Dishing Up Love Read online K.D. Robichaux

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Romance Tags Authors:
Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 426(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
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Read Online Books/Novels:

Dishing Up Love

Author/Writer of Book/Novel:

K.D. Robichaux

Language:
English
ISBN/ ASIN:
9781733494762
Book Information:

One hot chef
One beautiful woman
One chance encounter
Mix and dish up some love
Erin Bazzara is living life to the fullest as a single woman in New Orleans and making a name for herself as one of the top psychologists in the state of Louisiana. Years ago, she swore off men after receiving devastating news, news that proved her fiancé didn’t care about the rule “in sickness and in health.” It also proved he didn’t really care about her.
Good riddance, who needs a man anyway? Not her. Not ever again. Or so she thought, until she literally runs into a certain world-renowned chef who looks at her like she might be his next four-course meal.
Chef Curtis Rockwell, host of the award-winning Chef To Go, never knows who the next participant on his show will be. State to state, city to city, he scours grocery store aisles each episode, looking for the perfect stranger to go home with so he can teach them how to cook a gourmet meal. It’s always been just a part of his job, a job he loves but still a job…
Then he spots her. The perfect participant. The perfect woman. A woman not even his dreams could have conjured up. Now, all he has to do is prove the heat between them won’t just sizzle out like yesterday’s flambé.
Books by Author:

K.D. Robichaux



Prologue

Curtis

“TAKE IT FROM the top in five, four, three…” Martin, my director, finishes the countdown silently on his fingers then points to me, where I stand in the produce section of Heath’s Healthy Food Market in downtown New Orleans.

With my signature smile in place, I look into the camera and deliver the lines always at the beginning of every episode of my cooking show. “I’m Chef Curtis Rockwell, and this is Chef to Go. I’ll be surprising one lucky shopper with a chance to take me home with them—” I lift a brow, my smile momentarily morphing into a cocky smirk. Ninety percent of the viewers who watch my show are women and gay men just here for my good looks and flirtatious one-liners. “—where I’ll teach ‘em how to cook a gourmet meal.”

I turn a quarter of a circle on my heel and begin strolling down the aisle of fresh vegetables, making sure to stop directly in front of the eggplants. I lean back against the display and cross my feet at the ankles. “Today, we’re in gorgeous and history-rich New Orleans, also known as The Big Easy. Which is perfect, since it’s my job to make tonight’s dinner seem easy for our amateur chef.” I lower my voice, as if it’s a big secret, even though there will be a crew of eight people following me around the store with giant cameras, microphones, and lighting. “Follow me while I pick who I’ll be going home with today.” I flash a sexy grin at the camera before turning away and heading off in the direction of the meat department.

Chapter 1

Erin

I STARE INTO the dark abyss that is my empty freezer and curse myself for not going to the grocery store on the way home from work. I could’ve sworn I at least had some leftovers, dreaming all day about the southwest chicken egg rolls I had brought home a couple nights ago. I even drew little pictures of them in the corners of my notepad as I listened to Sally Stewartson drone on and on about how she hasn’t been able to go out on a date in the past four months because her freaking dog has such terrible separation anxiety that she would come home to her entire house being wrecked. I quirked my head at her like a puppy myself when she asked me if I’d ever shrank a dog before, since clearly her furbaby needed therapy. I’d managed to answer, “Sorry, I’m merely a human psychologist,” without then prescribing Sally a fucking lobotomy.

But alas, I must’ve gotten the drunk munchies last night and eaten the eggrolls in the middle of the night when I got home from my favorite little bar down the street from my creole townhouse here in New Orleans. In all actuality, it’s not technically mine, per se. It’s my best friend Emmy’s family home. But seeing how her world-renowned archeologist parents left it to her when they moved to Egypt, and now she travels the world, cohosting the super-popular travel documentary show No Trespassing with her husband, it’s now basically mine. I had offered to move out once they got engaged, but Emmy wouldn’t even let me finish the thought out loud, stating I had grown up here as much as she had. We’ve been BFFs since we were kids and were inseparable. Plus, she didn’t want to just leave it abandoned for three-quarters of the year while they were off filming their explorations.

I close the freezer with a huff. I had skipped lunch today, so there’s no way I’ll be able to sleep if I try to go to bed without eating dinner. With no other choice, I trudge up the staircases and into my room. When I got home from work a little earlier, I shed my professional outfit of black pencil skirt, a tucked-in, sleeveless, floral button down top, and black pumps, trading them for an oversized tee, sighing with relief as I’d pulled the thong out of my butt and covered my buns with the most comfortable thing I owned: surgery panties. It’s what Emmy and I had dubbed the white mesh boyshort-cut underwear they’d put me in after my surgery last year. They were so freaking comfortable that I asked for a few more pairs before I was discharged from the hospital. And as long as I washed them in my lingerie bag on gentle cycle, they didn’t unravel. My good ole surgery panties.

I pull on a pair of leggings and tie my hair up in a high ponytail, not even bothering to put on a bra, because I plan to just run in and out after grabbing something to eat for tonight. I’ll do an actual grocery run tomorrow. Maybe.

Snatching my purse up off the bed, I gallop down the stairs, out the front door, take the time to lock it really quick, and then head down the sidewalk on foot toward my favorite store. There’s actually a grocer a little closer in the opposite direction, but I like Heath’s better even though they’re a smidge more expensive. They always seem to have everything I’m looking for. And I never run into anyone I know here, so I won’t have to worry about being embarrassed by my… comfortable appearance.

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