Table of Contents
Blurb
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Epilogue
More from Claudia Mayrant
About the Author
By Claudia Mayrant
Visit Dreamspinner Press
Copyright
Place Setting
By Claudia Mayrant
Cameron Dunlop has lived in the Lowcountry town of Summer Corners, South Carolina, his whole life. He loves his home, but his little town in the Deep South doesn’t offer much in the way of dating options.
Chef Gray Callahan has enjoyed success in the kitchen, but his last relationship sunk like a bad soufflé. When plans for his sister’s wedding go awry, it provides the perfect excuse to pack up and go home, where he can help out as he decides how to start his life over.
Gray’s path crosses Cameron’s, and he realizes together they might have all the ingredients to save the day—with maybe enough left over for something sweet just for the two of them.
States of Love: Stories of romance that span every corner of the United States.
To my beach house friends—
thanks for the love and laughter.
Chapter 1
Philadelphia
GRAY HAD the music blasting and his phone muted so he wouldn’t hear it in the unlikely event Matt tried to call and change his mind while Gray was packing. Even though he was determined not to answer, he’d been fantasizing about how the conversation could go:
Gray, I’m so sorry. I know things didn’t work out between us, but I can’t run the restaurant without you! Where can I find another chef who cooks like you? Please stay. Do whatever you want with the menu. We need more Southern fusion, not less, and I’m sorry for what I said about grits.
An apology from Matt was impossible for a thousand different reasons, but it struck Gray that since they’d broken up at New Year’s, Gray was way more upset about leaving Barigoule than he had been about leaving Matt. For one thing, it wasn’t the restaurant that had been caught with his hands down their liquor distributor’s pants. For another, having his own kitchen—his own successful restaurant kitchen—had defined him far more than being Matt’s boyfriend ever had. Being in the kitchen made a chef feel alive. Maybe that was a cliché, but it was true. Gray always knew exactly who he was in the kitchen, not like the rest of his life, where he felt he was being squeezed into some Matt-approved shape. In retrospect, that subconscious rebellion had probably been behind the menu tweaks Gray had been making, the smoky brine of salt pork in the mignonette, collards alongside the cassoulet. The customers had loved it, Matt less so.
They’d tried to make it work as business partners after that, because Matt was a weasel and Gray was overly committed to proving he wasn’t the type to slink off after being cheated on in his own damn restaurant. It hadn’t worked, though. Matt had been determined to bring his new guy around at every opportunity, asking for his opinion about everything from drinks to the new menu items to the fucking lighting in the dining room until Gray got snappish and Matt snapped back and more than one screaming match left Gray fuming before dinner service.
Gray finally had to face that it wasn’t going to work, and all their future plans were going down the drain too.
He turned the music up when an angry song came on. He sang along—yelled, really, because he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. Besides, breakup songs sounded better that way. Gray was so into his own revenge flights of fancy, where he was a James Beard-winning, Michelin-starred celebrity chef and Matt was left running a Hardee’s by a truck stop, that he didn’t hear the banging on the door until the song was over.
“Oops,” he muttered and then yelled out, “Sorry, didn’t know anyone else was home!”
The next knock was nearly as emphatic, so Gray cut the music before he opened the door, a neighborly apology on his lips.
“I’m so sorry,” he started before he realized it wasn’t someone from the building but his pastry chef—or rather his former pastry chef, considering Gray was now unemployed.
“My friend, you have looked better.” That was hard to hear from someone who looked like Anthony Mackie in The Avengers and was almost as fit, even though he worked in a high-calorie profession. Devante shook his head at Gray’s sorry state. “Lucky for you, I brought snacks.” He held up a white paper bag that had telltale translucent grease spots at the bottom.
Gray inhaled, taking in the sweet scent of ginger and citrus. He reached for the bag. “Not sure how your tarts are gonna make me look better, but I’ll take them. Come on in and have a seat, uh.” Gray looked around at the mess and shrugged. “Have a seat on any pile of stuff you like. There’s water in the fridge or coffee pods—”
Devante sucked air through his teeth, an audible rebuke.
“Do not judge me. The espresso maker’s at Matt’s, and he’ll be keeping it.”
Devante pushed a duffel of winter clothes off the couch and used it to prop up his feet. Gray tossed the bag of pastries back to him before retrieving two bottles of water from the fridge. They were nearly the only things in there except for a bottle of prosecco, an ancient hunk of parm, and a bottle of Worcestershire sauce. It was kind of depressing. When he’d arrived in Philadelphia, he’d been so proud of his first real grown-up apartment in a nice building in the city but as it had turned out, he’d never spent all that much time here. His first job had kept him so exhausted that he’d never done anything but crawl into bed. Then he’d met Matt, who had a chic townhouse close to work, so Gray had spent most of his time there. “Sorry,” Gray mumbled, which was ridiculous, but he felt he should apologize to his apartment and to his younger self for getting involved with Matt.
“Stop being philosophical at the fridge before I eat all the tarts!” Devante yelled. Gray knew from experience that he meant it.
He flopped down on the couch next to Devante, kicking a cardboard box into place for his own makeshift ottoman. He grabbed a tart, took a big bite, and ignored the crumbs.
“M’gwnna msh thse,” Gray mumbled, mouth full.
“FedEx is a thing; PayPal is a thing. I’m not above a little side hustle unless you’re gonna be an ass about me staying at the restaurant.”
Gray nearly dropped the rest of his pastry. He finished chewing and swallowed before answering because he wanted to be perfectly clear. “Of course not. Whatever I think of Matt, you’ve got a good gig, especially if he does the right thing and promotes Michelle. I don’t want to pull anyone into our personal life or the remains of it, and I swear if there had been any way to do it, I would have stayed.”
Before things fell apart, the plan had been to keep Barigoule, with Michelle taking over as executive chef while Matt and Gray concentrated on opening a restaurant somewhere on the South Carolina coast. The two of them had even planned a trip to scout a few promising locations—they’d drive down for a couple weeks to combine business and pleasure.
“No way would that’ve been good for you. I’m sorry you’re leaving and sorry he’s a shithead, but you’re gonna be okay. Relax, chill, and forget about this place for a bit. You’re going to go stay with your family?”
“Yeah, well not with them with them.” He loved his folks, but moving back into their house was a definite no. He needed his space. “I’m renting a place for a bit. Jess’s wedding is in a few weeks. A lot of family will be in town, and then I figured I’d look around for a new opportunity.”
Devante gave him a friendly punch to his shoulder. “Weddings are cheerful. It’ll do you good to be there, and maybe you’ll meet somebody. I met Janelle at a wedding.”
Gray gave him a look that he hoped clearly communicate
d semirural Southern weddings are not gay pickup hot spots.
Devante held up his hands. “I’m just saying stranger things have happened. Look, I’ve gotta go meet my fruit guy because I am not getting shitty pears again. But I’m gonna call you later to check that you haven’t done anything stupid, and this time you better answer.”
Gray let him out, with the promise he’d turn his phone back on. He did as soon as he was alone. His gut clenched when he turned on the screen. Seven missed calls, a slew of texts, and the voicemail icon too. Matt hated leaving voicemail, so that was the safest one to start with.
He tapped the voicemail icon without even looking at the call details.
“Hi, Gray!” It was Jessica. “Hey, I know you’ve got a lot going on, but if you get a chance, can you call me? Bye!”
It was followed by “Jess again. I have a little wedding issue. Call me?” He heard a note of false cheerfulness in her voice, like she was trying hard to make it sound like no big deal, but he didn’t buy it. He was glad at least she’d said wedding, or else he’d worry it was his parents or grandpa, but that tone coupled with wedding, scarcely two weeks before the date, didn’t sound good.
Gray flopped back down on the couch and gave her a call.
“Hey, bro.” Jess sounded a lot less chipper than she had in the message.
“Jess, what’s happened? Is it Doug? Did he do something?” Gray cringed as soon as he said it. Way to go, letting your own issues with Matt overrule your good sense and your mouth. “Sorry, strike that. What’s up?”
“Everybody’s fine, but Gray—and I swear to God, I am not a Bridezilla—this is turning into an absolute shitshow.”
Oh boy. Jess had been determined to be laid-back about her wedding and had so far succeeded. She was the last person he’d expect to call her wedding a shitshow. This was bad.
“All right, hit me.”
Summer Corners, SC
CAMERON WASN’T even halfway to the office when he noticed the flashing blue lights in the rearview.
“Come on, I’m not even speeding,” he griped, then glanced down at the dashboard. “Okay, not speeding much.”
He flicked on his turn signal as he pulled onto the shoulder, rehearsing an earnest-sounding excuse and hoping for a warning. To his relief, the police cruiser zoomed past like Cam wasn’t even there.
“Yes, excellent.” He gave himself a little fist pump before pulling back onto the road. That he paused was a good thing, because a second cruiser passed, then an unmarked black sedan with a dashboard light, and finally a silver SUV with the state law enforcement logo on the side.
“Well okay, then,” Cameron said, looking twice, then a third time before getting back on the road since at this point he practically expected an Army convoy. Four cop cars was pretty much unheard of in Summer Corners, where nothing much exciting happened and everyone was content about that. There had been that one time when that movie filmed at the golf course, but obviously that didn’t have cops screaming down the highway like—
Like something really bad had happened. His stomach lurched as he turned the radio to the local news talk station.
Bob and Al were grousing about the latest statehouse gossip from up in Columbia, which was a relief because if something really awful were going on, they would have been all over it. It was frustrating, too, though, because by the time Cameron was pulling into his space at the office, they were still going on about something or other the lieutenant governor had done or failed to do. That was the downside of having one local station; there wasn’t a whole lot of choice about where to find news. If it wasn’t on the radio, everyone had to rely on diner talk or church gossip.
“Nothing happens here, but if it did, how would we know?” he snarked as he jogged up the porch of the little bungalow that housed Parry Properties. He was expecting a quiet morning, especially considering it was a Sunday. Severe thunderstorms had knocked out the office’s power for a few days last week, so he and his boss, Penny, had agreed to come in and catch up. When he opened the door, the jangly greeting of the chimes was accompanied by the sound of his boss talking on the phone at her desk.
She was speaking animatedly, but his attention was immediately taken by a large plastic bin on his desk. It was translucent enough that he could see something dark and solid inside.
Cameron put his nose up to the container and tried to determine if whatever was inside was alive, or had been. He gave it a tentative poke.
Behind him he heard Penny say, “I’ll have one of our associates meet you with the keys. Nine o’clock tomorrow okay? All right, you drive safe now and welcome home. Bye-bye!”
“One of our associates,” Cameron joked as he tried to decide if he should open the box’s lid.
“‘Our best associate,’ I should have said. Really impress the clients.” Penny walked over to stand next to him.
Cam snorted. “‘Our only associate’ would have been more accurate. But what’s this? Please don’t tell me this is whatever was causing the trouble in the Palmers’ basement?”
“Oh good Lord no!” Penny looked shocked for a second, then amused. “The Basement Dweller was humanely trapped and relocated to a site more appropriate for opossums.”
“That’s good.” Cameron sighed in relief, a little for the Palmers but more for the fact that there wasn’t a possum, dead or alive, on his desk. “So, it’s safe to open?” He raised the corner of the lid.
“Depends on your definition of safe.” Penny grinned mischievously.
Cameron rolled his eyes in mock offense. It was a longstanding joke from the first time he’d accidentally uncovered one of Penny’s ceramics, a surprisingly realistic copperhead snake peering out from underneath a meticulously detailed pile of fallen leaves.
In his defense, Cameron hadn’t expected such a thing in the office pantry and had yelped in surprise.
“Ha ha.” He pulled off the lid to reveal a similarly detailed piece, but this one was less startling. It was a water lily, with a snow-white bloom on a deep green leaf. In the center of the blossom was a dragonfly, looking impossibly detailed for its size.
Cameron would have thought a big floral piece wouldn’t be to his taste, but he would have been wrong.
“That’s absolutely beautiful. Like I know it’s made of clay, but it looks alive, just frozen.” Penny’s talent was amazing.
“Thanks. It’s for a gallery down in Hilton Head. I’m going to take it up this weekend. And speaking of Hilton Head….”
Penny smiled broadly, and she was practically vibrating with enthusiasm. Cameron pulled out his chair and sat down to hear what was obviously good news. “That’s the gallery near the retreat center?”
“That’s the one. And as it turns out, the instructor for their summer ceramics course has had to drop out, and they’d like me to take over.” Penny flushed with obvious pride.
Cam didn’t know much about the ceramics scene, but he’d picked up enough from Penny to know that the arts retreat center affiliated with a swanky resort was a pretty big deal. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you.” Penny beamed. “Of course, it’s a three-week course, so I’ll have to be away for a month, what with setting up and all, so I’ll have to leave you on your own and in charge.”
“Ah.” They were going to have The Conversation again. He was ready this time, though.
“Can I get you a coffee?” she asked.
“Never going to refuse that.”
“Back in a jiff.” Penny headed for the kitchen. “And maybe there’s some homemade banana bread too.”
Cameron’s stomach growled at the mention of the banana bread. Clients and a boss who baked and shared generously were just little extra perks of a job he really liked. He’d stumbled into it, helping out Penny’s father when Cameron was in college. He’d started with basic yardwork, mowing lawns and trimming hedges, and little handyperson jobs that didn’t require a professional contractor. Later, he’d started helping out in the office, filing le
ase paperwork and answering phones. After he’d graduated, Mr. Parry had made him a permanent full-time associate. It had been just the two of them, with Penny pitching in when they were busy, until Mr. Parry had come back from a cruise vacation where he’d met a wealthy widow from Orlando. She’d invited him to move in and he’d accepted her offer, joking that he was a “sixty-two-year-old boy toy.”
He’d given the business to Penny, who really didn’t want it but felt obligated to step in to run what her dad had founded. If she’d been gung-ho, it might have created an awkward situation, but she really was the least boss-like boss Cameron could imagine.
She even made the coffee.
And he was going to drink it while they had The Conversation about her taking a step back from the business and getting back to her art. The last few times, Cam had nodded and said he’d miss her and joked that she’d better find him a chill boss. After those talks, her plans had seemed to fizzle out. It wasn’t until he was telling his friend Travis about how weird that was that he’d finally gotten it.
Penny was waiting for him to say he wanted to run the show, if not as the owner, then the manager. He’d given it a lot of thought and was finally ready to say it. He was mentally preparing for it when Penny came back in with the coffee.
“So, I guess—” he started, but she interrupted.
“By the way, I forgot to ask, but did you hear that nonsense on your way in?”
That was the small-town mind-set Cameron knew and loved. Nonurgent business was put aside when there was the slightest bit of excitement. “Kind of hard to miss. Thought I was getting pulled over at first until I saw they’d called out the cavalry.” He shrugged. “But no clue what it was about.”
“The one time I wish I hadn’t tossed Daddy’s old police scanner.”
“Oh yeah, that’d be handy. Nothing was on the radio about it.”
Penny pursed her lips and looked thoughtful. “I need you to caffeinate while I think of some completely made-up task so you can go out and hear the gossip, if you wouldn’t mind. I can handle catching up on the paperwork. I’ll even throw in the whole loaf of banana bread.” The police activity had obviously distracted her from the conversation, but they’d waited so long to have it, a few more hours wouldn’t hurt.
Place Setting Page 1