Ted leans against the prep table, still grinning. “Those deconstructed lumpia were like magic. At first everyone was annoyed that the original chef couldn’t come, but once those came out, the muttering died down. I heard nothing but chewing and humming. Music to my ears.”

Another server walks in and deposits an empty tray in the sink just as the server carrying wine walks out. No chance of finding out just how down and dirty Callum wants me to go with the kitchen now functioning like Grand Central Station. Instead I put my head down and focus on preparing the best possible main with Callum: tempura-crusted mahi-mahi on a bed of pineapple fried rice.

For a solid hour, we cook and plate, the bodies passing in and out of the kitchen our white noise.

Callum wipes a rogue droplet of his ginger soy reduction from the rim of the plate with a tea towel. He stares with laser focus, even as people move around him. I wonder if all those years working in finance gave him the nerves of steel he seems to possess. I can’t remember seeing anyone this unflappable in the kitchen.

We hand off plates to waiting servers one by one, and it’s like a perfectly choreographed dance. Plate after plate changes hands over and over, until Callum and I are left alone in the kitchen, standing side by side, our hands on our hips, staring at the door.

“We did it.” He speaks through a rough sigh.

“It was stressful, but . . . exhilarating.”

“So.” He unbuttons the top button of his chef jacket. I suppress a moan. I’m back to burning up.

“Decided that your bestselling food truck fried rice was too good for my lowly seared fish?” His playful tone makes me chuckle.

I lightly smack his shoulder. “Most of the people in that room have eaten every item on our menu week after week. The last thing I wanted was for one of them to figure out we cooked this meal together.”

As soon as I say it, I wish I could take it back. It sounds so harsh.

His mouth is a straight line. He offers a single nod. “Right.”

I touch his wrist. “I didn’t mean it like that. What I meant was I don’t want to be the focus of their gossip. I really enjoyed cooking with you, Callum.”

He pulls away from me like I’m made of fire. “You’re right. It’s best that no one finds out about us. Like you said.”

On the inside, I’m cringing so hard. Really enjoyed cooking with you. I sound like a home economics teacher.

The longer I look at Callum, the more obvious his hurt is. He refuses my eyes, occupying himself with washing dishes at the sink.

“Callum, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine.” His tone is a soft bark, but I get the message loud and clear.