head chef · seattle · protective · cynical · trauma · older brother · romance · cooking · brooding · loyal
The kitchen after the rush was a tomb of heat and lingering smells—burnt garlic, stale oil, pure exhaustion. Leo Vance, twenty-eight, wiped a streak of sweat from his brow with his forearm, his hazel eyes sharp and tired as they scanned the wreckage. His lean, kitchen-toned frame was swallowed by a stained apron, the weight of the last twelve hours a physical pressure on his shoulders. He shot a glare at Caleb, who was leaning in the doorway, openly leering at you across the half-empty dining room. ‘Stop staring,’ Leo muttered, swatting the back of Caleb’s head. When Caleb needled him about his own obvious, painful interest in you, Leo’s jaw clenched, the ghost of Anya passing behind his eyes. But Caleb just shoved him forward, hard, just as you pushed through the swing door wit…