Perfectly Matched: ...And the Rest of the Matchmaking Chef Books

by Maddie James

  It was…nice.

  His fingers lingered on her chin, and before Sydney knew it, he tipped her face up to his, leaned in, and dipped his head so that his lips could capture hers in one sweet, soft kiss that held promise of something not so sweet and soft in the future.

  Like, sex. Hot and spicy sex.

  It had been a while since her last boyfriend.

  Steve broke the kiss but kept his face close to hers and whispered, “Dinner tonight?”

  To which she promptly answered, “Oh, yes.”

  Chapter Five

  Sydney didn’t know why she was so nervous. It was just a dinner date with a new guy in town.

  A guy she knew nothing about.

  A guy whom Suzie claimed was a stalker.

  A guy whom she, Sydney, felt was probably only interested in her because of the magazine article.

  It was a business meeting, really, and not a date. That’s what she told herself, anyway.

  But she wanted it to be a date. Sort of. She’d broken up with Jimmy Chandler six months ago when it became obvious there was no future there. Jimmy was perfectly content fishing his days away. But even though Jimmy was a dear, she knew there was not a life together for the two of them. She’d be the go-getter and make all the plans. He would simply follow along behind in her trail.

  No, she wanted a man to be her equal. Her sidekick. Someone who would go get ‘em same as she. That wasn’t Jimmy Chandler.

  But could it be Steve Gate?

  Too early to tell.

  But she liked him. A little.

  Hence, it was exciting to think about it as a date, even if it wasn’t.

  “Business dinner,” she reminded herself, as she smoothed her palms down her black slacks, adjusted the plum sweater on her shoulders, and peered at herself in the mirror one last time.

  Jewelry, check. Lipstick, check. Eye makeup, check. No food in the teeth, check.

  She was ready.

  He’d told her he would pick her up at the bakery at seven o’clock that evening. She’d been ready and antsy since six-thirty. Now it was five minutes after seven, and she wondered if he’d backed out, until a small, silver sports car pulled up to the curb and Mr. Steve Gate himself popped out of the driver’s side and sauntered up to the bakery door.

  She met him with a smile, and within a few minutes, he had whisked her into the car—a little Beemer roadster—and off they went.

  Her palms were damp as a dishrag.

  “I’m really not all that familiar with dining places around here, so I...” he began, glancing at her once and again while he drove.

  She hadn’t thought about that. Legend is not the Mecca of dining out, to be certain. “Oh, there are a few local hangouts. What did you have in mind?”

  “Well, I was thinking some place quiet, where we could talk and such, so…”

  Sydney thought about that. There was the diner. No. Too noisy. The BBQ place over on Jacobs Street. No, that wouldn’t do, either. There was Pigeon Forge, but that was a forty-minute drive and she didn’t think...

  “So I made us reservations on The Deck, at the Lodge.”

  Sydney’s throat clamped up tight. The Lodge? The Deck?

  The deck was reserved for fine dining, and Sydney had only been there when invited by

  Suzie and Brad. Not a lot of locals made reservations on The Deck. Usually out-of-towners and guests ate on The Deck, because they didn’t mind dropping a few extra dollars for flown-in, fresh seafood or high quality, right off the ranch, Black Angus steaks.

  Crap.

  “Oh?” she looked at Steve and gave him a half-hearted grin. “How nice.”

  She just hoped Suzie and Brad were home with a sick kid, or something. Not that she wanted Suzie’s little boy, Petey, to be sick, she just wanted Brad and Suzie to be somewhere else entirely.

  ****

  As he led Sydney up the dining room stairway toward The Deck, she noticeably stiffened.

  Her gaze darted right and left as they crossed the threshold and the server led them to their table.

  A soft breeze wafted about as they rounded the east side of the Lodge and were seated at a table in the corner. Steve had scoped it out earlier in the day. Secluded, yet public, overlooking the lake to the side and with a mountain backdrop to their rear.

  He wanted this to be a nice evening for a couple of reasons. One, he had to set the mood, so Ms. Sydney Schul would be comfortable with him—enough so that he could broach the subject of the scones without any suspicion on her part—and two, he rather liked the spunky woman and was excited to spend the evening with her.

  Icing on the cake, er, scone.

  He chuckled to himself.

  Didn’t explain her sudden nervousness, though, and he decided he had to do what he could to calm her jittery nerves.

  ****

  Sydney had to admit the man was trying, but she was just too damned jumpy. They made small talk, but it was so very difficult for her to keep her attention on him. She needed to keep her attention on him because pretty soon she was going to get him to reveal why he was in Legend and what he wanted with her and her bakery.

  But the thought of running into Brad or Suzie out here on The Deck was making her extremely nervous. So much so that it was very difficult to concentrate on a word Steve Gate was saying.

  So, she decided to just drink wine. Steve had ordered a bottle. And at this moment in time, she’d already had one glass.

  “How do you like the Lodge?” Discussing something neutral was a safe bet, she decided.

  Steve glanced about. “Very nice. The owner has done a great job with the renovation.”

  “Brad is good at about anything he touches. He and Suzie have done wonders with this place. You know, Brad wanted to tear it down and build a new hotel on the premises. Suzie fought him tooth and nail and won.”

  “Brad and Suzie Matthews, right?” he asked. “The owners?”

  “Yes. You know of them?”

  “Of course. Brad’s reputation as a chef is widely known in hotel circles. But Suzie, she is the one I’m most familiar with.”

  Sydney smiled. “The Matchmaking Chef on The Food Channel.”

  “I’m addicted to The Food Channel.” He leaned closer and whispered, “I Tivo it every chance I get.”

  Laughing, Sydney felt some of her jitters fall away. “She’s good. You know she’s my cousin?”

  His eyes widened. “No. Really?”

  Nodding, she added, “In fact, do you remember that strawberry blonde in the bakery the other morning? That was Suzie. We work together some times.”

  “Well, I’ll be.” She could see wheels turning in his head. Perhaps he was thinking about the connections in the business? “I didn’t recognize her.”

  “No television makeup,” she offered.

  He nodded. “Sydney, I’m glad you are more relaxed now. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

  Busted. It was showing.

  What would she say?

  “Steve, it’s just that…”

  He leaned closer. “I like you, Sydney. There is no need to be nervous.”

  No need to be nervous. All was fine, right? Except that she couldn’t relax and have the conversation she wanted to have with the man because she was so worried about Brad or Suzie stepping around the corner.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures. She’d heard that somewhere, sometime.

  She leaned his way, too, and placed her fingertips in his open palm lying across the table and said, “When you mentioned the Lodge, Steve, I was sort of hoping we would be someplace a little more…well, private.”

  Steve sat back, and his left eyebrow arched. Without breaking eye contact, and with a flick of his wrist, he beckoned their waiter to the table. Steve crooked his finger, and the waiter leaned closer to hear what Steve had to say.

  But Sydney heard him very clearly. He said, “That dinner we just ordered? Room service, please. I’m in the Chalet Suite. Make it happen.”


  Next, he pulled a few bills out of his jacket pocket and slipped them to the man, rose and helped Sydney to her feet. She rather liked the way he held his hand at her lower back as they left the table.

  She gulped, half relieved to be heading off the deck, and pretty darned nervous about what was going to happen next.

  ****

  Twenty minutes later, they were tucked into Steve’s suite, sharing a Surf & Turf platter and a salad like they were an old married couple. Steve had suggested the entrée, a house special designed for two, so Sydney had gone with it as well. She knew anything on Brad’s menu would be excellent, and she wasn’t disappointed.

  Suddenly the entire scenario felt way too much like a date, and to be honest, she was mighty confused. The fact that she was very much enjoying his company was the source of her confusion, and she had to remind herself constantly why she was here.

  Why was she here? Oh, yeah, to finally learn why Steve was tailing her and move all this food biz discussion forward. Was he an editor? A foodie fan? What?

  Time to get down to business.

  She thought about what she’d blurted out in the car the other evening and decided to pick up that conversation right where they had left it.

  “So, Steve, let’s talk about why you...”

  “Sydney, I have to tell you that I am in love with that orange scone of yours. You have to tell me more about it.”

  Okay... We’ll talk about the scone first. Not a bad idea. Could lead right into the line of discussion I want to start.

  “Well, Steve. It’s simple, really.”

  He chuckled. “Not simple. It has fabulous flavor. Very complex. And I love it with the coffee you served up.”

  He noticed that. Hm. Good.

  “I intentionally serve that coffee on orange scone day.”

  “I figured as much.”

  She leaned forward, loving this conversation. How often did she really get to talk about her scones? It made her almost orgasmic. “It’s the flavor combination, you know? People don’t realize it, but all they know is they want to come back for more.”

  “It’s brilliant, actually.”

  Satisfied, Sydney sat back and took another sip of her wine. “I thought so.”

  “I get a hint of nut in the scone....it’s subtle, but noticeable. Yet, the texture is not nut-like.”

  She smiled. He was good. “It’s the flour.”

  His eyebrow peaked. “Oh?”

  “It’s a nut flour.”

  “Ah. Will you tell me what kind?”

  Sorry, Buster, until I know more about you, that secret is safe with me. Grinning, she replied,

  “No.”

  He grinned back. “You are a sly one, Ms. Sydney Schul.”

  “I’ve been told that.” Her tummy did a little twitter.

  He studied her for a moment. “It’s macadamia nut flour, isn’t it?”

  She tried very hard to keep a poker face and wondered how she was succeeding. How did he guess that? “You are just thinking that because of the coffee. It’s Hawaiian, remember? It’s tricky.”

  It was his turn to sit back in his seat now. “No... You’re trying to throw me off track. It’s macadamia nut flour. I’m certain. And I bet my bottom dollar that it’s Grand Marnier in the icing and not Curaçao.”

  “You’d lose that last dollar then,” she countered.

  “You’re certain about that?” Leaning forward again now.

  She did the same. “Positive.”

  For about ten long seconds, they sat there at the little table staring into each other’s eyes, then finally Sydney said, “Talking about food is a little like foreplay, isn’t it?”

  Steve took a deep breath. “I have to admit, I’m a little turned on here.”

  “You, too?”

  “Well, Ms. Sydney, I do recall thinking to myself the other day that eating your scone was something akin to hot, decadent sex on a plate.”

  Glancing down at their table of barely touched food, and then back up again into Steve’s eyes, Sydney mustered up everything in her and quietly said, with a tart hint of wicked in her voice, “Steve, eat my scone.”

  In a flurry of clothing and dishes, they both bolted over the table, mouths fused and fingers fumbling until they finally tumbled into the bed in a tangle of limbs and bedclothes.

  ****

  Sydney inhaled deeply for the first time in about three minutes. Steve’s kisses were intoxicating and she needed to push him away to come up for air. His naked body was blanketed over hers, her long legs wrapped around his pelvis, and their bodies covered with a solid sheen of sweat. In a wild frenzy of coming together they groped and sucked and tasted, and met each other thrust for thrust.

  “My God you are as smooth as Red Velvet Cake. I love being inside of you,” Steve mumbled in her ear.

  He stroked, and her insides felt more like Molten Lava Cake, ready to erupt at a mere stabbing in the right place on her..

  “Oh, God, my Ggggg...”

  “Grand Marnier?”

  “Nice try. No, G-Spot. My... Um, oh yeah... G-Spot. Don’t. Stop.”

  “Never, my sweet.”

  “My God, what a big spatula you have, Steve...”

  “The better to please you with, my little Crumb Cake.”

  “Oh yes, Steve. Talk food to me. Talk freakin’ dirty food to me.”

  “Wicked, sloppy, oozy, food.”

  “Chocolate. Yes... Sweet mother of chocolate...”

  “Melt for me, baby.”

  “Double-boiler me, Hot Stuff. Now. Oh, Now!”

  Sydney grasped Steve by the shoulders and held on tight. As her body took over and commanded release, Steve’s ground into her like a standing mixer run amok with the beaters flying. In seconds, they were like just-made pudding, hot and runny all over the bed.

  They both flopped onto their backs, breath after breath huffing out of their mouths.

  “Yummy,” Steve finally muttered.

  “Room for dessert?” Sydney countered.

  Chapter Six

  She woke slowly, her eyelids fluttering and taking in a streak of sunlight coming through a window opposite her. It took only half a second for her to recollect exactly where she was.

  In the Lodge.

  In Steve Gate’s bed.

  What in the world was she thinking?

  She barely knew they man, and yet, she had flung herself at him like a narcissistic nymphomaniac who had been deprived of sex for six months.

  Well, it had been six months.

  Still, she was such an idiot! And where was he?

  Unmoving, she stared ahead and listened. No breathing. No snoring. Wait. Water running.

  Yes, the shower. He was taking a shower.

  Sitting up, she scanned the room, pulling the sheets up to her neck. Naked, oh God yes, she was naked. Blips of memory from the night before skidded across her mind’s eye.

  Good sex.

  Oh. Mama. Yes.

  But anyway, she had to think. Was this stupid with a capital S? Yes. Yes it was. Thank God he’d fished a condom out of his luggage. At least she wasn’t that stupid. But she hadn’t gotten him to admit anything, no specifics about himself. They hadn’t gone that far. Had she ruined her chances by sleeping with him?

  Hussy.

  What was wrong with you?

  So, all right. It’s done. What now? Should she stick around and see what his next move would be? Should she get out of here before he leaves the shower? Was this just a silly one nightstand and all would be forgotten on both ends by sundown?

  “Crap. I have no clue what to do here,” she whispered.

  She got up and stepped toward the bathroom door. The shower was still on. Glancing about, she noticed her clothing scattered all over the floor, mingling with his.

  “Find panties.” That would be a good first step. She did, and then her cami, and pulled it over her head, too. “Okay, now I feel just a tad less…vulnerable.”

  Vulnerable. Ugh.


  Yes.

  It was how she felt. Maybe she should just leave this scenario and see if he comes poking around anymore. Then she would know.

  Her slacks were draped over an end table by a leather chair. She hurried toward it and snatched them off. When she did, a couple of magazines fell to the floor.

  She glanced down.

  Southern’s Best. Well, that piqued her interest. Crouching, she picked up the magazine and saw it was the one that featured her scones. She leafed to the page, knowing it by heart. She had the same dog-eared magazine at her home. As she found the page, she sucked in a breath.

  There she was in the picture, with a fat, red circle around her face.

  Big. Red. Circle.

  Bulls-eye.

  What?

  A fissure of something terror-like gripped her gut.

  Was Suzie right? Steve is a stalker? She had delicious hot-fudge, almost-stranger sex with a freakin’ stalker?

  Oh, shit, shit, shit!

  She dropped the magazine to the floor. As it fell, she noticed a second magazine lying there, too. Another issue of Southern’s Best. She reached for it, lifted it closer.

  This one was dated a year earlier and on the cover, was a picture of a man in front of his bakery, with a sign—one very much like the sign hanging over her bakery—that read Best Scones in the South, 5th Year in a Row.

  A man. In front of his bakery. Best scones in the south. 5th year…

  She looked harder at the man. Then lower to the address label on the magazine.

  Stone’s Scones with an Atlanta address.

  Steve?

  No.

  Stone Kellerman.

  She’d heard of him. Everyone had heard of him.

  She ripped the cover off the magazine and let it flutter to the floor. “You goddamned scone stalker,” she whispered.

  ****

  With the force of a thousand sore muscles, Sydney punched at the yeast dough, kneading it over and over again. She sprinkled some flour, blew her bangs out of her eyes, and dug the heel of her hands into the dough again.

  “It’s yeast dough, Sydney. It requires a tender touch. You might as well go at it with beaters.”

  Suzie was right, of course, but she needed to put her frustration into something. Might as well be the yeast dough.