Beck leaned over the table, breathing deeply, head down between his shoulders. Win was right. He’d said his piece, and Skye had heard it all. What she decided to do with it now was up to her.
*
It took both Nina and Eva Jansen’s help to get Skye out of the judging room, but she needed a minute to pull herself together, and the judges needed to finish their notes and discussion of Beck’s dishes.
So Skye got her breathing under control and tried not to die of shame that she’d just wept openly in front of the people who would be soon be deciding her fate in the competition.
Not that the RSC and who won or lost seemed to matter so terribly much, after everything Beck had said.
“Come on, bring her this way,” Eva said, beckoning them down the hall to an empty conference room. Nina, who still had a soft, motherly arm around her, helped Skye into a chair as Eva went off to find her a glass of water.
“I’m sorry to be like this,” Skye gasped out, still short of breath and feeling her diaphragm jumping around as if she’d been doing one of those yoga poses where her entire body weight was supported by her abs.
“Like what? Like a human being with emotions? Honey, don’t be sorry. You’re fine. I’d have been more upset if you didn’t cry, after all that. Lord almighty.” Nina pulled another chair off the top of a stack leaning against the wall and set it down in front of Skye, close enough to pat her knee.
“Yeah, emotions,” Skye hiccuped. “I’ve got ’em. And this last couple of weeks, they’ve been all over the place. God.”
Eva reappeared in the doorway, followed by Fiona’s very welcome, worried face.
Stupidly, Skye felt herself crumble all over again as she held out her arms to her best friend.
“Holy mother of crap, what happened?” Fiona demanded, rushing over to hug Skye.
Skye sank into the familiar peppercorn and lavender oil scent and sniffled pathetically. “Nothing. Except that Henry Beck is the most amazing, wonderful man in the world and he happens to love me. And I’m pretty sure I just gave him the impression that I wasn’t happy about that.”
Tears threatened again at the thought, but Fiona wasn’t quite as maternal as Nina. Fiona gave Skye a firm shake and a narrow look. “Hey, quit that. Breathe. Tell me what’s going on, so I can help you fix it.”
“What’s going on is that Skye has a choice to make,” Nina said calmly.
“And, not to be a bitch about it,” Eva broke in, sounding apologetic, “but it would be better if you made it quickly. The competition kitchen is ready for you, and I’m going to need to start your timer soon if you want to have the full five hours to cook before the judging at six.”
Skye sat up and accepted the tissue Fiona produced from one of the many pockets lining her olive-green cargo pants. “In other words,” Skye said, blowing her nose, “I need to get a grip.”
“That’s my girl,” Fiona said, smacking her on the back.
Standing, Skye pulled her wild hair back from her face and secured it in a messy bun. Shudders of fear, love, amazement, and joy still ran through her, but she was learning how to breathe around them.
“Let’s go cook.” Fiona headed for the door, but Skye took a moment to clasp Nina Lunden to her one last time.
“Thank you,” she whispered in the older woman’s ear. “I’m so incredibly glad Beck found you and your family.”
“So are we,” Nina said, pulling back to give Skye a meaningful look. “And we’ll always be there for him, the way family should be. But we’re not all Beck needs.”
Throat closing ominously, Skye compressed her lips and nodded.
The future stretched in front of her, a future she never thought she could have. It was harder than she ever would have imagined, and scarier, to stretch out her hands and take it.
“Come on,” Fiona said, impatience making her voice tight. “We’ve got a competition to finish.”
Nina gave Skye an encouraging smile, and Skye nodded again.
Beck had opened up and invited her into the warm, living heart of him. He’d given her a choice … now it was up to Skye to finally fight for what she wanted.
*
He wouldn’t have thought it was possible, considering how wound up—and up in the air—Beck felt after the judging, but as soon as he and Win cleared down the kitchen and went back to their hotel room, Beck passed out.
The restless nights and early mornings finally caught up with him, and he slept the sleep of the emotionally wrung-out for the entire afternoon.
His internal alarm woke him in time to shower and get changed before he had to head back down to the judging chamber for Skye’s final challenge.
Already dreading stepping into that room again and coming face to face with the judges, Beck was still in the shower when he heard the hotel room door open.
“Beckster, you almost ready?” Winslow called. “I brought you a coffee from Blue Bottle.”
Beck switched off the shower and toweled himself briskly before pulling on a pair of jeans. “Thanks, man,” he said, stepping out of the bathroom. “I need this.”
“This, too, yeah?” Win tossed the clean black T-shirt that had been lying out on Beck’s bed at his head, and Beck caught it one-handed.
He skinned into it, nearly scalding himself with hot coffee in the process, and sat on the end of the bed to put his boots on.
“How you feeling?” Win asked, all casual, as if the answer didn’t matter much.
Beck hid a smile. He liked that Win wasn’t the most subtle, sneaky guy around. Made him easier to deal with, easier to trust. He bent over his laces and said, “Before the Navy, I used to hate sleeping during the day. I’d always wake up groggy, my body clock all confused. But the Navy taught me to catch sleep whenever and wherever I could.”
He glanced over at Win, who blinked. “Wow. When you decide to start sharing, you really go all the way, don’t you?”
Beck shrugged. It was sort of like flipping a switch, he figured. Not that he planned to go around spouting off about his innermost whatever twenty-four/seven, but now that he’d broken the seal? It wasn’t as hard to open his mouth and let fly with something personal.
“So…” Win dug the toe of his white sneaker into the thick pile of the carpet. “I hate to push my luck, but…”
“No, you don’t.” Beck stood up and stamped his feet to get the boots to settle properly. “You live to push your luck.”
“Okay, you’re right. I do. So since I’m Mr. Pushy, how are you feeling, really? Not about the nap, about going back down there.”
Beck grabbed his chef’s jacket, not sure if he was supposed to wear it for the judging or not. “Like if we don’t head out, we’re going to be late.”
Win deflated a bit, and Beck rolled his eyes and caved. “And also, a little nervous to come face to face with the judges again.”
Perking back up, Win nodded and sipped at his coffee, eyes bright over the rim of the paper cup. “Right, ’cause they’ve seen your soft, gooey center.”
“Okay, now you’re really pushing it.”
Win cackled and ran out of the room before Beck could do more than glare at him. But he was sober again by the time Beck pulled the door closed behind him.
“I wish I could go in there with you. If nothing else, I could keep you from whaling on that guy who’s going to be there for Skye. Jeremiah What’s-his-face.”
Beck came to a complete standstill in the middle of the hall, his mind wiped clean of any thought beyond oh shit.
“Christ. I’m going to have to sit through Skye’s five-course meal next to Jeremiah Raleigh.”
The man Skye was, most likely, going to choose over Beck.
Win made a sympathetic noise. “I know. I saw him a few minutes ago in the lobby, and I hate to say it, but boy is fine.”
That got Beck moving again, and Win scurried to catch up with him. “Not as hot as you, though! Obviously. Plus, I’m pretty sure you could kick his ass, if it came down to a figh
t.”
“It won’t,” Beck swore as he pushed open the door to the stairwell and mentally thanked Eva Jansen yet again for putting him and Win on the lowest possible floor of hotel rooms. The shorter the elevator ride, the better.
He definitely would not throw a punch at Jeremiah Raleigh. Beck was through trying to pummel the world into going the way he wanted it to. Either Skye had heard what Beck told her, and she wanted the same thing he did, or … she didn’t.
Unwilling to confront the yawning chasm that opened up inside him when he thought about what his life would look like without Skye in it, Beck picked up the pace and got them down to the conference room level of the hotel in near total silence, and with ten minutes to spare before judging was officially supposed to begin.
And there, in the hallway outside the judging chamber, stood Nina Lunden.
Win bounced over to her and threw his arms around her, giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek. Nina hugged him back, but her eyes were all for Beck.
“Hey, I’m going to go get the concierge to call a cab for you, Nina,” Win said, walking backward the way they’d just come. “I know you’ve got a flight to catch.”
And then Win was gone, and it was just Beck, alone in the hall with the woman who’d made him a part of her family.
He felt his throat clamp down on the words that wanted to pour out—gratitude for her flying all this way, just to be there for him, for the way she’d always talked to him and accepted him, for helping Skye earlier when she broke down.
But when Nina came forward and grabbed his hands, all Beck could say was her name. “Nina.”
Giving his fingers a squeeze, she said, “I wish I could stay and find out how this all turns out, but I have a feeling I already know. And I’ve got to get back home—no telling what that stubborn husband of mine has convinced those kids to let him get away with.”
Maybe the switch had gotten flipped back, Beck thought, because it was harder than he’d expected to bend down for a hug and say, “It means a lot to me that you came.”
He felt her smile against his shoulder. “Well, I had to meet this Skye Gladwell, didn’t I? Had to make sure she’s good enough for you.”
“And?”
Nina stepped back and gave him a watery smile. “She’s a sweet girl, Beck. A little confused, and life’s given her some good knocks that sent her off course—but if she’s as smart as I think she is, she’s going to get things back on track real quick.”
Suppressing a pang of disappointment that Nina didn’t seem to have any information on what Skye had decided, Beck gave Nina’s hands one last squeeze and glanced at the closed kitchen door right across the hall from the judging chamber.
Skye was in there, watching the timer tick away the final few moments of her last challenge in the Rising Star Chef competition, probably hurrying to get her plates clean and pretty and ready to present to the judges.
He could go in right now, ask her to choose, once and for all—but he’d screwed with her enough for one day. For the first time, Beck wondered if it had been massively unfair of him to unload all that stuff on her right in the middle of the final challenge.
Shit. He hoped he hadn’t thrown her off too badly. He didn’t want to win because he’d undermined his competition with confessions of love and undying devotion.
He wanted to win because he’d finally figured out how to cook from the heart.
But then, that was something Skye had always instinctively known how to do. She’d led with her heart from the moment he met her.
What was her heart telling her now? In just a few minutes, he’d know.
Chapter 29
Of course. Of fucking course, the first person Beck saw when he said goodbye to Nina and let himself into the judging chamber was Jeremiah fucking Raleigh.
The hero.
Already seated in the chair second from the end, where Nina had been, Raleigh had his elbows on the table and his dark-blond head bowed over his hands. Beck watched the guy pick restlessly at the linen tablecloth for a long moment.
He looked uncomfortable. Out of place in his coarse canvas jacket and faded T-shirt, sitting at this beautifully set table, with its crystal stemware and polished silver and fine china.
Beck felt a completely unwelcome stab of empathy.
Delaying the inevitable, he strode over to the judges’ end of the table and stuck out his hand.
“However this goes today,” he said, shaking Claire Durand’s slim hand, “thanks. It’s been an honor cooking for you.”
“I’ve enjoyed this year’s dishes very much,” she said. “In fact, I’m not sure we’ve ever had a better pair of finalists. Truly, we should be thanking you.”
Beck smiled and shook Devon Sparks’s hand, too, but when he got to Kane Slater, the guy looked him right in the eye and said, “Your food was great, but I’ll always remember what you said, too … about how sometimes things that don’t seem perfect for each other go together and make something new and amazing.”
Casting a sidelong look at Claire Durand, who appeared slightly pink in the cheeks, Kane finished with, “You inspired me, man. Is it gonna piss you off if I use some of what you said in a song?”
Beck surprised himself by laughing. “No, man. It won’t piss me off; I’d be thrilled. I’m a big fan of your stuff.”
Shocked delight widened Kane’s eyes. “No shit? Well, that is just cool.”
“Oh, get a room, you two.” Eva Jansen sauntered up to the judges’ table. “But not really, because it’s time to get started. Chef? If you’d like to take a seat?”
Beck’s mouth dried out. He wouldn’t like to take a seat, thanks very much, but he didn’t see how he had much choice about it.
He sat.
Jeremiah Raleigh gave him a tight smile and shifted in his chair as if he’d been sitting there long enough for his ass to fall asleep.
It was probably petty and immature to be glad about that, Beck decided, but so be it. He’d never claimed to be heroic, unlike some guys he could name.
And then he felt like a dick, so he stuck his hand out one more time and said, “Hey. Glad you could make it.”
Which was true; much as Beck might wish the guy out of existence, since he did exist and he was obviously important to Skye, Beck was glad Jeremiah was there to support her.
Jeremiah blinked as if he were surprised to be on the receiving end of a handshake instead of a black eye. “Thanks. I wanted to be here for her this time; I guess I missed a lot of other chances to show her I cared.”
Again with the reluctant empathy. Beck was abruptly kind of sorry that getting what he wanted meant he’d be taking the most amazing woman in the world away from this sad-looking guy.
Of course, there was no guarantee it would go down that way. And if what Skye decided was that Jeremiah Raleigh would make her happy, then Beck wanted that for her. Even though it would suck out loud for him.
Beck wiped his hand on his jeans and tried to think of something else to say. It was a little like chewing glass, but he managed.
“Look. I’m pretty sure Skye understands why you spend so much time away from her. She called you heroic when she talked about what you do out there with the Peace Corps. It’s not like you’re off in Vegas playing the ponies or something.”
It’s not like you left her when she was alone and pregnant to go off and do something she hates, like fighting.
But Jeremiah was giving him a funny look. “Thanks, man.” Then he shook his head and made a quiet, laughing, snorting sound. “Now it makes more sense. I didn’t get it before.”
Before Beck could ask what made sense, the judging chamber door opened and he forgot everything but the fact that he was about to see Skye again for the first time since he blurted out that he loved her, in front of God, the judges, his sort-of-adoptive mom, and everyone.
And there she was in the doorway, holding a tray and looking nervous. He wasn’t sure how he could tell she was nervous—her color was better t
han the last time he saw her, and her eyes were bright blue. She moved into the center of the room with a quick, lively step, no hesitation at all, and she gave the judges a smile.
But still, he could tell she was nervous.
Maybe it was the fact that her gaze darted to the other end of the table, Beck and Jeremiah’s end, only once.
After that, she focused exclusively on the judges, speaking clearly and concisely about her dish and what it meant to her.
The white-haired pixie-ish looking woman from Skye’s team set a bowl of soup in front of Beck, and he inhaled the steam rising off its pale surface.
“This is an asiago broth with a surprise in the middle—a single butternut squash raviolo with walnuts and brown butter. It’s a subtle flavor, and the raviolo is … well, I guess that’s me, during my childhood and teen years. I felt as if I had to hide who I was, because my parents and their circle of friends had … let’s just say, very specific ideas about what makes a person worthwhile, and I don’t really fit the bill.”
She gave a wry, self-deprecating shrug, but Beck still kind of wanted to hit something.
Skye left without looking at Beck’s end of the table again, and he tried not to worry about what that meant. Probably it meant she was trying to keep her mind focused on the challenge and not get sucked into personal issues the way Beck had. He couldn’t fault her for that.
And once he tasted the broth and the plump, perfectly tender pasta with its burst of autumnal flavors, he couldn’t fault her for much at all.
“That’s very good,” Jeremiah said, staring down at his bowl in what appeared to be real surprise.
“Yeah, she’s got something special.” Beck savored his last spoonful of salty, cheesy broth. “Hasn’t she ever cooked for you before?”
“Not really.” Jeremiah shook his head, looking pissed at himself. “We met at a party at her parents’ house, so it seemed like whenever I was in town, we had to spend time with her parents. I don’t know, that’s just how it developed, and I’m not in country enough to bother keeping a place here, so her parents usually put me up. It’s nice of them, but when Skye’s with them … she’s not the woman who could make this dish.”
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