The Chef's Cutie (The River Hill Series Book 5)

by Rebecca Norinne

  His mind drifted to the future. What if she weren’t Mia’s caseworker anymore? What if the guardianship were finalized, and there was nothing more between them than this incredible attraction?

  It wasn’t just attraction, though.

  Lizzie Teague was somehow everything he wanted in his life. He’d once told Maeve he didn’t particularly like being single, but dating wasn’t something that had been on his radar lately either. Frankie’s kept him plenty busy. And his inbox had been blowing up lately—there was serious investor interest in franchising his restaurant, and he didn’t know if he wanted to or not. Opening up another Frankie’s seemed like it would diminish what made the original one so special, the love and care he’d lavished on it to make it his dream restaurant. But now that he had more than himself to worry about, maybe the extra income would be useful? Mia was only nine, but he realized he should probably start thinking about college funds for her.

  With a quirk of his lips, he tucked his niece’s lunch into her backpack, wondering if this was what parents felt like when they decided to have a second child. Frankie’s was his first baby; did he have enough room in his heart for more restaurants?

  “Last day before Thanksgiving, kiddo,” he said. “You excited?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “I love not going to school.”

  He frowned. “Is everything okay there?” After her meltdown a few weeks ago, he’d scheduled weekly appointments for her with the therapist Lizzie had recommended, and she’d finally started opening up. Nothing was going to make her an extrovert like Isabel had been, but he was keeping his eyes peeled for anything that might cause a setback.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Everything’s fine, Uncle Max. Every kid likes not going to school.”

  “That’s probably true. I don’t know a lot of kids, but I was one once, you know.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I was! Younger than you, even.”

  Mia shook her head, laughter in her eyes. “I don’t think so. I think you just showed up one day as a grown-up chef.”

  “Um, and miss out on all the fun kid stuff? No thank you.” He nudged her toward the door. “Bus is coming.”

  She gave him a quick hug and darted down the driveway, waving hello to Mr. Becker, the bus driver, as she climbed aboard. He closed the door, returning to the kitchen to clean up their breakfast dishes.

  After he finished loading the dishwasher, he found himself staring blankly at his phone, willing Lizzie to text him back. It buzzed once, causing him to jump, but it was just a supplier notifying him that his shipment of bok choy was ready. He set the device screen-down on the countertop and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He stared at his phone for a beat, telling himself to leave it alone. He couldn’t, though. Giving in to the impulse to reach out to her one last time, he sighed and picked it up, dialing her number.

  Instead of going directly to voicemail like it had been, it actually rang this time, and he was so surprised he nearly dropped the phone into the sink.

  “Hi, Max,” she said.

  “Hi.” He stopped. He hadn’t actually planned any further than this, especially given that she hadn’t been answering him for most of a week.

  “Is everything okay?”

  He cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.”

  “I got your messages. I’m sorry, my phone was off.”

  “Oh. Uh, good. I mean, okay.” He winced. Could this conversation be any more awkward? Then inspiration struck. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? “Listen, I wanted to ask—I mean, I guess it’s a little short notice, but are you doing anything for Thanksgiving?” She didn’t have family in town, he knew. “We always do a little Friendsgiving thing at the restaurant, just our group of friends and anyone we know who wants a place to go for the holiday. Mia’s really excited…” he trailed off, realizing the fact that he was willing to use his niece as a bribe was… probably not admirable. He didn’t quite care, though.

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry,” she started.

  “It’s not—I mean, not because of us,” he blurted. “Not that there’s an us. I know we can’t. I just thought you might—”

  “—I appreciate the offer,” she interjected. “But I’m actually out of town at my uncles’ place for the weekend already.”

  “Ah. Oh.”

  “That’s why my phone was off. I drove up here and left it in my bag. So my boss wouldn’t call me, honestly.” The ripple of dry amusement in her voice left him breathless.

  “Gotcha.”

  “It’s really nice of you to ask,” she said.

  He licked his lips. “Do you—”

  “Max,” she said hurriedly, interrupting him. “I can’t. We can’t.”

  He sighed. She was right, and he knew it. No matter what he wanted to think about what life might be like when his guardianship was finalized, she was Mia’s caseworker and everything about what he felt for her was wildly inappropriate. She could lose her job.

  Fuck, he could lose Mia if he weren’t careful. But even if he didn’t, even after Mia was completely his, Lizzie’s job could still be at risk. It was her name on all of the paperwork; there were licenses and rules about this sort of thing. Just because the case wasn’t active didn’t mean she wasn’t still responsible for it.

  He scrubbed his hand over his face, realizing he needed to shave before he went to work. “We have to stop seeing each other.”

  “We’re not seeing each other.”

  “We have to stop wanting to,” he said dryly.

  She let out a small noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. “I know.”

  “I’m going to find another babysitter for Wednesday nights.” It was what he had to do, to pull them back onto a purely professional level.

  She let out a long, slow breath. “That’s … probably a good idea.”

  “All right. Have a good Thanksgiving, Lizzie.” He had to end this now, before he tried to reach through the phone to pull her to him.

  “You too, Max.”

  Two weeks later, he called her again. “I’m not missing the irony here,” he said before she could say anything. “I realize that inviting you to a party is literally the opposite of what we both said I should be doing, but I swear it’s not like that.”

  “You’re inviting me to a party in a professional capacity?” He could picture her blonde eyebrows rising, her eyes narrowing, the slight smile on those lips he couldn’t quite get out of his head.

  “I really am.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been to a party that involved work for a case,” she said.

  “There’s a time for everything,” he told her. “Look, you need to verify that my childcare situation is taken care of, and that Mia is settling in and has a solid social life and support network here, right?”

  “Yeeesss,” she said slowly. “But I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

  “My friend Angelica is hosting her annual holiday decorating party. Literally everybody Mia loves is going to be there, her whole support system. You can come, see how they interact with her in a social setting, not a forced interview.”

  There was silence, and he crossed his fingers as he leaned back in his chair. He was in his office at Frankie’s, a small room up the back stairs tucked into the eave of what most people assumed was just a decorative gable overlooking River Hill’s town square. He didn’t enjoy the time he spent locked up here seeing to paperwork, but he loved to sit and look out his window and watch people walk together through the square. He’d seen an entire Hallmark movie marathon’s worth of romantic moments in the gazebo that anchored the green space of the town square.

  “I suppose that makes sense,” she said slowly.

  “I promise, I won’t even come near you.”

  She huffed out a small laugh. “I don’t need a restraining order, Max.”

  I might. She still lived in his dreams every night, though he was getting better at putting
her in the ‘fantasy’ category instead of the ‘possibility’ one. “Just making sure you can do your job without me bothering you, I swear. I don’t want anything to mess up Mia’s progress.”

  “All right. When is this party?”

  “Friday night at The Oakwell Inn. We’re all getting together to help decorate it for the holidays. It’s a good time.”

  “That’s that B&B in town, right? The one that opened a couple of years ago?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wait. Isn’t that owned by—your friend is Angelica Travis? The actress?” Her voice rose slightly at the end of her question. It was easy to forget that Angelica was a bonafide celebrity, until someone who didn’t know her figured out who she was, surprise coloring their realization that she was his close friend.

  “I thought you knew. Hasn’t Mia mentioned her?”

  Lizzie laughed, the warm burble running through his veins like a shot of espresso. “The only one I hear about is your friend Naomi. I hear they’re doing some kind of art project together.”

  “Yeah, Mia’s gotten the ultimate stamp of approval. She’s actually been invited to Naomi’s studio, which is a minor miracle. There’s like three people allowed in there, total.”

  “She’s a very talented artist, Max.”

  “I know. Naomi told me. At length.”

  Another chuckle. “I’m glad she’s found a mentor.”

  “You’ll see what else she has when you come to the party,” Max said smugly. He’d performed the ultimate childcare coup, in his opinion.

  “I’ll be there.”

  He was so busy watching Mia with Angelica’s mom that he almost missed Lizzie’s entrance. Maeve met her at the door and brought her to the parlor, where Noah was balancing Mia on his shoulder so that she could set the star on top of the tree. Elaine Travis was directing the entire affair with the patient air of a grandmother, even though she wasn’t one yet. Not for lack of trying on Noah’s part, Max suspected.

  Without a grandchild of her own, Elaine had taken to Mia—and vice versa—like a house on fire, and now the Travis matriarch was firmly ensconced in his and Mia’s lives. She and her husband had arrived to help out at The Oakwell at Thanksgiving, and would be staying for the next six months or so. They’d spent every winter in River Hill since Angelica had opened her B&B, helping run it while she was off filming her show, and now they were thinking about making the move permanent.

  He hoped they did. His own parents were long gone, and since his grandparents were frail and living in Argentina, he hadn’t thought he’d be able to provide Mia with this sort of grandmotherly affection. But Elaine mothered all of them indiscriminately, and he found himself enjoying it almost as much as Mia did. And best of all, Elaine had offered to take on Wednesday babysitting before he could even ask.

  “Let me introduce you around,” he said to Lizzie. “Then I’ll back off.”

  She smiled at him, and he exerted firm control on his body to keep himself from leaning forward to take her into his arms. Still, he gave himself permission to take his fill of her with his eyes. Covertly, of course. She wore a slim black skirt over black tights and knee-high boots, topped by a cream sweater that looked impossibly soft. Her blonde hair was loose over her shoulders, and he’d seen a glimpse of sparkling earrings in the shape of snowflakes. She was like a walking holiday commercial, and he wanted to buy anything she was selling. He shook off the effect she had on him, and led her over to the tree.

  “Obviously you already know Mia.”

  “Hi Lizzie!” His niece waved from her perch on Noah’s shoulders. The winemaker was inevitably the tallest man in any room, and his large frame made him seem even bigger. He generally had to make a concerted effort not to loom, but today it made him the perfect ladder. Mia had moved on from the star to hanging delicate glass orbs near the top of the tree, one of which she shook playfully at Max.

  “Be careful with that,” he cautioned. “It’s probably fancy.”

  “Isn’t everything?” Noah rumbled.

  “Lizzie Teague, this is Noah Bradstone, Angelica’s fiancé. He owns the vineyard you drove through to get here.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Lizzie murmured next to him.

  “I’m Elaine Travis, Angelica’s mom.” Predictably, Elaine beat him to the punch. Angelica was an apple that hadn’t fallen very far from the maternal tree. “You must be the social services caseworker.”

  “I am.”

  “It’s great to meet you,” Elaine enthused. “Thanks for all of your help with Mia. She’s so wonderful.”

  “Elaine has taken on some babysitting duties,” Max said quietly. Lizzie’s eyes shot to his, and he saw that she understood.

  “Come meet the rest of the gang,” he said. “Then Angelica will probably put you to work. I hope you like hanging garland.”

  She raised her hands, the light dusting of pale glitter on her nails sparkling in the lamp light. “My uncle owns an antique store. I’m practically a hanging-things-up expert.”

  “Exactly what I want to hear,” said Angelica from behind him. “Max, go away. I’m taking over immediately.”

  He laughed and surrendered. “Angelica Travis, Lizzie Teague. She’s better at introductions than I am, anyway.”

  He watched as Lizzie got swept up in Angelica’s inevitable charm offensive, and grinned as she kept her cool while being shuffled quickly from group to group. Somehow, even with Angelica’s oversized personality, Lizzie managed to fit right in. Naomi made room for her at the table where she and Jess were assembling some sort of complicated pinecone-based centerpiece, and Lizzie’s laughter soon mingled with the rest of the group’s.

  He caught his breath, feeling a pinpoint of pain in his chest that swiftly grew to an ache. This—this was perfect. He’d brought her here in a professional capacity, trying to prove to her that he was doing fine, that he didn’t need her anymore. That he had this whole parenting thing down. But watching her with his friends made his entire plan seem like a flimsy ploy. He wanted her here. With him. And Mia.

  Even with the risk, he wanted her. And he wanted to do whatever it took to convince her it would all be okay.

  Somehow.

  It had to be.

  8

  Several days later, Lizzie took a small sip of some seriously delicious zinfandel, admiring its deep, jammy color as the glass came away from her lips, the liquid glinting in the lamp light. “This is really good.”

  All things considered, she didn’t have many vices, but Uncle Horatio’s deep love of everything vintage included vintage wines, and she’d learned to share his opinions. Living in wine country these past couple of years, she’d developed an appreciation for the varietals that were most common to the area, zinfandel chief among them.

  “Thanks,” Angelica said, refilling her own glass before standing up and making her way toward the kitchen. “It comes from a small vintner a few miles down the road,” she called out over her shoulder as she crossed out of sight.

  “I thought I heard Noah saying he grew zinfandel?” Lizzie said to the rest of the gathered women. She’d enjoyed the conversations at the holiday party, and learned a lot about this group of friends. She’d been surprised by the invitation to join Angelica’s romance novel book club today, but happy to receive it.

  Maeve gestured over her shoulder with her thumb. “Just up the hill behind the inn, in fact, but they’re still in their infancy. You should ask Angelica about that.” She smirked, and Jess tittered.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Let’s just say those vines are the result of Angelica and Noah’s very own meet-cute.”

  “Meet-cute?”

  “You know,” Jess explained, her tone indicating she couldn’t believe Lizzie wasn’t familiar with the term. “It’s when a couple meets for the first time and the situation leads to an inevitable romance.” She leaned forward in her seat and dropped her voice low. “Given her Hollywood connections, Angelica pretends to hate it when we s
ay this, but her and Noah’s story would make the perfect Netflix rom-com, right down to his goofy old dog, Molly.”

  “They were cursing each other out within minutes of meeting,” Naomi said.

  “Really?” Lizzie had a hard time reconciling that with the lovey-dovey couple she’d met a handful of days before. Noah was clearly smitten with his bombshell fiancée, and for her part, Angelica couldn’t keep her admiration for Noah from shining through.

  “Yup,” the artist continued. “Believe it or not, Noah hated Angelica. Or rather, he wanted to. But the second he said her name to me, I knew he was a goner. That man had been looking for a woman like Angelica his whole damn life. He just didn’t know it. It’s your classic enemies-to-lovers trope brought to life.”

  “That’s actually kind of sweet,” Lizzie remarked, silently wondering if she’d ever have her own meet-cute. She didn’t think taking one look at her client and immediately wanting to jump his bones qualified. “Are all of the books you read like that?”

  “Not all of them. Take this book, for example.” Maeve lifted the paperback they were discussing. Lizzie hadn’t had time to read it, since her invitation to join them had been somewhat last minute, but apparently it was the story of a country music star who was on the run from a deranged fan, and the man assigned to be her bodyguard. According to Naomi, it was the sexiest book she’d read all year. “I don’t typically read dark romance, but what I appreciated about this one was how the author flipped the script, so to speak. It’s common to have a tortured hero, but in this case it’s the heroine who is a recovering alcoholic with a series of one night stands in her past. That’s actually how she first meets the hero. Suffice it to say, theirs is not a meet-cute.”

  “No, it doesn’t sound like it,” Lizzie said, thumbing through the pages of the copy Angelica had lent her. Honestly, she wasn’t sure it sounded all that romantic, but if it had Maeve’s seal of approval, how bad could it be? Still ... “Historically, I haven’t really read a lot of romance. Maybe I should start with something a bit lighter.”