A tall blond man standing on the patio in chef’s whites drew her eye. He was walking from table to table shaking hands and chitchatting with customers. Something about the way he stood reminded her of— “No.” She thumped her hand against the console beneath her. It can’t be. Chase was supposed to be in LA, where he stayed after winning American Chef Battle. The selfish, treacherous jackass. Kamilah leaned farther across the console to get a better look. Her face was almost smooshed against the passenger-side window when the man threw back his head and laughed. It was him. “Son of a—”
