by Ava Miles
Who was she kidding?
She was doomed.
When Jane returned, her smile was like the sunshine beaming through the coffee shop’s windows. “Matt says it’s very nice of you to throw the party, and we happily accept.”
“Good. I’ll talk to my boy, Terrance, about the food. Maybe he could do a tasting for us so we can sample some of his ideas for the party.” Rhett put his finger to his mouth. “Elizabeth, I’ll need your help picking out the food since Jane is so busy with the campaign.”
A kick under the table would be too good for him. She picked up the knife he’d discarded moments ago. “Stop meddling, you old hen.”
“I’m sure I can find some time—”
“Don’t make a fuss, Janey,” Rhett said with a slow drawl. “Elizabeth here assures me she can handle being around Terrance, so I’m sure everything will be as smooth as greased shit through a goose. I’ll text you when I’ve scheduled the tasting, Elizabeth.”
His wink was pure mischief.
“You’re a scoundrel,” she said, digging into her crepe again.
He held up his hands like a preacher channeling the Almighty. “Finally! Someone around here remembers who I am. I rather miss being called that, I must admit, although don’t tell the missus that.”
Scoundrel that he was, Rhett was calling her out.
Was she bluffing about Terrance?
They were about to find out.
Chapter 4
Natalie Hale couldn’t suppress her excitement at meeting the famous Chef T in person. As a fan of his witty and mouth-watering TV show, she was like every other full-blooded American woman—she thought the man was insanely gorgeous.
Of course, as a professional caterer, she appreciated his brilliance with food too. But that was only icing on the cake.
Matt had asked her to come up from Denver early Friday morning for the tasting. He’d only given her a day’s notice, but being a good sister, she wouldn’t have refused even if Chef T hadn’t been in the mix. Her brother’s election was on Tuesday, and everyone in the family was doing their part to support him.
Even though he’d recently wreaked his revenge for the two bumper stickers she’d put on his SUV: I’m a Sensitive Guy and I Sleep With My Dog. Now her bumper proudly proclaimed: I’m A Trekkie. Live Long and Prosper. He darn well knew how much she disliked that show. Matt was going down. Though hopefully by her hands, and not in the mayoral race.
When she arrived at The Grand Mountain Hotel, the majesty of the restored three-story hotel awed her, the effect only slight ruined when she left her car with the valet and he gave her that weird V sign Trekkies do to each other.
She’d spent most of her childhood in Dare Valley, so she remembered how this place used to be. It had been abandoned long ago, after the owner lost his shirt during the Great Depression. Back then, only the bravest of souls had visited the site, which was rumored to be haunted. Of course, she’d checked it out with her first boyfriend in high school. No ghosts that night, just her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend’s unwelcome attempt to cop a feel.
Mac Maven had done such a fantastic job of bringing the hotel back to life, leaving the natural gas lighting on the outside and preserving the stonework. She and her two sisters, Moira and Caroline, had only made one visit to the swanky club, Ante Up, nestled on the right side of the hotel, but they’d loved the old wood siding and natural gas lamps. The intimate atmosphere encouraged reluctant patrons to feel comfortable enough to let loose on the dance floor at the end of the room.
Today she was headed to the hotel’s restaurant, aptly called High Stakes, and as she entered the hotel, one of the liveried men opened the door for her and tipped his hand to his head, something her soon-to-be sister-in-law said was done at all of Mac’s five boutique poker hotels in deference to the ladies.
Mac was coming down a massive staircase, and he gave her a big smile when he saw her. “Natalie,” he said, taking her hand for a shake. “It’s good to see you. I heard Matt asked you to come for the tasting today. I hope you enjoy it.”
“I’m sure I will,” she responded. “You managed to snag one of the hottest chefs out there. How in the world did you lure him to Dare Valley?”
“Terrance and I have been friends a long time,” he said smoothly, not answering her question.
From what she knew of Mac Maven, he was pretty much a smooth operator all around. “Tell Peggy and Keith hello for me.”
Since Peggy’s brother, Tanner, was married to her cousin, Meredith, they were part of the Hales’ extended family.
“Will do. We’ll see you at Arthur’s this weekend. I understand he’s invited his Bingo friends to the barbecue he and April are hosting for Matt. Should be fun.”
“I love that old man,” she said. Her uncle, Arthur Hale, was one of the pillars of Dare Valley society, having successfully launched a national newspaper.
“Well have fun today.” He kissed her cheek and headed toward reception.
When she walked into High Stakes, the panoramic view of the mountains through the large windows took her breath away. She might be a Colorado native, but she never took the beauty around her for granted.
Of course, the restaurant’s décor blended beautifully with the rest of the restored hotel. The single-plank, original wood tables were rustic in the best possible sense, and the walls were painted gold and decorated with an intriguing combination of thick-framed wood mirrors and metal sculptures. The lighting, a marriage of old bronze gas sconces and wrought-iron chandeliers, added to the effect, but the biggest showstopper was the wall of fire behind thick glass by the bar. It gave off heat in the winter and then changed into a wall of water in the warmer months. A custom job like that must have cost a fortune, but she wasn’t responsible for the bill, so she could just enjoy it.
“Natalie, honey, there you are,” she heard in a thick drawl that couldn’t belong to anyone but Rhett Butler Blaylock. As far as she was concerned, he might be the most fun man in Dare Valley, nothing against the men in her family. She’d met some people from the South, but Rhett was like dramatic, eccentric Southern theater on crack minus the tragedy of a Tennessee Williams play.
“Hi, Rhett,” she said, a husky drawl coming out of her own mouth, and didn’t she feel like Scarlett O’Hara for just one moment?
“You ready to eat until your buttons pop?” he asked her, winking.
“Well, this dress doesn’t have any, so I should be okay.” She gestured to her navy wool outfit, which ended at the knee, right where her tan, high-heeled boots started. “But usually you don’t end up eating enough to pop anything at a tasting.”
She’d made sure to eat a good breakfast before leaving Denver for just that reason. At her last tasting, her stomach had growled right at the end. It was an embarrassment she didn’t want to duplicate today.
He shook his finger at her. “You haven’t eaten with Chef T yet. Trust me. He knows I’m coming, and he knows I have a big appetite, tasting or not.”
“Big appetites are my specialty,” Natalie heard a man say in a rough voice she instantly recognized.
Turning around, she beheld Chef T in all his culinary glory, dressed in the designer chef attire he was known for. Today he wore a chef jacket in denim with black pants. Ridiculously hot. Any woman would think so.
But he didn’t do it for her, and dammit, she was disappointed. No one had done it for her since her ex-husband Blake, and she feared if a prime specimen like Terrance couldn’t fire her engines, nothing would. She was in big trouble on the man front.
“Chef T,” she said, holding out her hand and trying not to act like some adoring fan. “I’m Natalie Hale, Matt’s older sister. And a big fan of yours.”
Okay, she’d busted that one up.
“Lucky me,” he said and lifted her hand to his lips, shocking the hell out of her.
Rhett nudged Chef T with an elbow. “You’re playing with fire, man.”
And who knew what he meant by that. She let the hand he’d kissed curl at
her side, telling herself to take a chill pill. Her sisters Moira and Caroline were going to have a heart attack when she told them.
Elizabeth walked in beside them. “Hello, everyone. Natalie, great to see you again.”
Natalie didn’t know Jane’s best friend well, but she loved Jane, so that was enough for her. She pulled her in for a hug. “Hi!”
“Terrance,” Elizabeth said, rather stiffly to Natalie’s ears. When she gave the woman a second look, she saw narrow eyes and a tight mouth.
Huh.
“Aren’t you gonna kiss her hand too?” Rhett drawled.
Elizabeth gave him a playful shove, making him theatrically stagger back. “Do you want him to kiss your hand, Rhett? I’m sure he’d be much obliged. Now, are we ready to start the tasting or what?”
The edge to her voice was sharp enough to cut a ribeye, and Natalie tried to keep her face impassive since she had no idea what the back story was here. But she knew one thing: there was a story. Maybe it was Uncle Arthur’s journalistic blood expressing itself, but she wanted to know.
“Damn, so serious, Elizabeth,” Rhett said. “I was rather hoping we’d start with a drink and then mosey our way on to some yummies. After all, I don’t get to imbibe at lunch much anymore. Abbie doesn’t approve.”
Natalie laughed at the regret in his tone. “I wouldn’t mind a cocktail, either. Chef T, can you recommend something that won’t ruin our palate for the tasting?”
The wicked-hot scar on the right side of his mouth tipped up. “I can always cleanse your palate.”
Now there was the innuendo for which he was famous. Even though she knew there was nothing there, she almost sighed. Whew!
“Oh, get a grip, Terrance,” Elizabeth told him. “There aren’t any cameras filming you right now. You don’t need to kiss anyone’s hands or make rude jokes.”
The look he gave her was hot enough to melt butter. “Take a chill pill, Vix.”
They glared at each other, and Natalie looked at Rhett, who winked at her. So Elizabeth was jealous… Well. Hard to miss the sparks pinging back and forth between them. They had a history, Natalie realized. Rhett had been warning Terrance about kissing her hand in front of Elizabeth. Chef T had probably done it on purpose.
“Well, let’s have those drinks,” Rhett said, “since you and Terrance are old friends, and everything is fine between the two of you.”
Elizabeth kicked him in the shin, making him yelp and hop on one foot. “Fine. You’ve gotten me good and ready for that drink.”
Even Chef T’s mouth twitched at that. “I think I’ll make you a Shady Lady.”
“What’s in it?” Elizabeth asked, crossing her arms.
“Trust me,” he said like a snake charmer.
“Not for a sec,” she responded and shrugged out of her white winter coat on the way to the curvy bar.
“This is going to be fun,” Rhett drawled in an undertone meant only for Natalie’s ears as Chef T stalked after Elizabeth, the fire wall illuminating the angles of his tense face.
She couldn’t agree more.
Chapter 5
Their friendship pact seemed dead in the water. Terrance had been a fool to think he could stop wanting her, feeling something for her. As it was, he struggled not to grab Elizabeth’s arm and lead her into his kitchen.
He wanted nothing more than to press her against the stainless steel door of his walk-in cooler and kiss her until she stopped sniping at him.
She was acting like she was as mad at him as he was at her. “Shit, I don’t know what you’re so pissed off about,” he told her as she hung her coat over her chair. “I’m the one you left without barely a word, dammit.”
“That’s two hundred dollars,” she said.
He withdrew his wallet and took out two crisp bills. “I fucking know that.” And tugged out another hundred.
“Shady Lady,” she scoffed, pulling on the hem of her scoop-neck cashmere red sweater, only bringing attention to her perfect breasts, leaving him breathless with wanting.
“That was rude. It’s a dig at my past as Vixen.”
Was it? “Look, I wasn’t trying to insult you. I’ll make you another goddamn drink. What do you want?” He withdrew another Benjamin Franklin. At this rate, he might as well upend his wallet. His cursing was on the rise, like the stock market on a break-out day.
“I’ll have a white wine,” she said, softer now. “Thank you.”
Great, now she says thank you. He stalked off to the wine cellar and pulled out one of her favorite wines, the one he’d introduced her to at The Peacock. Domaine de la Romanée-Conti from Burgundy, made from the most excellent Chardonnay grapes in the world, in his opinion.
They’d all taken their seats when he returned with the bottle. He’d dismissed his sommelier, saying he’d serve them. This was Rhett, after all, and when he’d heard Elizabeth was coming too, he’d been…heck, elated. Like some stupid schoolboy. And that made him resentful. Why should he be so happy to see her after everything?
“Terrance!” Elizabeth gasped when she caught sight of the bottle. “Please don’t open that.”
“It’s my restaurant. Don’t tell me what to do.” Even though he wanted to rip the cork out with his teeth, he made himself go slowly. If he broke the cork, being angry at her…
“I’ll have a glass of that too,” Natalie said with an almost diplomatic tone, as though she was afraid to get into the cross-fire between the West and East over something as ludicrous as wine.
“Not me,” Rhett said. “Bourbon. If it won’t ruin my palate.”
“Like you give a rat’s ass about your palate, Rhett,” Terrance said, pouring the ladies an ounce.
Elizabeth didn’t pick up her glass. “This is…one of my favorites.”
And the way she said it made him clutch the bottle. How many nights had he sipped this same wine off her belly as she moaned and laughed, those blue eyes shining with happiness?
The wine had been a mistake.
He’d meant it as a peace offering. Okay, that was a lie. He’d wanted her to remember too, to feel some of what he’d been feeling since they’d talked like old times over dessert in her kitchen.
“This is incredible,” Natalie declared, setting her glass down for a full pour.
Smiling at her, Terrance topped off her glass. Natalie was handling their volatility like a pro, and under other circumstances, he would have made a move on her. Easy on the eyes, with thick, curly brown hair hanging past her shoulder blades and curves in all the right places, she unfortunately did nothing for him. Unlike the Shady Lady glaring at him as he topped off her wine next.
When he poured Rhett a glass of Pappy Van Winkle, his friend laughed as he threw back the first shot. “Damn, if I don’t love the name of this bourbon. Makes me feel all warm inside.”
“And unlike most kitschy-named liquor, this one actually delivers in flavor,” Terrance said and splashed more bourbon in Rhett’s glass before pouring one for himself. He hadn’t planned on drinking, but the way things were going with Elizabeth, he was going to need one.
“Glad you’re joining me, T,” Rhett said.
“I’ll bring out the first course,” he told them. Maybe if he gave Vix—Elizabeth—some time to cool off, they could resume the pleasantries.
Right now small talk was out of the question.
“May I help?” Natalie asked, sliding out of her chair. “I’m a professional caterer in Denver, and I adore food. It would be an honor to watch you in the back of the house.”
Elizabeth’s mouth twisted. Was she actually jealous? Well, that cut through his ire like a serrated knife through Angel Food cake.
“I love being watched,” he said huskily, laughing out loud when Elizabeth’s mouth pinched shut.
So she was jealous.
Okay, this could be fun.
He wrapped an arm around Natalie and led her to the kitchen. When the door closed behind them, she disengaged from his hold.
“There’s no
need to use me to make her jealous. I have too much respect for myself and other women.”
A forthcoming female? He didn’t come across that every day, not when his fame had women throwing themselves at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect. It won’t happen again.”
She smiled then. “Good. Now show me what you have in mind.”
Natalie’s questions were as insightful as they were straightforward as he introduced her to his staff and gave her a tour of the kitchen. She knew food, and she understood portions and price points.
When she sampled their newest dessert, an apricot semifreddo with salted almond brittle, she suggested adding a slice of wildflower honeycomb from Dare Valley’s finest honey producer to give it a local touch. It was a genius idea and just the kind of thing he was looking to do at High Stakes. What a pleasure it was to speak with someone who understood his vision.
Soon he forgot about Elizabeth and was showing Natalie his new shipment of Gorau Glas, a blue cheese from Great Britain that had redefined blue cheese for him.
Too bad it wasn’t the perfect ingredient, the one he sought like the Holy Grail.
The first time he’d heard the phrase was from Manny Caruthers, his childhood mentor. The head chef at a small restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen, Manny had caught Terrance trying to steal food from his kitchen. Rather than turning the punk kid in to the cops, he’d taken him under his wing, giving him a second chance. Terrance’s mom had died of a drug overdose a few years later, not long after his seventeenth birthday, and Manny had taken him into the restaurant’s walk-in cooler and gestured to the food.
“When my grandma passed, there was this huge hole inside me. She taught me how to cook, and she said that those of us who love to feed people are obsessed with finding the perfect ingredient—the one thing that fills the emptiness inside us with peace.
“My grandma’s perfect ingredient was having a glass of honey water and sitting on the back porch steps. Mine is the chipotle hot sauce from New Orleans that I add to the butter I use on my sourdough bread every morning as I watch the sun rise. Terrance, you need to search for your own perfect ingredient. Once you find it, you’ll have the peace you don’t have now, the peace you never had with the woman who gave birth to you and then threw her life away.”