Some Like It Spicy

by Robbie Terman

  Her hopes were dashed when the evergreen door swung back, revealing Ashton’s mother.

  Francine Grey’s face didn’t change when she saw her daughter. Her lack of expression had nothing to do with a Botox habit, but rather, Ashton suspected, a lack of happiness. From pictures, she knew her mother had once been very attractive. She still had her dark blond hair, with just a few strands of silver, cut in a popular layered style, and her figure was one to envy. But there was no warmth behind her blue eyes.

  “Hi, Mom,” Ashton said, leaning over to give her a hug.

  Her mother stiffly returned the embrace. “Your father is very excited about tonight. He’s so proud of you.”

  Ashton seriously doubted that, and she wondered what he’d really said when Sally had called to set up the evening. She’d never find out from her mother, though. Francine would be too worried a fight would erupt and upset Ashton’s father.

  “Can we get set up?” she asked her mother. “I need to start if I’m going to finish on time.”

  “Of course. I spent all day cleaning for this.”

  Ashton bit back the response that her mother cleaned all day, every day. She had nothing else to do with her life, and God forbid Charles should see a speck of dust.

  The crew followed Ashton and Francine to the kitchen in the back of the house.

  “Dave is going to stay with you and film in the kitchen,” Sally told her. “His assistant will be filming around the house, and we’ll do an interview with your parents and your business partners when they get here.”

  “Hello, Ashton.”

  Ashton whirled around at the clear, deep voice of her father in the doorway. Charles strolled through the kitchen with ease. Even at sixty, he was a good-looking man with brown hair peppered gray and a matching beard clipped close to the face. He smiled often, but it was always sardonic, never friendly, never supportive, never proud. His eyes, the exact same blue as Ashton’s, were cold as ice.

  When he reached her, she leaned over and kissed the air next to his cheek, her actions more obligation than affection. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Mr. Grey,” Sally intruded, pushing between the two of them and extending a hand. “It is an honor to meet you. I’m a huge fan.”

  Her father took Sally’s hand. “I’m sure you are.”

  Sally looked at Ashton and giggled in an odd voice Ashton had never heard before. “You’re so lucky.”

  Ashton just glared at her.

  Sally coughed and composed herself. “I’m going to get the dining room set up.” After another blushing glance at Charles, she left the room.

  “I’m surprised you made it this far,” Charles said to Ashton. “Although you didn’t have much competition.”

  She opened her mouth and her voice caught. She struggled to respond. “They are all really talented chefs.”

  “I highly doubt that,” he responded. “Highly talented chefs don’t need to resort to gimmicks like this.”

  This time, she was left speechless. What was the point in coming up with a retort anyway? This was her father’s game. He kept going at a person until she could no longer respond without looking like a total jackass. Ashton had long ago given up trying to win. It was easier just to run away. No, wait. Not run away. Leave. It was easier to leave. She didn’t run away.

  Her stomach bubbled like a deep fryer and she reached for the antacids in her pocket that she’d been popping like Tic Tacs for the past week. “I need to get started on the meal. I only have four hours.”

  Charles nodded. “Just try not to embarrass me.”

  She swallowed hard. “I’ll try.”

  As she pulled her ingredients out of the grocery bags and set them on the counter, she felt positively ill. She needed to force everyone out of her head, or she’d never get this meal on the table.

  “Ashton,” Dave the cameraman said. “Are you ready to start filming?”

  “Yes.” The camera would give her something else to focus on.

  She lost herself in the cooking and the time flew by. Before she knew it, three hours had passed and Jenna and Chloe had arrived.

  She stepped away from her dishes long enough to give her friends a hug. “Thank you for being here,” she whispered.

  “Like I’d miss an opportunity for a free meal,” Chloe scoffed.

  “We’re fully prepared to give a glowing on-camera review,” Jenna added.

  She wrapped an arm around each of them. “I love you guys. Now, get out of my kitchen so I can fin…” She trailed away as she caught sight of a man standing in the doorway.

  “Ty,” she murmured, meeting his gaze. He looked way too good in a gray suit with a black knit shirt underneath. He also looked damn uncomfortable. And a little sad. Or at least, she needed to believe he was.

  Because otherwise she was really a wimp for wanting to burst into tears, throw herself into his arms, and beg him to take her back.

  But she didn’t.

  Chloe and Jenna were gaping at him, and Ty awkwardly stretched out a hand to them. “Hi, I’m Ty. You must be Chloe and Jenna.”

  Chloe folded her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing, while Jenna threw a look at Ashton over her shoulder. “Do you want me to break his fingers?”

  Ashton laughed lightly. “No, they’re worth a lot of money.” She met Ty’s gaze. “They’re probably even insured.”

  Ty stuffed his hands in his pocket, no doubt afraid Jenna—or Chloe—might follow through on the threat. “How are you, Ashton?”

  “How do you think?” Jenna replied sharply. “Do you really need to be here?”

  A small smile quirked at the corner of his lips. “Actually, yes.”

  “Jenna, Chloe, it’s okay. Let Ty do what he needs to so I can finish the meal. I think Sally wants to interview you. She’s set up in the living room.”

  Chloe looked reluctant and Jenna venomous, but they both acquiesced and headed out the door.

  “Why are they mad at me?” Ty asked, tilting his head toward her exiting friends.

  “Chloe thinks she supporting me, and Jenna…well, Jenna’s mad at me for risking the restaurant for a fling and you for being tempting enough to make me.”

  Ty nodded slowly as Ashton stirred white chocolate over a double boiler. He leaned back on his heels. “So, are you going to answer my question? How are you?”

  She didn’t want to look at him. It was bad enough being able to smell him. Even over all the dishes she had cooking, his scent filled her nostrils until she could only smell him. Reluctantly, she took one eye off her chocolate and looked.

  The lines of his mouth were straight and grim. He gripped the edge of the island as if to keep them from reaching for her. Every few seconds, he tilted his gaze at the camera, aware as Ashton that this moment was being filmed.

  “I’m fine,” she said hastily and returned her full attention to the stove.

  “I…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t want this to be harder for you, but I have to do my job, too.”

  She kept her eyes down. “I know.”

  He cleared his throat again as he stepped back. “Chef Grey, how are your dishes coming?”

  She forced herself to look up, but her gaze fell on the camera instead of him. “Very well, Chef Cates. My menu reflects my belief that meals are meant to be enjoyed by family and friends and to bring loved ones closer together.”

  “So you are focusing on comfort food.”

  “Yes,” she answered.

  He rapped his knuckles against the granite. “Okay, then. I’ll leave you to it.”

  As he left the kitchen, she felt tears well in her eyes. She quickly turned to the oven on the pretense of checking her dish and hastily wiped away a few tears that had escaped down her cheeks.

  From behind her, Dave the cameraman let out a long string of air. “Wow,” he said. “That was intense.”

  At six o’clock, the buzzer went off to indicate it was time to serve her first course: the appetizer. This challenge was unlike any of
the others, not just because she was serving her family and friends, but also because she would be taking part in the meal.

  The cameras stopped for ten minutes, allowing the makeup artist to touch up Ashton, and then began rolling again as she carried out a tray to the living room.

  She prayed the heavy tray wouldn’t show her trembling hands as she greeted the room. Claude, Andrea, and Ty sat on the sofa, with her parents at the two chairs on the other side of the glass coffee table. Two dining room chairs had been brought in for Jenna and Chloe.

  All eyes were on her, and few felt supportive. Andrea’s and Claude’s eyes shot like daggers, her father’s were like icicles, her mother’s empty. Ty, well, Ty she had to ignore to get through the night. Instead, she focused on Jenna and Chloe, whose gazes were filled with love.

  “Thank you all for coming to share this evening with me,” she said, as instructed by Sally earlier. “Tonight, to begin with, I have chive blini with chèvre and smoked salmon. Enjoy.” She set the platter on the glass table next to small white dishes and allowed each person to pick his or her own.

  A chair had been brought in for her and she sank into it. According to Sally, she was supposed to partake in the meal and relax. Yeah, right. Her stomach pitched at the thought of ingesting food.

  She looked at the others as they bit into their blini. Chloe spoke up immediately. “This is fantastic,” she gushed. “I could eat a plate of these.”

  “Obviously,” Charles said, eyeing Chloe’s curvy figure. He didn’t mutter the insult under his breath; he never did. He found himself way too witty.

  Chloe’s cheeks reddened, as did Ashton’s on her friend’s behalf.

  “I agree with Chloe,” Ty put in, smiling at her. “I really enjoy the combination of the chive, chèvre, and smoked salmon.”

  “It’s really wonderful, Ashton,” Jenna said.

  “Thank you,” Ashton said.

  She saw her father open his mouth, and she hunched forward.

  “You don’t think chèvre is too tart a cheese to be paired with the smoky salmon?” he asked.

  She squeezed her hands into fists, diverting the sting of his comment. “No, I think they complement each other nicely.”

  “You…you love chèvre, Charles,” her mother spoke up. “It’s one of your favorite cheeses.”

  If she hadn’t already been sitting, Ashton would have fallen down. This was as close to support as she’d ever gotten from her mother.

  Her father patted Francine patronizingly on the hand. “You don’t understand the discussion, dear. It’s about the blending of ingredients, not their individuality.” As Francine shrank into her seat, Charles turned his attention back to Ashton. “I’m surprised you chose smoked salmon. Usually you like to cook so bland. By choosing this, you were at least guaranteed there would be flavor.”

  Claude nodded. “Interesting thing to say, Charles. Seasoning has been an issue in some of her dishes.”

  “I’m not aware it’s been a problem,” she bit. “I don’t remember hearing any comments to that effect.”

  Claude laughed. “How soon you forget the caper incident.”

  Ashton could feel her face flame. That had been a practice challenge—no one was supposed to know about it. Without thought, she shot Andrea, the only one who hadn’t made a comment, a pleading look. But Andrea sat stiffly on the couch, her attention barely on Ashton or the food. Too late, Ashton remembered Sally telling her that Andrea had argued to let Duffy return to the show, even after the higher-ups had decided otherwise.

  On shaking legs, Ashton stood. “I need to finish the main course.”

  She stumbled into the kitchen, hoping no one would follow her. She had twenty minutes to put on her finishing touches before she served, and she needed to keep it together.

  Plating helped distract her. She’d decided to serve family-style, hoping it would add to the idea of comfort food. When Sally popped her head in to tell her to start serving, she picked up two large serving dishes and carried them into the dining room, where everyone was seated.

  Sally had spent part of the afternoon decorating the table, and she’d done a beautiful job, using expensive china and crystal goblets she had brought with her. The oak table had been covered with a metallic-colored tablecloth with complementary napkins and a bronze candelabra in the middle.

  Her serving pieces were white, which not only set off the colors of the table, but also the food.

  She set the plates in the middle of the table, between the candles.

  “Family-style?” Her father raised an eyebrow. “How primitive.”

  Immediately she kicked herself for giving him such obvious ammunition.

  “Please tell us about your dishes, Chef Grey,” Ty said, shooting a look at Charles.

  Somehow, she found her voice. “I have for you a root-vegetable beef stew, roasted garlic mashed potatoes, and sweet potato biscuits.”

  She sat at the head of the table, directly across from her father.

  As she watched, the others took turns spooning food onto their plates and tasting.

  “The meat is so tender,” Jenna said. “And I love the use of root vegetables. It’s very appropriate for autumn.”

  “I love it,” Chloe added, sending a glare at Charles, as if daring him to dig at her again.

  Her father stayed strangely silent, though, allowing others to comment first.

  “There is a hint of sweetness in the stew,” Claude pointed out. “How did you achieve that?”

  “I used a can of cherry cola to balance the natural tartness of tomatoes.”

  “The potatoes complement the dish perfectly,” Andrea said. She gritted her teeth, as if it were painful to praise Ashton.

  “It is perfectly cooked,” Ty agreed. “You also managed to make the biscuits moist, yet crumbly.”

  “Thank you,” Ashton said, relief flowing through her. She relaxed enough to ladle a portion onto her plate.

  After the way Charles had chastised her in front of everyone, Ashton knew her mother wouldn’t comment on this course. All she had to get through was her father. Maybe he hadn’t said anything yet because he actually liked it. God knew he’d rather say nothing than something that might encourage her.

  “I find it commendable you’re being yourself with this meal, instead of playing to the judges,” Charles said.

  She looked up at him, warning signs shooting off in her head. He had that smile on his lips—the one that decorated his face just before he tore the wings off butterflies.

  “I would think with such high stakes you would go the route of elegance,” he continued. “But instead you chose dishes that would fit in at a local diner. Very appropriate for your style.”

  Absolute silence blanketed the room. Then, Claude chuckled awkwardly. “I think what you’re trying to say, Charles, is that Ashton elevated a classic dish to a new level.”

  Charles shot Claude a look that sent the man squirreling in his seat. “I believe I spoke clearly. Ashton understands. Don’t you?” He looked directly at her.

  She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even nod.

  “You shouldn’t feel bad,” Charles added. “A majority of chefs are mediocre, even those charging an exorbitant amount for their food. So few have the genius to create the perfect dish, and unfortunately, my dear, you’re no genius.”

  Ashton stood suddenly, her chair scraping against the wood floor before it fell backward. “I have to get the dessert.”

  She stumbled into the kitchen, unshed tears blurring the room. Gripping the counter, she felt along the cold granite edges until she found the stove, where her dessert warmed. With no finesse, she poured the dessert into the nearest platter and carried it with unsteady hands into the dining room. Although she had twenty minutes to prepare the course, she couldn’t stand the thought of prolonging the agony any longer than necessary.

  When she entered the room, Chloe saw her shaking hands and jumped up to take the platter. She set it on the table. “This looks a
bsolutely fabulous.”

  Somehow, Ashton managed to find a voice, though, to her humiliation, it was clogged with tears. “This is a white-chocolate-and-cranberry-stuffed pear poached in a port wine sauce.”

  Chloe took a quick bite, and then looked at Ashton. “This is fantastic. I can absolutely say, as a pastry chef, I couldn’t have done better myself.”

  Charles laughed heartily. “Poaching a pear is hardly in the same class as baking. How much skill does it take to drop a pear in liquid?”

  “That’s enough!” Ty slammed his hands against the table, sending his fork flying through the air and hitting the plates into one another in a symphony of horror. “I am not going to listen to you harass your daughter any longer. Ashton is one of the most talented chefs I’ve ever met, and she put together a spectacular meal. If you think otherwise, then clearly old age has diminished your taste buds.”

  Jenna and Chloe clapped and hollered their agreement, while her mother shrank even deeper in her chair. Claude and Andrea both wore stunned expressions.

  Ashton tilted her head as she gazed at Ty. Thank you, she mouthed.

  It’s true, he mouthed back.

  The only person who remained unfazed was Charles, who still wore that awful smile on his lips. “Interesting speech. From the man who is eating more from my daughter than just food.”

  A collective gasp filled the air.

  Charles chuckled at his own vulgar joke as Ashton’s face burned with humiliation.

  “At least,” he added, “that’s what it looked like on the video.”

  And then, finally, his expression changed—to a brief look of surprise just before Ty’s fist connected with his jaw.

  Andrea screamed as Charles went down, while Claude and several crew members rushed to his side. Francine, on the other hand, continued eating her pear, indifferent to her husband sprawled on the floor.

  Ashton needed to escape. Without a word, she pivoted on her heel and fled out the door. As she took deep gulps of cool air, she realized she’d come in the van and had no way to get home.

  Behind her, the front door creaked open. It was probably Chloe or Jenna. They could give her a ride.

  But when warm, strong arms enveloped her from behind, she knew it was Ty, and she sagged against him. Despite everything that had happened between the two of them, she needed him.