I stifled my giggles. “Told her what?"
"That I was leaving. She could have the business, because I had just done about the worst thing I could think of: I'd hurt you. All because of Angela's money."
My laughter stopped on its own. “You left her? She didn't kick you out?"
"I can't work with her anymore, Maggie. I knew it going in, but thought if I could just get my feet under me...” He looked up from his flower and straight into my eyes. “It looks like we're both going down."
"In flames,” I added, feeling my heart sink all over again. This wasn't what I wanted. But, then again, what was?
I looked at Kevin again, his green eyes and sandy hair, and I remembered the way I'd felt only hours ago. My emotions were like a yoyo on overdrive, and my life was completely out of control.
What did I want? It was time to decide once and for all.
* * * *
Saturday morning, seven thirty. Just over twenty-four hours until the competition was to begin, Kevin and I stood in the middle of my mother's kitchen staring at the nightmare in front of us. We'd made a midnight raid—well, a three a.m. raid—to retrieve my things from Best Dishes’ kitchen and grab a few of Kevin's favorite things. Even though he hadn't said anything, I noticed the pain on his face when he saw Angela had already found someone to remove the sign out front. I didn't trust him as far as I could throw him, but I felt sorry for him. And I could totally relate.
We'd taken up residence in my parents’ house, Kevin's kitchen being approximately the size of a matchbox, and were trying to make the best of working in a ten-by-ten room. With one stove. In other words, we were totally screwed, but giving it a shot anyway.
My dad would say it has to do with being Irish, but I just couldn't give it up without a fight. My theory was that I was just really that stupid.
I put down the last bag of groceries and looked at Kevin. “First, a few ground rules.” I wasn't taking any guff from this guy, no matter how charming he thought he was. “I'm not doing this for you. My motives are completely selfish. I'm in this for me and the only reason you're even here is because I need you to get what I want. Understand?"
"Understand."
"This is my show. It's my kitchen. If, by some miracle, we win anything, it's fifty-fifty. But you work by my rules or you can just try to manage this on your own."
"But if I leave, then you're alone, too."
I tried to make my eyes as cold and steely as Angela's. “Yes, but I can always live with my parents for the rest of my life and hang out with the drunk kid next door."
"What?"
I crossed my arms. “Do we have an understanding or not?” I didn't care how weak my case was. I was winning this argument. Period.
"I have a better idea."
Well, the peace was nice while it lasted. “Of course you do."
He took a step toward me and looked me in the eye. “Technically, it's your mother's kitchen, so if you want work by those rules, she's the boss."
Damn, I hate it when he makes sense. “Great. So we can just cater our meal in from KFC, then?"
"No.” Kevin chuckled. “But we're in this together. Our show. Our kitchen."
He was tap dancing on my last nerve. “Why you arrogant—"
"For Let's Dish,” he finished. His eyes were still locked with mine, and my toes went numb. “Partners?"
I nodded, swallowing hard. “Partners."
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” my mother uttered as she walked into the kitchen, crossing herself repeatedly. “Margaret Mary, what is all this?"
I got ready to dig in. I expected my mother to resist my occupation of her hallowed turf, but that was the way it was going to be. “Mother, Kevin and I need to use your kitchen today. Just today. I promise you by tomorrow morning this will all be gone and you can have it back. For today, though, we need it."
"But, Margaret, my kitchen! What about your father's breakfast? He's going to be wanting his pancakes and eggs! I can't make them on the sidewalk, you know."
"Here, Mrs. Donnely,” Kevin said. He passed her a fifty-dollar bill. “Breakfast is on me. Please, go to the best waffle and pancake house in town."
When the man has a good idea ... “Go into the city for lunch!” I kept my tone light and helpful and veering away from desperate and pleading.
Mom batted the bill away, as if it were tainted. “Oh, I can't take your money. Margaret, I can't go into the city with your father!"
"Why not? You used to all the time when I was a kid. Come on, Mom, it'll be fun. I'll even spring for a show!"
She looked tempted. We had her teetering on the edge. Then she looked at the array of saucepans and the crepe pan already taking up occupancy on her stove. “Margaret, darling, I know you want to get ready for your little bake-off or whatever you're doing, but you can't just come into my house and take over like this!"
"Ma, it's not a bake-off, for Christ's—"
Kevin slipped his arm around my mother and steered her toward the hallway. “Mrs. Donnely, I apologize for having to do this, but this competition is very important to your daughter's career, as it is to mine."
"She doesn't need a career,” she muttered, but seemed calmed under his hands. “What she needs is a man."
"Now, Mrs. Donnely, I know you want Maggie to be happy."
Her expression was a cross between offended and suspicious. “Of course I do!"
"This makes her happy. And when Maggie is happy, Mrs. Donnely, she shines. What man could resist the beauty of her smile when she's doing what she loves?"
The smile cracked her lips slowly. “I never thought of it that way."
Kevin slipped her the bill again, this time accompanied by two hundreds. “Please, take this. Go into the city, see a show and have a wonderful dinner. On me. After all, you and your husband deserve to be happy, too."
Mom was hesitant, but took the cash. “Thank you, Kevin. What a nice young man!"
After we convinced my father, who grumbled but agreed, and got the two of them shuffled out the door, I looked at Kevin with utter amazement. “What a crock of crap!"
"You're welcome."
"What was that garbage about my smile shining like the sun?"
He shrugged and flipped through a spiral notebook he'd brought with him. “It worked, didn't it? Got her off our backs and out of the house."
"To the tune of two hundred and fifty bucks."
He winked at me. “I'll collect your half out of our prize money."
In spite of myself, I smiled. “Thanks.” My hand started reaching out for his shoulder. I wasn't sure what it was doing or where it was going, but I caught it before it could make contact. Unfortunately, Kevin had already caught sight of it and was watching it track toward him. I re-aimed it and patted him on the shoulder in an awkward, buddy-buddy sort of gesture.
"Ah, let's get started,” I suggested.
Kevin looked at me a moment longer, then sighed. “Right. We've got a lot of work to do.” Somehow, though, when he started flipping through his notebook again, I felt like there was more cooking than just the food.
* * * *
"By, George, I think we've got it!” Kevin looked at the array on the counter and smiled like a proud papa.
Mom and Dad had arrived home two hours before, Dad filled with good sirloin and my mother with enough fettuccini Alfredo to lull even her into a quiet coma. They'd gone to bed about ten, leaving Kevin and me to finalize and practice our menu.
It was a combination of our tastes—my braised turkey breast, his corn and red pepper stuffing. We'd topped it off with sweet potato curly-cues seasoned with cinnamon and allspice, sage-encrusted sweet cream biscuits, and asparagus in a light, lemony hollandaise. The kitchen smelled heavenly, and the sight in front of me was mouth-watering to say the least.
The truth was that Kevin and I had fallen right back into our old pattern. We worked together comfortably, sensing the other's movements and thoughts automatically. It was nice. It was. But at the s
ame time, it was unnerving.
The good news was that the meal had taken us only a little over two hours to make. And with an industrial kitchen instead of my mother's old gas stove, we'd finish in no time at all.
Except, there was one problem.
"Oh, God, Kevin. We forgot dessert!"
He looked across the display on the counter and flinched. “Damn. I forgot. We started out the sweet potatoes as a sweet, then added the salt and pepper and made it a side."
"A sweet side,” I admitted, “but a side."
Kevin glanced at his watch, looking a little more dismayed than I would have anticipated out of a man who'd been working like a machine all day. “Mags, it's gotta be something quick. Something we already know. I don't have time to come up with a new recipe tonight."
"What? You got a date?” There was perhaps a note of jealousy in my voice. Perhaps. But if there was, I'm not going to admit it.
"Of course not. There's just something I've got to do."
I looked at him and debated whether or not he was trying to hide something from me. It seemed that he was, but I couldn't put my finger on why or what it could possibly be. But the back of my mind was searching for that perfect dessert. My stand-by. The one that had never failed me. When I put my mental finger on it, it hit back with a pang of guilt the likes of which only my mother could normally lay on me.
"Lemon cream pound cake."
I as much saw the sigh as heard it. “Come on, Maggie.” Kevin's shoulders slumped as he looked down at the counter instead of at me. “Today was nice. We worked together, side by side, and created a menu that will put everyone else on notice. And here you are trying to start a fight with me again."
"I'm not.” This was it. Kevin was right. I'd spent years pushing him away, all to realize I was wrong. I put my hand on his arm, this time not pulling back or redirecting. “Kevin, I'm so sorry. For all of it. I know you didn't steal that recipe from me."
He looked up, surprised. “You do?"
"I forgot.” I shook my head. “No, I think I re-wrote history in my head. It's just that when—” Now it was my turn to sigh. I wanted to make it right, but the Irish stubborn goes hand-in-hand with Irish pride. Never back down. Never surrender. These words ran through my head like a record skipping. But there was a time to soften your resolve and give a little. I had put up a wall years ago to a man who, despite his flaws, had tried in his own misguided way to help me.
"The thing is, Kevin, when you told me about Ted—"
"Oh, God, I should have never said anything—"
"Don't.” I stopped his words by putting a finger to his lips. He turned to me and looked down into my face. “It wasn't your fault. You were trying to protect me from myself. From a man who wanted a lifestyle more than he wanted me. And because you made me look at what I'd been trying to pretend didn't exist, I blamed you for it. All the anger I couldn't aim at Ted, I aimed at you. I shouldn't have done that. Your heart was in the right place, Kevin, and I couldn't see that."
His face pinched. “Even if my heart was in the right place, I should have kept it to myself. Especially the way I ... I shouldn't have kissed you. You were married. No matter how much I wanted you, no matter how much I wanted to deck your husband for what he was doing to you, you were off-limits and I ignored that."
The memory of his kiss hit me like a strong, warm wind. The soft, wet, sweet touch of him. And just the thought of it sent my hormones into a tailspin. “I'm not married now. Kiss me again and see if it ends differently this time.” My voice was coming from someplace I didn't know existed. Someplace full of need, full of want, and desperately hungry for the man who was standing in front of me.
Kevin, fortunately, didn't need to be asked twice. He leaned down and brushed my lips with a silky touch. His fingers twisted in my hair and he cupped the back of my head in one enormous palm. I was enveloped in his warmth as he pulled me tighter to him. My hands wandered to his shoulders, feeling the sturdiness I always knew was there but never allowed myself to think about.
He tasted sweet and salty, of thyme and sage. His breath was a carnival of scents and it all overtook me. And, for a change, I let myself give into it.
I could have lingered in Kevin's arms all night, finding new and unique uses for the creations that surrounded us. I pulled myself closer to him and aligned my thigh in just the right spot to make him go wild. As I nestled into him, a flutter went through my belly like my stomach was full of butterflies. Only not in the proverbial sense.
"Oh!” I jumped back. “Bob!"
Kevin looked dazed and his eyes were glassed over with want and anticipation. “Not Bob. Kevin."
I winced. How stupid could I be? “No, I didn't mean you. I'm sorry, it's just that ... well, you see, I'm ... I'm...” Take a breath and just tell him, I said to myself. Easier said than done. “Kevin, there's something I need to tell you, but I don't know how you're going to react to it."
His eyes flashed with suspicion. “Maggie, if this is something else you're going to blame me for—"
I laughed. “Oh, no. Trust me, this is one thing I can't blame you for. You see, Ted and I signed divorce papers about four months or so ago. You know, you never intend for these things to happen."
"You didn't intend for the divorce to happen?"
"No. Well, yes, I did, but that's not what I'm talking about. What I meant was that sometimes, when people get divorced they—” Oh, spit it out, woman! “The night we signed the papers, we—there was a bottle of tequila and we—"
Beep! Beep! Beep!
I stopped, dead in my tracks. “Your watch is beeping."
"It's midnight.” He looked uncomfortable. Anxious and squirmy. “I have to go, Maggie. I'm sorry, but I've got to leave now."
"Now?” I couldn't believe it. I was about to spill my deep, dark secret to him—and was considering physically attacking him—and he was going to leave! “What is more important than what we're doing here?"
Kevin shook his hands in frustration. “I know, it's terrible timing, but I have a thing I have to do."
"A thing?” Incredulity was dripping from my voice like syrup off a Belgian waffle. “What thing?"
His hands were in his hair, mussing it until it stood straight up. “Just a thing, okay? I'm sorry, Maggie. I've got to go!"
He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door, leaving me horny, frustrated, and pregnant. Pregnant! He had a “thing” and I was pregnant!
I shook my head and banged it against a cupboard. One day, one competition. Split the prize money fifty-fifty and never see him again. That was the plan. Why change it now?
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Twenty
I walked into the Fallsview Civic Center ready for just about anything. Except what I saw. People were swarming everywhere even though the competition didn't start for another two hours. The grocers were making deliveries, the judges were milling around their tables, and the competitors were gripping the edges of the metal chairs with their toes for balance while they hung their banners above their assigned kitchens.
I clutched my simple paper bag to my chest as I looked over the chaos in front of me. I could see it was organized chaos, but still couldn't even start to figure out where I was supposed to go. Making it worse, there was no Kevin to be found. A tiny voice inside wanted to cry out for my mommy, but I clenched my jaw and forged ahead through the throng. Luckily, one of the first people I bumped into was Roberta Hansen.
"Mrs. Taylor,” she said, and then checked herself. “I'm sorry. Maggie. I am so glad you were able to make it. You and Mr. Best have certainly had your share of hurdles to jump over to be here with us today."
"I'm sorry we changed the menu.” I wondered if she would disqualify me the second she heard the words. “I made a new one for you. In calligraphy. I even made three copies.” I dug in my paper sack and grabbed the parchment I'd bought especially for the occasion.
Her face was unreadable for a moment, but then broke into a
smile. “This will work fine, thank you. Here, let me introduce you to the judges!"
She took me by the elbow and steered me through the crowd. I'd pulled my hair into a tight French roll that morning, but I could feel the disobedient curls escaping as I fought the mob that parted in front of Roberta and closed immediately behind her. I tried to trap a stray strand in a bobby pin using only one hand, and let more of it loose than I fixed. By the time we reached the judge's table, I had a feeling I looked something like Animal from The Muppet Show.
"Edward, Sally, this is Maggie Donnely. She and Kevin Best will be representing—” Confusion crossed her face. “I'm sorry, Maggie. Kevin phoned me to tell me you'd be working together, but he didn't tell me which establishment you'd be representing."
"Let's Dish.” He'd said it. Like there was any way I wasn't going along with it.
Roberta rewarded me with another professionally distant smile. “Excellent. Maggie, I'd like to introduce you to Edward Pollack from Home Gourmet Magazine, and Sally Scanland representing Thompson Turkeys."
I shook hands with them both; flashing what I hoped was a winning smile. I had my doubts it was working.
"I'm certainly looking forward to sampling your selections,” Edward Pollack said in a wet voice that made me want to swallow repeatedly. I dabbed at the side of my mouth, afraid I was drooling just listening to him.
"Yes,” Sally Scanland said. “I must say, Miss Donnely, I have heard good things.” She seemed genuine enough, but the nicest thing I could say about her immediately was that she resembled Gerard Depardieu. And not in a good way.
Before I could reply to either of them, Roberta took me by the elbow again and pulled me toward an empty kitchen. “Hal Gabriel is running a little late. He'll be representing Great Northern Pumpkins. And, of course, Charles Scott will be here. Your groceries arrived a short time ago, so I'll let you start sorting them. Remember, no prep until the contest begins at ten, but you can certainly organize and make yourself comfortable with the equipment."
"Thanks. I'm really looking forward to this.” But I was talking to her back. As soon as she deposited me at my station, she was off.
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