by Jackie Braun
“Waiting for a cab?” she inquired.
“Actually, I was waiting for you. I have something I’ve been meaning to say.”
“Now?” Because she was still feeling raw from Angel’s scene in the studio, she wasn’t sure she had the fortitude for another confrontation. And, despite their pleasant exchange at the prep station, she didn’t trust Finn. He’d pulled the rug out from under her once already. So, she said, “Other than today, you’ve barely said a word to me since the filming started, and now you want to talk?”
“I do.” Finn tucked his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and regarded her with the very eyes that had been haunting her dreams.
“Can we go someplace, maybe sit down and have coffee?”
She wanted to say no. To protect that broken heart that was far from becoming mended. But more than anything, she wanted Finn, so she agreed.
“Isadora’s?”
* * *
Finn waited till they’d ordered coffee and biscotti to begin. Just in case she told him to go to hell, he wanted to savor her company.
“Lara, about what I said that day in the greenroom.” His voice cracked from nerves, forcing him to clear his throat before he could go on. “I was surprised and angry. Trust, well, it isn’t my strong suit.”
“I know that, Finn. And I know why.”
“I—I should have asked for an explanation before jumping to conclusions.”
Her eyes widened and she blinked before nodding slowly. “Is that what you’re doing now? Are you asking me for an explanation?”
“No.” He shook his head. “My mom told me right away that I owed you the benefit of the doubt until we talked.”
“Your mom said that?” A smile tugged briefly at the corners of her mouth.
“Yes, she did.”
“I haven’t exactly felt as if you’ve withheld judgment,” she reminded him.
“I know. I’ve had a lot of thinking to do. Not about you as much as the way I treated you.” He reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “When you...when you care about someone the way I care about you, you don’t just give them the benefit of the doubt, Lara. You don’t need explanations.”
“Oh.”
He squeezed her hand again, but this time he didn’t let go. He held on firmly when he added, “Lara, I know we just met, but I’ve only felt this way about one other woman in my life. I guess I let the past cloud my judgment.” He shook his head. “Guess? I know I did. No excuse for it. I screwed up. Big-time. And I’m sorry. Give me another chance. It’s a lot to ask, I know. But I promise you this—I’ll never doubt you again.”
She blinked, looking momentarily undone by what he was telling her. Since Finn knew the feeling, he took that as a good sign.
She turned over the hand he’d been holding and twined her fingers through his.
“For the record, other than my choice of career, I’m nothing like Sheryl, Finn. I will never betray you the way she did.”
“I know. I guess my head just needed to catch up to my heart. So, do you forgive me?”
“Yes. I’ve been miserable without you.”
“I’ve been miserable, too.” But he smiled now as the pressure that had been building in his chest finally gave way.
* * *
They went to his apartment since it was closer.
Lara knew a moment of regret that she wasn’t wearing anything spectacularly sexy beneath her clothes. No lacy demi-cup bra or racy thong. Plain white bra and a pair of boy-cut panties whose only bow to femininity or playfulness was their color: hot pink.
But then, when she’d set out that morning, she hadn’t planned to be seduced and eager to return the favor.
“Just to be clear, I still intend to win,” she told him as he lowered her onto the couch.
“That’s fine.”
“Yeah.”
“Uh-huh. Because I intend to beat you.”
“Okay.” She nipped his lower lip with her teeth before asking, “What do you think about fraternizing with the enemy?”
“I’m all for it.”
SEVENTEEN
Add garnish
“And then there were three,” Garrett announced in an ominous tone at the start of the next round of competition. “Only Chef Dunham, Chef Westbrook and Chef Surkovski remain. Today’s competition will determine who will go head-to-head in the high-stakes finale.”
“God, I hope it’s not dessert again,” Finn muttered.
“Same here.” Lara sent him a smile.
It was the smile that bolstered his mood, even after the cards were dealt. The good news? They didn’t have to make a dessert. They were tasked with creating an entrée. The bad news—they had just twenty minutes to do that.
Ryder’s oath upon hearing the time allotment echoed in the studio.
“Oh, God!” Lara groaned. “Another twenty-minute entrée.”
So far, that had happened only once in the competition, but it was enough to shake her confidence. That time, she’d failed to completely finish, leaving off the sauce in her haste to beat the clock. The combination of spices in her shrimp dish, however, was imaginative enough to keep her from being eliminated.
“You’ve got this,” Finn told her, even though he was unnerved, too. “Or did you come this far to lose before the final round?”
Her spine stiffened as he’d hoped it would. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“That’s my girl,” he murmured under his breath.
If he could have kissed her then, he would have. But he had to settle for knowing he would be able to kiss her later, in private. At which time he planned to engage a lot more than her mouth.
Finn decided to do a Spanish twist on an Italian dish, by making pasta carbonara using chorizo sausage. He just barely finished in time and the plating... Well, it wasn’t pretty.
Lara, meanwhile, had seasoned scallops with lime zest, sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, which she’d then sautéed in garlic butter before placing them over a bed of mixed greens. She’d run out of time to make a dressing, so she’d made do with fresh lime juice and a drizzle of extra virgin olive oil. A couple of grilled slices of French bread provided both the starch and the texture. Visually, her dish was gorgeous.
“I knew you could do it,” he whispered.
“Thanks for the pep talk, by the way.”
“Anytime.”
“Looks like Ryder went with flank steak and a basic salad. I don’t see any starch on his plate,” she noted.
“Not exactly imaginative,” Finn replied.
The judges didn’t think so either.
“Chef Surkovski,” Garrett intoned gravely. “You will not be moving on in the competition.”
Ryder cursed and, with a sweep of one tattooed forearm, sent all of the utensils, bowls and bottles of oil crashing to the tiled floor.
“This is bull! I’m going to sue. By the time I’m done, I’ll own both this network and the Chesterfield,” he threatened.
Ryder left the set the same way Angel had: escorted by security guards.
“The finale is fixed!” he screamed just before the door closed behind him.
Fixed? Finn saw it as fated, especially after he ran into Lara’s father in the elevator on the way up the last day of the competition.
The older man didn’t scowl or make a nasty remark. Instead, he nodded in greeting as the doors slid closed.
Still wary, Finn nodded back and tucked his hands into his pockets. As the elevator rose, he kept his gaze trained above the doors on the lit floor numbers. He expected the ride to be accomplished in silence, so he was surprised when Clifton cleared his throat and began to speak.
“You got your wish, young man. Are you regretting it now?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
“I called the network after you and my daughter came by the restaurant that day.”
Finn gaped at the older man in surprise. “You mean you’re responsible for her returning to the show?”
Clifton’s laughter was dry. “From what I understand, you were responsible for that.”
Lara’s father was right, but...
“You agreed to give her a chance to compete. Why?”
“I paid for her education and training.”
“So, you let her back on to satisfy your curiosity?” Finn wasn’t buying it.
“Are you always this outspoken, young man?”
“Only when I know I’m right.”
Dry laughter rang out again before Clifton sobered. “It may not seem like it from where you’re standing, but I’ve always wanted the best for Lara.”
“What she wants is your approval and your love.”
“I may not have gone about it the way other fathers do, but I...I love my daughter.”
Present tense.
“Have you told her that, Mr. Chesterfield? She needs to hear it.”
They reached the network’s floor as he said it. The doors opened and Clifton stepped out. For a moment, Finn thought the older man wasn’t going to answer, but then he turned.
“I will. No matter who wins today...I will.”
* * *
Garrett St. John dealt the cards and then flipped them over one by one.
“Chefs, you have forty minutes to make an entrée. Given the amount of time, our judges will be expecting something fabulous. I suggest you make good use of the pantry items.
“As you know, the tasting will be done blind, and, since this is the final round of competition, the guest judge is the one and only Clifton Chesterfield.
“Whoever wins today will be awarded a one-year contract as the executive chef of the Chesterfield’s kitchen. Best of luck to you both.” Garrett pointed to the oversize clock mounted on the wall. “And your time starts now!”
Finn’s pulse took off like a jackrabbit even before his feet started to move. He knew what he had to do. He was going to lose the competition to Lara. It wasn’t the first thing he’d lost to her. The woman already had his heart. He loved her enough that he wanted to ensure that she got the job at her father’s restaurant. After his discussion with Clifton in the elevator, Finn was certain it was just the fix their fractured father-daughter relationship needed. Finn would find another way to rebuild his own career. Being a personal chef wasn’t a bad thing. He could continue as he had been, socking away money, biding his time. And he had Lara.
Lara.
Nerves weren’t the only thing making his heart beat unsteadily.
What was it his mom had always told him? You know you love someone when their happiness is more important than your own.
That was definitely the case here.
* * *
Lara glanced over at Finn. They’d returned from the pantry with their ingredients. She was going with blackened salmon. Her father detested blackened fish. That was why she was doing it. She planned to lose.
Finn needed the fresh start winning would provide. She wanted him to have the job at the Chesterfield. It was enough that she’d made it this far. It was enough that her father realized she was capable and skilled in the kitchen. And apparently, he did, because when she’d passed him in the studio on her way to her workstation, he’d not only made eye contact but also actually wished her luck.
“You haven’t seasoned your rice,” Finn murmured.
“What?”
He nudged the bowl of sea salt closer.
Lara nodded, but she didn’t add any to the pot.
Finn was making fish, too. He’d gone with sea bass and, apparently recalling what she’d told him about her father’s preparation preference, he’d put it on the grill.
It had been on there for several minutes already and he hadn’t turned it.
“You might want to check your fish,” she mumbled.
“It’s fine.”
“It needs to be flipped.”
But Finn shook his head and insisted, “Not yet.”
And so it went as the clock counted down the remaining time. Each of them reminding the other of things they needed to do or things they had left out.
When the buzzer sounded and they both stepped back with hands aloft, the dishes the judges would taste looked as if they had been prepared by first-year culinary students.
Or so the affable Garrett St. John quipped.
“I think nerves got the best of both of our contestants this round,” he said.
In the greenroom, Lara grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge and twisted off the cap. She downed half of it in a few gulps. Cooking badly was harder work than cooking well.
“What was that?” Finn asked mildly.
“Well, it was supposed to be blackened salmon and rice pilaf. It wasn’t my best effort,” she admitted.
“No kidding.”
“Hey, you had an off day, too.”
“Exactly. It should have been a cakewalk for you to beat me.”
“Finn?”
Folding his arms over his chest, he backtracked then. “You know what I mean. I was...struggling.”
Math wasn’t her forte, but Lara was quite capable of putting two and two together.
“Yes, I think I do know what you mean.” She recapped the water and studied him. “And I’m not sure whether I want to slap you for trying to throw—”
“I didn’t throw—”
“Let me finish.”
“Okay, you were going to slap me.” He smiled.
“No, I was saying I didn’t know whether I wanted to slap you for trying to throw the competition or kiss you!”
“If I get a vote, I choose the latter,” Finn said.
She burst out laughing. “Dammit, Finn! I wanted you to win.”
“So you left the salt out of your very unimaginative pilaf on purpose,” he said.
“Among other acts of self-sabotage.” At his questioning gaze, she admitted, “My father would rather eat a fast-food hamburger than blackened fish.”
Finn’s brows pulled together. “Why did you do that? You had a real shot at winning.”
“So did you.” She smiled. “I guess neither one of us wanted it as badly as we did at the start.”
They reached for one another at the same time. When the greenroom’s door opened several minutes later, they were still kissing. Even after Tristan clapped his hands together several times, they took their time drawing apart.
“You’re wanted on the set,” the young man told them.
“What do you think is going to happen?” Lara asked Finn.
“I don’t know. But whatever happens, I want you to know something.” He grabbed her hand, pulled her to a stop. “I love you, Lara.”
“I love you, too.”
EPILOGUE
Serves two
“Table Twenty wants to see you, chef,” the hostess said.
Lara sampled the cauliflower puree and nodded to the sous-chef before heading out to the Chesterfield’s packed dining room.
Finn grinned as she approached. He was having dinner with her father.
It had been six months since the Executive Chef Challenge ended in the program’s first-ever tie. Lara suspected that Clifton had intended that, since he couldn’t be sure whose dish was whose.
He’d hired both of them, making them coexecutive chefs. Over the past several months, he and Lara had cobbled together a relationship that while far from perfect, was heading in that direction.
“You wanted to see me?” she asked her father.
“Act
ually, Finn did.”
She smiled at the man she loved before noting his plate of untouched food. “Is something wrong?”
“There’s something in my pasta.”
“What do you mean...?”
She leaned closer to inspect it and her eyes rounded when she spied the something in question. It wasn’t in Finn’s pasta. Rather, it was on the side of the plate.
“Oh, my God! That’s an...an...”
“An engagement ring.”
The diamond was dazzling, but not more so than the man who now reached for her hand.
“I’ve just had a long talk with your father, Lara.”
“Finn...”
But it was her father who spoke. “I trust this man with my restaurant. Still, I wasn’t sure I trusted him with you. But he’s proved himself these past several months. So, I’m giving him—I’m giving both of you—my blessing.”
Tears blurred her vision. “Dad...”
“I love you, Lara.” The words still didn’t come easily to her father, but she knew he meant them.
“I love you, too.”
Clifton cleared his throat then and his signature bluster returned. “Well, are you going to propose, young man?”
Finn grinned. “Oh, yeah.”
“In my day, we got down on bended knee.”
Lara tucked away her grin. Finn, meanwhile, took the suggestion without any quibbling. In full view of the rest of the restaurant’s patrons, he got down on one knee. “I want to marry you, Lara.”
It wasn’t a question, exactly, but that was okay. Because as far as Lara was concerned, the kiss she gave him afterward served as her answer.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from MORE THAN A FLING? by Joss Wood.
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