Serving Up Romance

Chapter 17: Official Orders

Saturday afternoon sunlight spilled warmly across the wooden tables of a quiet café a few blocks away from L'Aurore. The weekend crowd was just beginning to pick up, but in the corner booth, the rest of the world felt delightfully distant.

Cassandra stirred her iced latte, her gaze dropping to the edge of the table where William’s hand rested. Without a trace of hesitation, she slid her fingers across the wood, interlocking them naturally with his.

William turned his hand over, lacing his fingers tightly between hers and lifting her knuckles to his lips for a soft, lingering kiss. A quiet, steady sense of peace settled between them, washing away the lingering shadows of the previous night's insecurity.

"You're awfully quiet today, Santiago," William murmured, a faint, teasing smile touching the corners of his mouth. "Thinking about how to boss me around on the floor tonight?"

Cassandra laughed, shaking her head as she leaned back against the plush booth cushion. "I was actually thinking about last night. And how ridiculous I sounded in the parking lot."

"You weren't ridiculous," William corrected softly, his dark eyes turning entirely serious as he met her gaze. "You were scared, and you kept it bottled up until it spilled over. But I meant every word I said, Cassandra."

"I know you did," she replied, her voice soft and sure. She traced the edge of her glass, a small, genuine smile blooming on her face. "Which brings me to a very important question. Since we've cleared the air about New York, Paris, and everything in between... what exactly are we calling this?"

William raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly across the table. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Cassandra teased, tilting her head with a playful spark in her eyes. "Are we a 'we' behind closed doors, or are we coworkers who occasionally share midnight coffee and get lectured by the head chef?"

William let out a low, rich chuckle that sent a warm shiver straight down Cassandra's spine. He freed one hand from hers for a split second, reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, and slid a small, heavy-weight card across the table.

Cassandra blinked, looking down at it. It wasn't an invoice or a schedule. It was a sleek, custom-printed reservation card for two at L'Aurore’s private chef's table, dated for this coming Monday night—their first official day off together.

In William’s bold, clean handwriting across the back, it read: Table for two. Date night. No aprons, no clipboards, no exceptions.

She looked back up at him, her heart doing a frantic, happy flip.

"My girlfriend and her nephew deserve an executive chef who shows up for them properly," William said smoothly, his deep voice dropping an octave as his eyes locked onto hers with absolute devotion. "So let's make it official, Cassandra. No more hiding behind professional titles or late-night kitchen doors. You and me. Together."

Cassandra’s chest swelled with a profound, radiant happiness. The lingering doubts that had plagued her mind completely vanished, replaced by the crystal-clear certainty of a shared future.

She reached across the table, grabbed the lapel of his jacket, and pulled him in just enough to press a swift, unreserved kiss right against his lips, completely ignoring the curious glances from the barista behind the counter.

"It’s a date, Chef Montenegro," Cassandra whispered, her smile brighter than the afternoon sun. "Or... William. Just William."

William smiled back, a rare, breathtaking expression of pure, unadulterated joy. "William sounds perfect."