by Jeannie Watt
“Are you getting enough sleep?”
It sounded more like an accusation than a question. “Yes,” she snapped. “Are you?”
“I’m not pregnant,” he snapped back, close to her ear, so no one else would hear.
Reggie stared at him.
“Okay,” he admitted. “Maybe I didn’t do that well. I’m worried about you overworking yourself while Eden’s out.”
“You’re worried about me,” she stated flatly, as she took hold of another container.
“Yeah.”
Making a face at him, she lifted it and walked around him. He grabbed a cooler and followed. The van was almost empty, and Patty and Jenna could handle it while she put stuff away.
Within twenty minutes, everything was stowed, and the two women left.
“Let’s go grab something to eat,” Tom said after the door finally swung shut behind them. “Then you can go home and get some sleep.”
Reggie regarded him warily. “Would you believe that the last thing I want is food?”
“You need to eat,” he said. “Either I take you out or I cook something here.”
She shook her head wearily. “I need some sleep.” The perfect argument.
Tom’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “A peanut butter sandwich?”
They’d practically lived on peanut butter for a time, while they were still in California, before moving to Reno. Cooking school was expensive and time consuming. PB and J was fast and cheap. She actually had very warm memories about peanut butter and jelly.
“I don’t have the good jelly here.”
The good jelly was a plum-and-ginger chutneylike concoction. Sweet but with a bite. Reggie had to special order it now from a company in California. She always had at least two jars in her pantry at home—although it had been a while before she could eat it after Tom went to Spain.
“We’ll make do.”
Tom took her by the shoulders and steered her over to a high stool and sat her down. “Stay,” he said. “I mean that nicely.”
Reggie couldn’t help smiling as he backed away, keeping an eye on her as if she was going to jump to her feet and bolt for the door. He disappeared into the pantry, returning with peanut butter. “No bread,” he said. “What kind of a catering place has no bread?”
“Delivery tomorrow.”
“This makes it difficult for me to feed you tonight.”
“Bring me a spoon.”
He smiled, a wonderful sensual curving of his nearly perfect lips, then went to a utensils drawer and took out two spoons.
Reggie lifted her eyebrows as he positioned a stool next to hers. “Having dinner with me?”
“I am.” He went to the fridge and pulled out a gallon of milk, poured Reggie a tall glass, then brought it to her.
She already had the top off the jar and had dipped in. “Food tastes better when you’re pregnant,” she said, pulling the spoon out of her mouth and closing her eyes for a moment, savoring the taste and texture. The peanut butter was freshly ground and tasted of roasted peanuts. Good stuff.
“I may never know about that,” Tom said, taking a scoop of his own.
“After the nausea disappears, that is.”
“It’s gone?”
“Yes. It just—” she shrugged “—went away. I’m starting to feel surges of energy.” She reached across her body with her free hand to rub her shoulder. “Or I was.”
“How was service?”
“Flawless. Patty relaxed and moved a little faster, and she got a stain out of a guest’s blouse.” Reggie put the spoon into her mouth again, slowly drew it out. Tom never took his eyes off her, which made her feel warm. Exhaustion. Nothing to do with a hot chef on the stool opposite her.
“Are you sure peanut butter is enough?”
“I’ve been noshing all day.”
“But you need actual meals, from all the food groups,” Tom said with a frown.
“Trust me. I ate from all the groups today, including the ice cream group at lunch.” She took a drink of the milk. “Are you going to be my pregnancy sheriff now? Because if you are, you need to know that it’s going to drive me crazy.”
“I did some internet research on fetal development,” Tom said. “Learned a few things.”
“You have?” Reggie asked. “Like what?”
Tom met her eyes. “At this point, our kid is really, really homely.”
Reggie almost choked on the peanut butter. Tom automatically reached out to pat her back a couple times.
“I mean,” he continued, when she’d finally got control of herself, “it looks like an alien—all head, with little black eyes and a tadpole body.”
“Rumor has it they get cuter as time passes.”
“Man, I hope so.”
Reggie drank her milk, licked the spoon, then got up to rinse it in the sink.
“Done already?”
“Honestly, I am tired, and tomorrow is another long day.” And the unexpected intimacy between her and Tom was throwing her off. It was pleasant at the moment, but she didn’t trust him, or herself, enough to encourage it.
“Call me when you get home?” She opened her mouth to protest and he added, “Just so I know. Okay?”
“Okay.” She went into the office to get her purse. When she came out again, she said, “Thanks for dinner.”
“Someday maybe we can have a real dinner.”
In the old days, real dinner would be followed by…
She drew in a deep breath. “Yes. Maybe. But probably not anytime soon.”
Tom walked to the door with her and held it open. “But…maybe someday?”
“No promises, Tom.” She reached up to touch his cheek, because she didn’t seem to be able to stop herself. “But…thanks for dinner.”
AS JUSTIN HAD PREDICTED, wedding preparations consumed Friday, when most of the food had to be prepped and then stored, to be transported and finished on site the next day.
Tom took over the kitchen, since Reggie had a herd of temps to manage, all of whom she knew by name. She rehired the same people over and over, and they appeared to like working for her. More importantly, they knew their jobs.
Eden showed up that morning, hobbling in with her foot in a compression boot. She would not be much help in the kitchen at the event, slow and awkward as she was with the contraption on her foot, so Tom offered to go along, take up slack.
Reggie shook her head. “It’s the bride’s day. If anyone recognizes you, it would shift the attention.”
“I don’t think that’s much of a possibility,” he said. Especially if he was in the kitchen. But Reggie held firm and he agreed to stay at Tremont, answer the phone and tweak some of the dishes Eden had come up with for the Reno Cuisine competition. Which he also didn’t get to attend. But he was hoping by that time Lowell might have come up with something for him. So far, he hadn’t heard another word from his alleged friend.
Eden cornered Tom shortly after Reggie told him he couldn’t go to the wedding. “Thank you for taking my place this week.” Since there was no belligerent gleam in her eye, Tom deduced that he hadn’t screwed up her food. Or made her sister unhappy.
“Are you guys going to need me next week?” Not that he wasn’t coming in, but it would be easier with Eden’s blessing.
Eden snorted. “Uh, yes. Reno Cuisine prep starts next week.”
That was news. He was working on dishes as per Reggie’s suggestion, but…three week lead time on the prep? “I thought that wasn’t until the end of June.”
“We have to come up with a theme. Build the display.”
“You guys build displays?”
“We’ll hire a carpenter.”
“How big is this display?”
Eden shrugged. “That’s what we’ll figure out next week. Plus we have two weddings coming up.”
Tom was aware of that. Both were smaller, more intimate affairs, but with higher-end food, so again careful prep was involved.
“And,” she added as
her sister came out of the office, clipboard in hand, “Reggie seems more relaxed with you around.”
“We’ve…talked.”
“So things are going okay?”
“I’d say so,” he said cautiously, wondering if she was leading him into a trap of some sort.
Eden leaned her forearms on the counter. “How long you going to be here?”
“I can honestly say that I don’t know.” Tom was very familiar with Tremont protectiveness and knew the easiest path was to simply accept it.
“Any job leads?”
“Nothing concrete. Just some wishful thinking.”
“What are you wishing for, Tom?”
“Something that allows me to provide for my child and still build a career.”
“Building hasn’t been your forte lately.”
Tom pursed his lips. “You’re a lot like your sister, you know?”
Eden shrugged.
“All right. Rebuild. Anything else?”
“No,” she said, pushing herself off the counter. “Just getting an update, since Reggie won’t tell me a damned thing.” She smiled up at him, then hobbled toward the office.
THE CREW LEFT THE KITCHEN IN waves the morning of the wedding. Justin and the cake went first, followed by the rented refrigerator van with Patty at the wheel. Eden and Reggie were to follow in the Tremont van.
“I wouldn’t mind having you there today,” Reggie said to Tom after changing into her black dress. “But I don’t want to chance it.” He saw her point, since even his elderly neighbors had put a name to his face.
“Don’t trust me in the kitchen alone?”
“Well, there is a potential for disaster.” She smiled up at him. “Fire. Sharp things.”
“I’ll try to follow all the safety rules,” he said in a low voice, then watched as her color rose. There’d been a definite change in her since the night he’d fed her peanut butter. He couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened had he been able to get his hands on bread and the good jelly.
“Yes, you can see where following safety rules has gotten us,” she said. Then, before Tom could answer, she added, “You don’t have to meet us tonight. We have plenty of people to put things away.”
“Tomorrow?”
“We’ll see,” was all she said before Eden called her from the doorway. Reggie took two backward steps, always a risk on a rubber-matted surface, and said sternly, “Behave.”
“Yes, Chef.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT WAS EERILY QUIET IN THE kitchen after everyone had left, and Tom found that quiet wasn’t necessarily his friend. He was used to movement, noise and controlled chaos while he cooked.
Since he hadn’t heard a peep from Lowell, he’d taken to perusing professional journals online, looking for opportunities. Not a lot of luck so far, but he still had time. He was well-off financially, but not so well-off that he could live without working—fiscally or mentally.
He needed to get back into a real kitchen. Real to him, anyway. If anyone ever found out that he’d practically begged someone not to cry in this kitchen…well… Pete would probably be proud of him, but Tom would have lost the respect of everyone else he’d ever worked with.
So how to get back into a kitchen without being underemployed, yet be able to watch his kid grow up?
Conundrum city.
Start his own place with the backers he didn’t have? For some reason that didn’t seem like the solution—even if he had backers. In fact, the thought made his gut twist. Never a good sign.
Tom had just finished a veal dish that he thought might do well at the Cuisine competition when a buzzer went off. Someone had come into the reception area. He wiped his hands on a towel as he walked across the kitchen.
A middle-aged woman, masquerading as a thirty-year-old, stood on the other side of the counter, her expression one of barely suppressed outrage.
“I’d like to speak to Reggie,” she said loudly, her large hoop earrings quivering as she spoke.
“Not here.” Tom continued to wipe his hands.
The woman’s chin jerked up. “When will she be back?”
“Tomorrow morning. Can I help you?”
“Are you familiar with the invoicing?”
“Yeah,” he said. Why not? Reggie didn’t need to deal with this if he could take care of it.
The woman slapped a paper down on the counter in front of him. “I paid the bill in full before the dinner.”
Tom took the sheet and read it over. It was for a sit-down dinner almost a month ago. Twelve people paid for in advance. The invoice was for an additional four.
“Apparently you didn’t pay for the extra four guests,” he said matter-of-factly, noting when he glanced up that the woman was now studying him.
“Why would I pay for the extra guests? You served pasta and smaller pieces of dessert, cut the rolls in half and refused to leave the leftover pasta.”
“It doesn’t look like you were charged extra for dessert.” Eden had actually broken it down into extra charges for drink, salad and dinner. She’d probably had to run out and get more food to stretch the meal for the extra guests.
The woman slapped her hand down on the counter. “I am not paying this bill. It’s outrageous. And I will tell my friends to avoid this caterer.”
Tom placed his palms on the counter on either side of her hand and she snatched it back. “How fair is it to hire someone to serve twelve people, then spring an extra four on them? Do you have any understanding of the amount of planning that goes into putting on a decent dinner?” He spoke in what he believed was a reasonable tone, and there was no reason for her eyes to glaze over like that. “I understand that I hired this firm to cater my dinner. They did nothing more than stretch the food—which I paid for!”
“You contracted twelve people. Did Tremont let the other four uncontracted people go hungry? No. They rolled with the punches and fed your guests. Probably ran to the store to get more food.” She started to answer, but he cut her off, saying, “Now you have the gall to flounce in here and say you aren’t going to pay for services rendered and food consumed?”
The woman’s hand went up to her chest and she pressed it against the oversize pendant necklace she wore. “They didn’t leave the leftovers.”
Tom leaned farther across the counter, his voice dropping as he said, “I bet that if I went and pulled this contract, it clearly states twelve people, no leftovers. Am I right?” The woman glared at him. “So it comes down to you wanting something for nothing after throwing a giant damned monkey wrench into the evening.” He pushed the invoice toward her.
“I’ll take this to small claims court.”
“You’d better damned well check your contract first.” Reggie was going to kill him. He reached out and took the invoice back. “But you know what? I’ll pay this fricking bill and you can get your ass out of here.” He was so proud that he didn’t say “bony ass.”
“You really are him, aren’t you?” the woman said. “That…that…rude chef.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She gave a couple slow nods as she backed to the door. “You’re going to regret talking to me that way.”
“Lady, as I see it, you don’t have an invoice and this conversation never happened.”
Tom watched through the window as the bitch got into her pricey car and drove away.
He was so not cut out for this business.
And he was going to have to confess, so Reggie wouldn’t be blindsided by this—he glanced down at the invoice—Mrs. Bremerton. He crumpled the invoice.
Was he going to have to join a twelve-step program to learn to stop triggering like that? Reggie was right. When he saw a fool, he pointed and cried fool, and it was doing nothing but getting his ass into trouble.
Justified or not, he was going to have to rethink this strategy.
FRANK SHOWED UP AT THE BACK door with a bowl of sauce shortly after Tom got home. When he’d agree
d to be a sauce consultant, he hadn’t realized it would be a full-time job.
He tasted it, then shook his head. “The other recipe was better.”
“That’s what I thought. Want to come eat with us tomorrow? Bernie’s all agog at the prospect of cooking for a top chef.”
“Some people get intimidated by that.”
“Not Bernie. Not much sense, but loads of confidence.” Frank bent to pet the dog.
“Yeah. I’m free. Should I bring anything?” Isn’t that what neighbors did? Bring a dish? He’d seen stuff like that in movies.
“Dessert?” Frank asked.
Tom grimaced. “Not my forte, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Frank grinned. “Bring something frozen. We don’t care. You’re the guest.”
Tom went to check his email. The wedding reception would last into the night. Reggie thought they might get back to the kitchen around one in the morning. Not the best time for confessions.
Maybe the next morning. Or even Sunday, after Reggie had had some time to rest. Whenever it was, he had to make certain that he gave Reggie a heads-up before Mrs. Bremerton attacked.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
REGGIE SLEPT IN LATE Saturday morning, since Eden and Justin had insisted they could handle the after-wedding breakdown and inventory. And Reggie was too exhausted to argue. The wedding reception had gone off perfectly, a rare turn of events she believed was well-deserved payback for a high-stress week.
Justin’s cake, finished a good hour ahead of time—thus allowing him to help in the kitchen—featured a spectacular cascade of confectionary daisies down one side. The florist had managed to find Shasta daisies at the last minute for the buffet display, so Reggie had used the silk daisies as accent pieces at the end of each banquet table, tying bouquets with white ribbon and attaching them to the tablecloths.
As Patty gained confidence, she started to become more vocal. And a bit bossy with the temps. Reggie would address the issue if it continued, but for right now she was satisfied with the result of a long week’s work. And she and Tom had done all right. They had managed to enact a workable truce.