by Jeannie Watt
“If you don’t play nice in the kitchen, I’m coming after you.”
“I’ll be nice, Eden,” he said, relieved she was only calling to threaten him.
“She’s got a lot going on, Tom, and hormones on top of it. Plus…she’s still angry about the way you left her.”
No kidding. “Get well. Soon you’ll be back in the kitchen to referee.” He clicked off and got into the car.
Why did everyone assume that Reggie was the only one who’d been demolished by the way their previous relationship ended? She was the one who’d drawn the line in the sand. All he’d done was step over it.
THE KITCHEN WAS QUIET. Reggie set her purse next to the computer and then stood in the office doorway, looking out over the kitchen that, despite all the drama of putting on catered events, always provided her with a sense of peace. It was her place. Where she belonged, doing what she loved.
Then Tom had arrived, and the peace had disappeared. Now he was coming back. The disturbing part was that she was beginning to suspect the shattered peace was more her fault than his.
That wasn’t going to happen again. She had too much to do to let Tom get to her. Besides, last night things had changed a little. They’d take an important step and she didn’t want to screw things up.
Reggie stepped back into the office, tied on her apron and changed her loafers for the clogs. This was a pivotal day.
The back door opened behind her and Reggie jumped. But it was Patty, not Tom, who came in, shrugging out of her yellow sweater as she walked toward the lockers. She beamed at Reggie over her shoulder.
“I’m here early since I knew you’d need me to fill in for Eden. I took the liberty of going through her menu cards and I’m ready.”
“I, uh…” Reggie rubbed the side of her face as Patty tied on her apron.
“Justin and I finished all of yesterday’s prep while you were gone.”
“Yes, I know. I came back. Remember?” Right after she’d talked to Tom. She and Justin had made a loose game plan for the next day, but she’d never dreamed that Patty had assumed she was taking over. Patty was a wonderful prep cook, but…Eden’s families were used to flair.
“Patty, we have someone filling in for Eden for the next week.”
“Someone else?” Her mouth didn’t quite close.
“Yes. We still need you to do your regular job.”
“Of course,” she said stiffly. “I wouldn’t have gotten up so early, had I known. I had hoped to use this opportunity to become a more integral part of the operation.” She straightened her apron. “Who?” she asked with a slight tilt of her chin.
“Tom.”
Her mouth fell open. “But I thought—”
“He’s got a lot of experience.” Reggie wished she could sugarcoat it, but the truth was Eden wouldn’t trust Patty to cook the way she did.
“Of course.” Patty busied herself straightening her coat, which didn’t need straightening. “What would you like me to do?”
“I made a prep list,” Reggie said, pulling a card out of her apron pocket. Patty took it from her, held it out as she read, then nodded once and walked to her station as the back door opened again.
Crisis averted. Reggie rubbed a hand over the back or her neck, feeling utterly exhausted. And the day hadn’t even begun.
Tom headed straight for his locker, pulled his coat out of his bag, which he dumped inside, then shut the metal door.
Patty pointedly ignored him as he came into the kitchen.
“Ready,” he said, adjusting the collar. “Where are Eden’s recipes?”
And once again the kitchen seemed too small.
“I’ll show you.” Reggie started for the office. “Come with me.”
“Patty’s really happy to see me back,” he said once the door was closed.
Reggie reached for Eden’s notebook on the high shelf above the computer. “She, uh, thought she’d be filling in for Eden. Showed up early, ready to go.”
“That had to be a blow.” Reggie looked over her shoulder, surprised. “I am capable of putting myself into other’s people shoes, you know,” he added.
She turned, cradling the notebook loosely in her arms. “I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t, but you aren’t exactly known for compassion in the kitchen.”
“Touché.”
She handed him the notebook. “Eden is totally anal about her families. There are three of them, and she makes evening meals for Monday through Thursday for two. Monday through Friday for the third. She has all the recipes, menus and portions under the appropriate tabs, and if you have any questions…any questions at all,” she repeated, as Eden had earlier that morning, “call her.”
Reggie looked out the closed glass door to where Patty was making filling for one of Justin’s cake projects, her movements jerky. “I’m a little surprised Eden hasn’t called you.”
“We talked,” Tom said. “Early this morning.”
“A good talk?” she asked cautiously, bringing her attention back to him.
“No complaints.”
Reggie left it at that. “We also have the Reno Cuisine coming up.”
“Which is?”
“A charity fund-raiser and competition. Catering companies, as well as restaurants that cater, set up in the park along the river in late June. Invitation only. It’s the first year we’ve made it in.”
“Is there a payoff?”
“Bragging rights. A feature in a couple of regional magazines. A lot of publicity even if we don’t place in the competition.”
“Will I be helping out with that?” Tom asked.
“Uh, yeah. I think you’ll be a real asset.” She smiled ironically. “But you probably don’t want to be at the actual competition.”
“Why?”
“I don’t think it’s wise to be in a place with tons of food-loving people. Not unless you want to answer a lot of questions about why Chef Gerard is catering in the park.”
He reached up to touch his jaw. “Shaving didn’t help?”
“Not that much.” Reggie tilted her head, studying his face as if gauging the recognition factor, when she was actually trying to get a read on him—not very successfully. Tom was better at covering his feelings than he used to be. Probably because in his world, feelings were not an asset.
He lifted the notebook. “I’d better get busy.”
“Me, too.” But neither of them moved. Reggie shifted her weight as she ran a hand up her arm to the elbow. She wanted him to know that things weren’t going to be like they were before…which hadn’t worked well. “Um…we will talk more about the baby.”
“I know.”
“I just wanted to throw that out there so it isn’t lurking under the surface, like it was last time.”
“I appreciate that.” He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his chef’s jacket. “Anything else?”
“Don’t make Patty cry?”
“Got it.” He touched Reggie’s waist as he moved past on his way to the door. “I’ll give a yell if I have any questions about the meals.”
A second later he was gone, but Reggie could still feel the exact place where his fingers had been.
TOM OPENED EDEN’S NOTEBOOK and flipped through the pages. Eden, for being such a whirlwind, had notes that would have made an engineer proud. Meticulous. She’d made tiny adjustments to ingredients, amounts. Had a rotating set of menus, shopping lists for each one.
Okay. Tom set the book down and went to the cooler. He had a full day’s work ahead of him and he was looking forward to it. He’d been throwing food together in his kitchen the past few days, but he missed cooking for others. Even people getting dinners in plastic containers because they were too busy to cook.
He put the pasta water on to boil, the Italian sausage on the burner, whistling under his breath.
And thinking about how Reggie’s body had practically vibrated under his fingertips. He’d touched her without thinking, as he’d touched her a hundred times in the pa
st, but he hadn’t expected to feel a response, and it had jolted him.
REGGIE STAYED IN THE OFFICE and concentrated on orders and schedules, assuring herself that now that Tom was here, they’d pull off the wedding and the dinner just fine. The only problem was that Eden knew the routine and she and Reggie worked together smoothly, with their own separate duties. Tom, not being familiar with wedding preparation, needed to be directed. As did Patty.
But, Reggie thought, abandoning the computer mouse and leaning back in her chair to take the kink out of her spine, Tom needed only minor direction, and Patty…Patty was steady and would do whatever she was told. With only a couple dozen questions. A lot of this stress eating at Reggie was self-generated, and she needed to relax. This tension couldn’t be doing the baby any good.
Relaxation proved elusive, however, with another minor emergency—no twenty to twenty-five shrimp available until Friday morning—and the florist calling to say she was still having trouble with the small orchids. Seems there’d been a run on them.
The orchids Reggie could work around. If the shrimp didn’t come in on schedule…well, Reggie didn’t want to think about how she was going to make shrimp cocktail without them.
Then, to add to her joy, Eden called four times before noon, checking and double-checking on Tom and the schedule for the week. Reggie suggested that, since she was injured and on pain medications, she might want to take it easy, but Eden was having none of that.
“Listen,” Reggie finally said, “I’ll email you a list that can be done from the sofa.”
“Excellent. How are things with Tom?”
“If you mean is he following your recipes, for the twentieth time, yes, he is.”
“No…I meant how are things with Tom? Is it tense in the kitchen?”
Reggie debated for a moment. How were they? “Better,” she finally said. “I unleashed him and he’s cooking away.”
“How’s Patty?”
“Good question.” Reggie glanced up at the carrot-shaped office wall clock, a gift from a client, and grimaced. “Eden, I’ve got to go. I’ll send the email, then no more communication. Okay?”
She hung up and rubbed the back of her neck. Stress. But for once Tom wasn’t the source.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
TOM WAS MORE THAN READY FOR A beer when he got home after a long-ass day, made longer by the fact that Reggie was stressing over both Eden and a big wedding scheduled at the end of the week. She’d tried to hide it, as she hid all major stress in her life, but he recognized the signs. He kept his mouth shut and let her work. The last thing Reggie needed was to be told that everything would be all right, because, obviously, until the Wednesday business dinner and the Saturday afternoon wedding were over, everything wouldn’t be all right.
Platitudes never helped and his platitudes were rarely well received, since they usually ran along the lines of “get over it.”
So as Reggie made and destroyed lists and schedules, Tom did her a favor and kept his head down, cooking. But every now and then he noticed her watching him, when she didn’t think he was looking.
So what did that mean?
Damned if he knew. But in spite of Reggie’s tension, they’d had their best day ever in the kitchen together—probably because she wasn’t trying to control him and he wasn’t seething at wasting his skills.
Tom dumped his keys on the counter on his way to the back door to let the rat dog inside. She scrambled in, dancing around his feet as he opened the fridge, not yet understanding that beer came first. He was reaching for the bottle opener when she suddenly went on alert, hair standing on end, and started making a hellacious yipping. A few seconds later, there was a knock on the back door.
It was Frank, without his brother, and carrying a tin-foil-covered bowl. Tom opened the door and as soon as the dog recognized her neighbor she dropped her intimidation stance and trotted over to greet him, making Tom smile.
“Hey,” he said. “Come on in. Want a beer?”
“No beer,” Frank said, stepping inside. He held up the bowl. “I was wondering if you’d give me an opinion.”
Tom closed the door. “Sure.” Was this the Western equivalent of dropping by the neighbor’s to borrow a cup of sugar?
Frank stepped inside, glanced around at the nearly bare interior. All Tom had in the kitchen was a table with two chairs, a stockpot sitting on the stove, a French press coffeepot on the counter and a bunch of dog toys in the bed his dog didn’t use. Because she had his bed.
“Nice place.” The man placed the bowl on the counter and took off the foil. Tom eyed it critically, sniffed, then tasted the sauce. “Okay,” he said, a few seconds after he’d swallowed. “This is better. The finish is superb.”
“Who are you?” Frank asked abruptly.
Tom lowered the spoon. “Meaning?”
“Are you a cook? A rib expert? A talented amateur? Or what?”
“I’m a cook,” Tom said. “Just not at the moment.”
“So you are Tom Gerard?” When he didn’t answer, Frank said, “Bernie told me you were. I didn’t believe him. He watches all those gossip shows. He said he recognized you. I told him he was nuts.”
“Maybe he is.”
Frank shook his head. “No. I think he’s right. So…why are you here? In Reno?”
Tom set the spoon in the sink and put the foil back over the bowl. Better to meet this head-on than to let the boys spread rumors. “I used to live here. I decided to come back and enjoy some peace and quiet.” He emphasized the last words, hoping Frank would take the hint.
“Why? Too much good food and too many beautiful women?”
“It gets wearing after a while,” Tom replied.
“I should have problems like that.”
A sudden flash of orange in the backyard caught Tom’s attention. He stepped to the window, frowning, then dropped the sauce spoon.
“What’s wrong?” Frank asked as Tom bolted to the door.
“Your fence is on fire!”
The fire was taking hold by the time Tom got to the door. He raced through the back gate and was halfway down the driveway to the gate leading to Frank’s property when the old man passed him at a dead run. Tom decided he would give the matter of a sixty-something-year-old guy outrunning him some thought later. Right now he wanted to make sure they still had a fence dividing the properties and no big red trucks rolling into the drives.
“What in the hell—” Frank’s question was drowned out by the hiss of the fire extinguisher as Bernie sprayed down the Weber kettle that stood beside the smoker.
Within a matter of seconds the fire was doused and the barbecue was covered in white foam.
“This is going to be a bitch to clean,” Frank said. “What happened?”
“Too much lighter fluid,” Bernie yelled. “I didn’t realize how close to the fence I was. The wind came up and…”
“How long have we been doing this?” Frank demanded. “How long?”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m some kind of a fool!”
Frank gestured at the charred fence.
“Could have happened to anyone.” He glanced over at Tom and then back at his brother. “Well, is he?”
Frank rolled his eyes. “You almost burn down the fence and you’re on celebrity watch?”
“Are you Tom Gerard?” Bernie asked point-blank.
Tom put his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath. “I’m Tom. Your next-door neighbor. Can we leave it at that?”
“And also our sauce and rib consultant?” Frank asked shrewdly.
“Sure,” Tom agreed. “I’ll consult.” And you keep quiet.
“HOW’S EDEN?” TOM ASKED WHEN Reggie parked next to his car in the alley Monday morning. He’d gotten there early only to find himself locked out. He’d gone for a coffee but still had had to wait another ten minutes for her to arrive.
“Fighting to come to work, but the doctor hasn’t released her.” Reggie got out the keys. “And won’t until the swelling
in her ankle goes down enough to put it in a cast.”
So far the Johnson’s wedding was going according to plan, except that Reggie also had the Wednesday luncheon for a businesswoman’s sorority group, which she’d booked before the wedding and before she’d had any idea she’d be working without Eden. The luncheon was cutting into her wedding prep.
“I hope she’s learned a lesson about looking both ways before crossing,” Tom said.
“I wish she had looked both ways.” Reggie glanced up at him as she turned the key. “My sister isn’t the most patient patient, and it was my turn to stay with her last night.” She left it at that, since the phone started ringing the second the door was unlocked. Tom pulled it open and Reggie ran for the call, dropping her tote bag on the chair.
Because of a shipping issue, the florist couldn’t get the Lady Slipper orchids she wanted for the wedding display. Reggie pushed her hair off her forehead and told the woman to keep trying. If she couldn’t get fresh Lady Slippers, as the bride had requested, then they might have to go with silk. Which the bride had not wanted.
Reggie made a note: “Talk to bride about flowers.”
“Everything okay?” Tom asked from the door.
“Yeah. Just a flower problem.”
“You do the flowers, too?”
“For the cake table and the buffet.” She started her computer and kicked off her shoes, nudging them under her desk with the side of her foot. “I have to do the site check at the Masonic hall for the dinner and make a preliminary delivery today. Patty’s nervous about being left alone with you.”
“Why?” he asked mildly. “No chaperone?”
“She’s afraid of you.”
Tom snorted. “She is not. She just wants me gone.”
“Be nice to her. I don’t want her to quit. Not on top of everything else.” Reggie reached for her apron, pausing when she saw the way he was looking at her. “What?”
“I promised myself not to indulge in platitudes, because I don’t do that kind of stuff, but…”
There was genuine concern in his eyes. For a moment Reggie simply stared, feeling unexpectedly touched by that concern, and then she pulled the apron off the hook. “Everything will be okay?”