Chef Sugarlips by Tawna Fenske

Author:Tawna Fenske [Fenske, Tawna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

SEAN

It’s not gunfire.

That’s what I keep telling myself over and over as I wait for the explosions to stop.

I’ll admit that’s what I thought for the first few seconds, especially after Amber’s comment about wedding guests packing heat.

But here’s where it comes in handy that I’ve worked my fair share of weddings gone awry.

“Marinara,” I murmur, and Amber opens her eyes.

“What?”

I should probably get off her, since the explosions have stopped. She feels warm and lush beneath me, and I figure I need to stay here a few seconds longer. For safety and all.

I pick up a meatball that’s landed next to her head. “Just a guess, but I think a couple chafing dishes exploded. I’ve seen it before.”

Amber stares at the meatball like I’m holding up a human eyeball, then blinks at me. “You’ve seen this happen?”

“Not this, exactly. It was pulled pork instead of meatballs. Are you okay?”

She nods, looking uncertain. “I think so. Are you?”

“Yeah.” Better than okay with Amber’s body pressed against mine like this.

She looks down like she’s wanting to check herself for damage, but that’s tough to do with me lying on top of her.

I roll to the side, then hop to my feet and pull her with me. Her arms are smeared with marinara, and she has gobs of it in her hair. But aside from that, she looks unscathed. She also looks so beautiful my chest aches, and I can’t resist the urge to fish half a meatball out of her cleavage.

“Thank you,” she breathes.

“You’re welcome.”

I move toward the table where the food has been set up. Sure enough, there’s a charred mess that must have been a pair of old school, retro chafing dishes. “The candles must have overheated. Probably used some that were too big.” I turn and survey the room. “Is anyone hurt?”

I get a few dazed head shakes and some serious looks of confusion. My heart is thudding in my ears, and I need to be sure everyone’s okay. Since Amber was at the front of the crowd, she bore the brunt of the explosion. I shift my gaze back to her and feel my heart twist in my chest. “You sure you’re okay?”

She nods, looking dazed but unhurt. God, if anything happened to her—

“What was that?” someone asks again.

“Chafing dish explosion,” I say again, pretty sure I’ll be repeating that at least a few more times.

I survey the room and all its pretty décor. There are meatballs smashed against the wall. Meatballs on the ceiling. Meatballs tangled in the curtains. There’s even a meatball wedged in the corner of a framed photo of the bride and groom. I pick it off and turn to see a wide-eyed teen in a white apron holding a giant bowl of spinach salad.

“Are you with the catering team?” I ask.

She nods and gapes at the carnage around us. “I swear everything was fine a minute ago. What h—”

“Where’s your manager?”

“I—uh—” The kid swallows. “She’s not here. She had another wedding to do.

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