Bootscootin' Blahniks

by D. D. Scott

  “That would be me, and this is my business partner Cody Weiss.” Jules stepped aside with way too much gusto, forgetting the brick wall to her right, cracking her containers against the house, almost smashing the berry pudding.

  Jules looked at Cody, who stood stiff as white chocolate bark, the look on his face indicating he wished he could hide under his hat forever. So much for her manly-man hero rising to the occasion. What the hell was up with him? And why couldn’t he have left his hat behind for the sake of professionalism? Some Music City cowboy institutions she’d never get used to. Not that he didn’t look mighty fine in the damn thing.

  She looked back at the snapping turtle, deciding she didn’t like him. Aunt Tulip would have a field day knocking him down a few glorious pegs. She had no use for people who put themselves on a higher plain than others. And she didn’t mind taking issue with such unacceptable behavior. Could be the therapist in her. Could be her Buddhist ideals. Whichever. No matter. After one session with Dr. Telaine Patricia Cohen — most times affectionately called Aunt Tulip by Jules and her friends - this pompous ass would be freed from his affliction.

  “If you’d be so kind to let the Cruz’s know we’re here and show us to the room in which we’ll be meeting, we’d greatly appreciate it,” Jules said, holding back her urge to thwart his arrogance with a polite dressing down.

  “The pleasure is mine. Trust me,” the turtle said, with the congeniality of a pre-programmed robot.

  He then looked past Jules and straight at Cody.

  Heat from an ugly energy ricocheted between the two men, trapping Jules in an intensifying inferno. “Do the two of you know each other?”

  “It’s been a long time, Diesel.” Cody stepped in front of Jules, offering his hand to Diesel the best he could while holding the tubs.

  “Yes, it has. But not long enough.” Diesel turned and walked through the foyer, leaving Cody’s hand untouched. “Follow me, Ms. Lichtenstien. We’re meeting by the pool.”

  Jules looked at Cody with a care-to-tell-me-something glare.

  She’d been wrong about the snapping turtle thing, she thought, silently cursing the man for his treatment of Cody and for not even so much as offering to help lighten her load. Christening him Diesel the Weasel, Jules bit her tongue and followed the Cruz’s gatekeeper from hell.

  “Cody catch that door and don’t let it find your gluteus maximus,” The Wiesel said tossing his head back, letting go of a snotty laugh.

  After doing as he was asked, Cody fell into step beside Jules.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I should have said something about this.”

  “You don’t say,” she hissed, trying to ignore the dread filling the pit of her stomach. “Start talking, Cowboy.”

  “Sienna and I know each other,” Cody said his voice heavy as if talking about Sienna was last on his list of preferred topics.

  “How well?”

  “Well.”

  “Cody,” Jules growled, not appreciating his non-detail revealing answer.

  “We were engaged,” he said in a barely audible voice then lowered his head, taking refuge once more under the brim of his Stetson.

  An unexpected pain squeezed Jules’ chest dealing her the hurt and shock of being kept in the dark about Cody’s past. A past that now threatened to haunt her dreams too. She’d been friends with Cody for going on six months. Hell, close friends in her estimation. Close enough she’d have thought he’d confide in her if someone had affected him at this life-altering level.

  He’d never once hinted he’d just come out of a serious relationship. Let alone one that ended in what was obviously a substantial portion of drama. She wanted to pound him, but seeing his shoulders slump, she couldn’t bring herself to continue throttling him. Not now anyway.

  She shook her head, trying to clear the fog damn near suffocating her. Like thinking had ever brought her good results. All the more reason she’d always chosen to go for the gusto, and would now, leaving the mental acrobats for people who hadn’t lived through the loss and pain she had.

  “Hey, Sweet Man. Look at me.” She’d do anything to soothe his distress like he always did hers. “What do you say we just make the best of this meeting, turn loose our charm and talent and see where it gets us? We’ll deal with your Sienna problems when we’re done here.”

  “Oh, I’m done here. There’s no hope for me. I’m not going to be the cause of you losing this gig you need and deserve.” Cody’s crystal blue eyes clouded with sadness and possibly regret. “I think if I just go–”

  “No way. We’re in this together. If you walk, so do I. I asked you to help me because I believe in you. I need you to pull this off.” Jules readjusted the candlestick bin, about ready to ditch it in the giant potted palm trees lining the French doors leading to the pool house.

  “I’m nothing but a liability to you and Sweet Destiny. I should have known I could never walk back into the Cruz’s life…even on a professional basis.”

  “Listen. I’m not throwing in our aprons because of Diesel the Weasel.”

  Cody laughed, giving her hope he’d hang tough with their plans. Not that she blamed him for wanting to bail. The Cruz’s probably weren’t going to be on her favorite people list. She’d seen the hurt in Cody’s eyes, and couldn’t easily forgive the person or persons who put it there. But she needed this job too bad to bow out.

  “Diesel the Weasel has a lot of pull in this household. He’s a good thermometer of the entire family’s opinions.” Cody looked up to the vaulted ceiling and shook his head.

  “Well he pulled the wrong strings with me,” Jules said, starting toward the pool house. “I’m not letting him scare me away from this job and neither are you. Let’s get this party in motion, partner.”

  She stepped past the palms. Her power Choos clacked against the tile floors of the garden room separating them from the challenges waiting poolside. All she had to do was pretend she felt as assured as her gait.

  “Don’t say I didn’t try to talk reason into you,” Cody said, following her.

  “We both know I’m beyond logical decision making.”

  Jules caught sight of The Weasel standing beside three, large, round tables bordering an A-list pool rivaling the likes of those on the set of The O.C….vanishing wall bordering a breathtaking view included.

  “Thank you, Diesel.” She set her containers on the ground next to the tables, shaking the blood back into her arms, “but we shouldn’t need all three of these. That would be twenty-four people. It’s just Sienna, her sisters, and Mrs. Cruz.”

  The Weasel’s thin lips split into a sinister smile as if he’d spotted new prey.

  “I’m afraid Mrs. Cruz added a few more to the guest list.” Diesel twiddled his bony fingers like The Grinch about to wreak havoc on the unsuspecting people of Who-ville.

  Clearing her throat, Jules took her chef’s coat out of the top bin and tossed one to Cody.

  “How many more?” She looked straight into The Weasel’s black marble eyes, daring him to get the best of her.

  “I’m really not sure, you’ll have to ask Sienna’s wedding planner,” he said.

  What wedding planner? Jules had been told she’d be working alone…as she preferred. Tired of The Weasel’s haughty bullshit, she yanked out the candlesticks, knowing exactly where she’d like to stick them.

  “I wasn’t aware of a wedding planner,” Jules said not sure if the Tennessee sun was making its final stand of the day or if her nerves were shooting fire. “Cody, would you go ahead and set these tables while I top the berry pudding with the crème fraiche? I have service for twelve so we’ll have to work with that.”

  Cody, reading and echoing her dread in his distressed gaze, offered a supportive smile and got to work.

  “Did I hear my title being flittered about?”

  Jules spun in the direction of the ego-marinated voice she’d never been able to block from the darkest well of her subconscious.

  Jacques Ma
rentino. The former Dean of Pastry Arts at her alma mater, now a wedding planner. Jacques Marentino…as in Mr. I’m Too Busy Sticking My Toothpick in My Students’ Ovens To Teach Culinary Arts.

  Jules re-tightened her grip around the candlesticks, surmising an even better use for them. Opening and closing her fingers against the sun-warmed silver, she squeezed the life out of the sticks as if they were lemons instead of chunks of metal, visualizing Jacques’ head as the unfortunate fruit.

  Jacques walked the distance between them as if he were sauntering a runway to the flashes of the blinding bulbs of his favorite critics.

  Wrong reality show, Jules thought. He’s not a potential candidate for America’s Next Top Model. He’s the next Gordon Ramsey of Hell’s Kitchen.

  “Jules, how wonderful to be working with you again,” Jacques said, smiling big, bold, and brash like the cover-worthy playboy he thought he was.

  “I’m thrilled, Jacques. Simply thrilled.” Jules met the challenge in his voice with her sweet-as-sugar-cream-pie, don’t-fuck-with-me serenade. “I wasn’t aware Mrs. Cruz hired a wedding planner.”

  “So sorry for the slip in communication. Maureen saw my Food Network debut and had to have me.” His snow white veneers sparkled like South African diamonds…brilliant, beautiful and deadly if obtained.

  Two weasels and a wedding had Jules worried, her confidence a wee bit wilted, her wishes for Sweet Destiny’s success wallowing in a well of bewilderment. But she was hell-bent on beating these wacky odds.

  A surge of confidence swelled and stirred her soul from the chance to go up against Jacques. “Diesel, I need you to show me to the kitchen. And Cody, if you’ll come with me, I need some help with the pudding.”

  Jacques may have made hell of her days at the French Culinary Institute in New York City, but she’d made a fantastic new life in Nashville. With Sweet Destiny’s launch ahead of her and the support of Cody and the rest of her friends, Jacques would work by her rules this time. It was his turn to squirm.

  “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” Jacques sidled up alongside Cody.

  Sensing the competition in the air for testosterone supremacy, Jules stepped between the two men, using her body as the unfortunate conduit of their mating dance.

  “Jacques, this is Cody…my partner,” Jules said in a playfully evasive tone, dangling alternative interpretations for Jacques to decode as to what kind of partner she was insinuating.

  “You’re a lucky man.” Jacques shook Cody’s hand. Leaning into him as if they were sidekicks in some great conspiratorial adventure, he continued, “Just don’t take it personal when she abandons you in favor of her next hot dish.”

  “Funny how two people’s recollections of the same situation can be vastly different.” Jules draped her arms on Cody’s shoulder and brushed her lips against his cheek.

  Feeling Cody’s body jolt from her unexpected touch, she searched his eyes, begging him to play along with her charade.

  Cody raised his eyebrows then shrugged his shoulders as if to say what the hell then turned his attention back to Jacques.

  “Jules tells me she’s never had it so good,” he said, patting Jacques’s shoulder. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  “We’ll see.” Jacques tossed his head back until his Matthew Mcconaughey, surf-boy locks fell into a GQ-perfect, disheveled mop. “This is going to be some kind of job.”

  “Speaking of the job,” Jules said, feeling way too hot under the collar of her coat to remain idle, “it’s time we head for the kitchen.”

  “You two go on. I’ll finish up out here.” Jacques flicked his hand as if to shoo them away in the same manner he would pesky, winged creatures.

  “Jacques, that won’t–”

  “Jules, trust me, I want to get paid in the end of all this too. I have my own stellar reputation to uphold. I’m not going to screw with you…well, not in regards to the Cruz events.”

  “Forgive me for learning my lesson where trusting you is concerned.” Jules reached for Cody’s hand and left Jacques staring after them.

  Too young for hot flashes but ripe for anxiety attacks, Jules fanned her arms and hands in front of her face. Beckoning a cold current to cool her heated cheeks, she marched into the Cruz’s kitchen. Giving up on regulating her own body temperature, she opened the freezer door and stuck her head inside. The icy blast ricocheted off her brow bone, damn near knocking her to the floor.

  Bad idea.

  She reached for the counter and held onto the air-conditioned chilled granite until her skull recovered from the subzero shock of the freezer and learning she’d be working with Jacques.

  “So I take it we have more to worry about than my past with Sienna?” Cody topped the pudding with cream.

  “Looks that way,” Jules said, unsure what or how much about her and Jacques’ history she was ready to divulge.

  “You know I don’t believe what he said about you.” Cody finished the last dessert cup then turned her to face him.

  “Thank you for that. Love ‘em and leave ‘em isn’t my thing.” She dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a dish towel, sure the moisture was frost melting from her battle with the freezer and not the start of a misplaced tear.

  “This job is going to be no picnic, Cody,” she said, sorry she’d drug him into the storm brewing. “I’ll no longer hold it against you if you’re ready to run.”

  “Contraire, JuJu Bee.” Cody tipped his hat. “If I couldn’t take the heat, I wouldn’t have agreed to share your kitchen…again.”

  “Okay, Cowboy.” Jules sniffled back her reservations, letting Cody’s support bolster her spirit. “Let’s see what we’re made of.”