quick pic of Hutch as he julienned carrots with both remarkable ease and precision.

I thought you’d appreciate this
, I typed.

I knew he admired Hutch as a chef—what chef didn’t? —but I bet the two of them would actually hit it off, too.

Call you later to give you the deets
.
Overdue 4 cocktails, yes?? XOXO
.

I hit send. I still worried Beckett secretly nursed a broken heart. With all the drama going on in my life, I hadn’t been a very good friend lately, and I needed to change that. ASAP.

* * *

I
was so focused on getting a variety of shots that when Hutch appeared in front of me with two large bowls of something that smelled like butter, bacon, and cheese, I was totally surprised. My stomach gave a little leap of joy, and I wondered how long I’d been there. Surely I couldn’t be hungry again. I’d eaten at Lauren’s shower. Of course, that had been light fare, and what I’d learned about Hutch was that nothing he made was light on calories.

“That’s a wrap, Cat. Isn’t that what they say?”

I smiled and tried not to stare at the food. I didn’t want to start salivating. “I think that’s in movies, but I get your point. I got some great pictures. I think you’ll be pleased.”

“I know I will be, and I like that you aim to please.” Hutch was definitely ramping up his flirtiness. “Now, you come eat with me. I always chow before the first seating, and I don’t like to eat alone.”

“Oh, um...” I vaguely remembered that I’d promised William I’d be home for dinner.

“Don’t tell me no, sweetie. The staff has already been served.” He jerked his head toward a rectangular stainless steel table. Angie and the line cooks were seated around it, eating bowls of whatever Hutch had brought me.

“But you and me,” Hutch said, “we’re going to sit out here.” He pushed through the kitchen doors and into the main dining area. Asa still sat in his booth, and I was ashamed that I’d totally forgotten him.

But Hutch hadn’t. Asa had a steaming bowl of food in front of him and a bottle of sparkling water. Hutch really was the sweetest man. He seemed to read my mind. “A man’s got to keep up his strength. Keeping an eye on you can’t be easy.”

He gave me a smirk, and immediately diffused the embarrassment that threatened to turn my cheeks red. There were few employers, I reasoned, who would be okay with their employees coming to work flanked by a bodyguard, let alone be so okay with it that they would feed him. Asa’s constant presence sometimes made me uncomfortable—or at least explaining his constant presence to other people did—but Hutch acted like he didn’t mind and I appreciated it.

Hutch led me to a booth where Asa could see us and put one of the steaming bowls in front of me. Still in his apron, he sat and looked at me. I looked back. His blue eyes sparkled, his hair was gorgeously messy, and his hands, which he’d placed flat on the table, were strong. I couldn’t help but be drawn to the tattoos on his arms. I had never gotten a good look at them and I found myself wondering what he had on there. As my gaze traveled up over a spindly branch and some black lettering, Hutch cleared his throat and I realized I was staring. I also realized that I wasn’t eating, which was obviously what he was expecting—and wanting—me to do.

I quickly grabbed my spoon and looked down at my plate. I recognized the shrimp and the chopped bacon, but I wasn’t sure about the rest. “Polenta?” I asked.

“Oh, honey.” Hutch shook his head. “You kill me. This, darlin’, is shrimp and grits. It’s a Southern staple. Of course, I fancied it up a bit.” He grinned knowingly, and I smothered a laugh in response. Hutch saying he’d just ‘fancied up’ some grits was the understatement of the century. He was one of the most inventive and talented chefs
in the world
and any dish he fancied up was bound to be beyond spectacular.

Still, I played along as I found his modesty disarmingly charming. “I thought grits were for breakfast.”

Hutch gave me a look that said stop-while-you’re-ahead. I lifted my spoon and tasted the dish. My eyes popped open and Hutch threw his head back and laughed. My reaction was, apparently, spot-on. I’d expected something like a savory oatmeal or cream of wheat, but this was wonderful—creamy, buttery, cheesy. The flavors exploded in my mouth. “Oh my God,” I said around the spoon. “This is absolutely to die for.”

“You didn’t even taste the shrimp yet. They’ve got a kick.” He watched as I loaded my spoon with grits and shrimp. He had the same look I’d seen on William’s face when he was enjoying watching me eat.

“So good,” I said, spooning up more. “And probably ten thousand calories.”

Hutch stirred the grits in his bowl. “Honey, calories don’t exist at Morrison Hotel.”

I laughed and scooped up another helping. “Tell that to my clothes.”

“It’s not the clothes that get me in trouble, Cat,” he said softly “It’s the body underneath.” His eyes dipped slightly, and I remembered the way the blouse I had chosen showed off my cleavage.
Holy shit
. Our little flirt-a-thon this afternoon had just crossed a big line and I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks. So Hutch had noticed my cleavage, and a part of me definitely liked that he’d noticed. But I loved William, I reminded myself—I was in love with William—and nothing was going to happen between me and Hutch. Ever.

“So tell me about your shadow,” Hutch said, his eyes back on my face. I glanced at Asa.

“It’s complicated,” I said, torn between not wanting to reveal any of William’s personal issues to Hutch and trying to steer our discussion away from more sexy banter.

“It always is,” he said with a note of seriousness in his voice. He wasn’t flirting now. I waited for him to probe, but he seemed to let it go. That was probably what I liked most about Hutch. It was easy to talk to him, to just be with him.

“I remember back when I was in the band. I couldn’t go anywhere without security. Couldn’t go to the damn bathroom by myself. The security was necessary, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a drag.”

“I forgot you were in a band. You must have been popular if you needed security.”

Hutch shrugged. “We did alright, but mainly we needed bodyguards to keep all the adoring women at bay.”

He probably wasn’t joking, but I laughed anyway. “And what about now? Are you seeing anyone? Every time I open
Chicago Now
, you’re pictured surrounded by adoring women.”

“
Chicago Now
would have me engaged to half a dozen socialites. The truth is I’m blissfully available.”

That was what I’d figured, but it didn’t really make sense. Hutch was sweet and funny and handsome as sin. The first time we’d met he’d told me no one could cook, play guitar, or fuck better than he could. No wonder he had women lining up, but why no one serious? “Is it the chef’s hours?” I asked. “Because—”

The door to the restaurant opened, and I turned to see who was entering. It was still too early for the first seating. I couldn’t see, but I heard footsteps and then: “Hello.”

My jaw must have dropped because the last person I expected to see was William.

“What are you doing here?” I sputtered. That was probably a bad way to greet him, but I was completely taken off guard. Hutch was more poised. He stood, wiped his palms on his jeans, and offered a hand. As the two men stood facing each other, the stark difference between them came into focus. Hutch was the epitome of effortless hipster chic with his blond hair, his casual dress, his tattoos, his Chuck Taylors. William, by contrast, screamed mogul in his suit and overcoat, with his thick dark hair neatly combed back. Both were hot as hell and evenly matched in height.