An Acquired Taste

by Kelly Cain

  I study his face, looking for…something. Then I rack my brain trying to remember if I’ve ever heard that word from his lips. Maybe the first day we met. Before I knew who he was. Before he knew who I was. Before we hated each other.

  There’s a love seat on the opposite wall so I perch on the arm, leaving myself an easy exit path.

  He doesn’t quite smile, but the corner of his mouth inches up. Instead of sitting on the sofa, he settles on the floor next to my feet, crossing his bare feet at the ankles, resting his defined arms on his knees.

  He scrubs his hands across his face and looks up. “I would never intentionally sabotage you. I know we’ve been through a lot, but this is important to you. And we’re adults now. Those were kid games before.”

  Nice speech, but I’m not buying it. “Why should I believe you? You’ve caused me nothing but misery since I’ve known you. And the one thing in the world I struggle with…the thing you know I struggle with just happens to appear in a challenge today. What are the odds?”

  “It’s pasta for fuck’s sake. You act like they asked you to make tête de veau.”

  I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. The way he wrapped his tongue around those French words has me… Focus, girl. “Sure, but it just seems like a huge coincidence that I had to make it today. I’ve watched every season, and they’ve never even done a challenge where the judges pick what you cook. This isn’t some home-cooks show.”

  He shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you. My family had to do the same challenge this afternoon and we didn’t get pasta. It’s my specialty so if the ‘fix were in’ as you say, don’t you think we would have?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. Still doesn’t mean there isn’t something funny going on. “Why did you want me to come here tonight? Why did you ask right before the challenge? You’re messing with my head.”

  He blows out an exasperated sigh. “I’m not sure if I should be upset that you think so lowly of me or flattered that you believe I have so much power.” He raises an eyebrow. “Do I have that much power over you?”

  “What? No, of course not.” The objection is weak, even to my ears. “It’s not power. You just get under my skin, and you’ve been messing with me ever since this season was announced.”

  “I know, and I’m sorry. Old habits die hard, but I promise you I would never cheat.”

  I snort. “Yeah, right.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  This is going nowhere. I stand, ready to go. “I have no idea why I’m here, so I’m just going to go.”

  He touches the bottom of my pant leg. I haven’t even changed from filming earlier, grease and sauces splattered here and there. “You’re right. Let me explain. Please.”

  There’s that word again. Surely this has got to be some kind of record.

  I sit on the sofa this time, the weight of the world dragging me into its padded depths.

  Knox leans forward, close enough to lay his head in my lap if he chose to. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

  Ha! Do I? I’ve thought about that day so many times over the past ten years it’s not even funny. I was bright and enthusiastic, shiny as a brand-new penny. I’d breezed through my first class, Algebra I, excited to dig in and experiment. Then I’d walked into my next class and there he was, the perfect man. We had immediate chemistry, sparks flying between our linked eyes. We’d talked, and he’d shared a piece of himself although our relationship was only an hour old. Then we figured out who the other really was and that was that. “I remember.”

  “My first class had let out early so I’d been there awhile getting used to everything, arranging the space the way I wanted. Pasta was my love, and I was anxious to get started. You walked into the classroom.” He sighs and lifts himself off the floor, sitting next to me on the small sofa, our thighs almost touching. “I took one look at you, and in my mind, a movie reel started playing our future life together. And then you were so awkward and unsure of yourself, and I couldn’t imagine why, but it drew me closer.”

  “Knox.”

  He angles his body toward me and I place my hand on his chest, halting his movement. All the while leaning into him.

  He moves his mouth near my ear and whispers, “And then you hated me and I didn’t know why. For self-preservation, I tried to hate you too.”

  We’re both perfectly still, breathing each other in.

  His eyes are hooded so I can’t see the color. I’m not sure that matters because try as I might, I can’t continue to hold on to the hate. Was it ever hate to begin with?

  I turn my head and our lips are perfectly aligned. All I can think about is tasting them. My hand is still on his chest, so I shift it up and around his neck, the soft hair there tickling my palm.

  “Amber.”

  The nickname caresses my mouth, radiates a warm sensation down my neck. In the past, it was mocking—a throwaway compliment I thought he never meant. A scornful reminder to me every time he used it.

  “Yes.”

  He presses his lips to mine and my flesh rises in an instant, tingles travel the length of my spine, heat spreads in my belly.

  What. Is. Happening? I hesitate and he pulls back.

  When I sink my teeth into his full bottom lip, he yelps but comes back, pressing himself into me. I lie back on the couch and pull him down with me, never breaking the kiss, our tongues entwined. Knox tastes like salty crackers, probably pretzels.

  He nips my chin, trailing kisses down my neck and I shiver with desire, pressing my breasts into his solid chest, running my fingers through his silky curls. The hardness of his erection presses against my core, and I push back. We grind against each other, moving our hands everywhere, exploring each other’s bodies.

  My mind tries to wander, to makes sense of this, but the impact of his hands cupping my ass pulls me back into the moment. He bites a nipple through my T-shirt, sucking it in with the fabric and sparks fly through my veins. God, how long have I wanted this?

  “Rowan.” His voice is rough when he says my name.

  “Um hmm?”

  “Do you want to move over to the bed?”

  My mushy, distracted brain finally pulls itself back together. I sit up, pushing Knox off me. My body fights against my decision, inching back to him. “Sorry, I should go. I have no idea what I’m doing. It’s been an emotional day and we’re in competition.”

  He straightens up and leans back against the sofa. “What if we weren’t in competition?”

  “But we are.” I stand on wobbly legs and adjust my clothes back into place.

  He stands too, and reaches for me, but I back out of his embrace. The look of hurt on his face almost makes me change my mind, but I can’t. We have so much history and much more unresolved between us to take this to such a physical level. There’s too much on the line.

  “Sorry, Knox. I gotta go.”

  “I understand. But there’s something here, right? I’m not imagining it.”

  I nod because I don’t trust my voice.

  “Okay. I’m going to make everything better.” He leans in and kisses me on the cheek.

  I have no idea how he’ll make it better or even what that means, but I want to believe in him.

  When I make it back to my room, I sit on the edge of the bed and look at my laptop. I wonder again at the notes I found a month ago. I want to believe that what I’ve puzzled out is true, and after what just happened in Knox’s room, I think it is. But if so, the last ten years have been a complete and total lie.

  Out-of-the-Blue, But Oh So Tasty Almond Cake with Pears and Crème Anglaise

  1-1/2 cups almond flour

  1/4 cup all-purpose flour

  1 tsp orange zest

  Pinch salt

  1 cup sugar, divided

  2 large eggs, beaten

  6 large egg whites

  3 tbsp unsalted butter

  3 tbsp sugar

  4 Bartlett pears, peeled and cored and cut into 1/2-inc
h wedges

  Powdered sugar

  3 large egg yolks

  1/4 cup sugar

  2 tsp cornstarch

  1 1/4 cups milk

  1/2 tsp vanilla extract

  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Place parchment paper in a 10-inch springform pan. In a mixing bowl, whisk flours, orange zest, 1/2 cup of the sugar, and salt. Add the eggs and whisk well. In a separate bowl, beat the egg whites until soft peaks form. Add in the remaining 1/2 cup of sugar and beat 2-3 minutes. Fold 1/3 of the egg whites into the flour mixture. Fold in the remaining egg whites until just incorporated. Pour the batter into a pan and bake for about 30 minutes, until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. Let the cake cool 15 minutes, then turn onto a wire rack to finish cooling. In a skillet on medium heat, melt the butter and sugar, stirring until sugar dissolves. Cut pears into 1/2-inch wedges and arrange in the skillet in a single layer. Cover and cook over low heat about 6-8 minutes. Use a large serrated knife to cut the cake into two layers. Spoon the pears along with sauce over bottom layer of cake and cover with the top layer. Lightly dust with powdered sugar.

  In a mixing bowl, whisk the egg yolks with the sugar and cornstarch. In a saucepan, heat the milk until steaming but not boiling. Slowly stream the milk into the egg mixture, whisking constantly, until the mixture is smooth. Return to the saucepan and cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, about 5-6 minutes or until thick enough to stick to the back of the spoon. Stir in vanilla. Transfer to a serving bowl and serve with the cake.

  Yield: 8 servings

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rowan is a chef.

  The makeup artist takes extra care with the dark circles under my eyes this morning. I wish I could say I left Knox’s room and refocused on the task ahead, getting a good night’s sleep…but that’s not what happened at all. I played everything he said yesterday over and over in my mind. The last ten years were on repeat, analyzing every syllable, every look, every eye color change. I still don’t know what topaz means.

  I scrutinized my feelings—was it hate or not?—and my actions. My thoughts. Nothing makes sense anymore.

  But now I have to go on set and get my act together. After yesterday’s pasta mishap, it will take us hitting every mark today to advance. The Ortiz family hasn’t missed a cue, hasn’t made a mistake.

  Mama smiles when I sit at our table, but her eyes tell the real story. She’s worried about me. “They did a great job. You look much more refreshed, baby.”

  She’s being kind. I looked in the mirror before I came back to the table.

  Wyatt doesn’t bother with pretenses. “It’s not like you to be nervous. You really couldn’t sleep? You sure you weren’t at the bar all night?”

  I never made it to the bar last night. “I’m sure.” I don’t have enough energy to even give my brother mess.

  The Everheart brothers make their entrance and my face heats. I look over at Mike and he waves, worry etched into his eyebrows. Guilt has me turning away and I switch my gaze over to Knox’s competition, the Warren family. They’ve done well, definitely superior chefs with skills similar to Knox and family. They own a steakhouse in Romeoville, just outside Chicago, and so far, haven’t made any major mistakes.

  Mama meets my eyes, and frowns. “What has you so flustered?” She rotates to Knox and I follow her line of sight.

  He’s standing, talking with Declan and Wyatt, who must have sprinted over to his new friends as soon as they arrived. Knox’s expression is calm but serious. Weston is sitting at the table, scribbling in a notebook. More than likely writing the fan fiction he’s so fond of.

  When I glance back at Mama, she’s gaping at me. “What happened with Knox?”

  “Shhh. Nothing.” I glance back at Knox to ensure he didn’t hear her.

  He’s still deep in conversation, but after a moment, Wyatt walks our way, then Knox and Declan follow.

  I shrink down in my seat, trying to disappear.

  Mama narrows her eyes.

  Wyatt says, “Declan talked to his father and there was flooding in Austin overnight. They had some damage at their restaurant. Have either of you talked to Sue? I’ll try Hannah.” He walks away without waiting for a response, phone pressed to his ear.

  Mama says, “I’m sorry to hear about your place. How much damage did Flynn say there was?”

  Declan pulls a chair out and spins it around, straddling it. “There was some water damage in one of the storage closets but nothing major. We’ll be closed a few days though.”

  “Oh no.” Mama puts a hand over her mouth.

  Knox’s eyes are burning a hole through my profile, but I continue to study a very interesting stitch in the tablecloth.

  Mama continues. “We don’t normally flood because we’re on a hill. I did talk to Sue this morning and she didn’t mention anything.”

  Knox says, “That’s what I was telling Wyatt. I’m sure you’re fine.” He taps me on the shoulder. “You doing okay this morning?”

  “Yeah, fine.”

  When I look up to him, his eyes go wide, but he doesn’t say anything.

  I should be so lucky with Declan. “Damn, girl.”

  Mama spears him with a sharp look.

  “Sorry about the language, ma’am.”

  This day just began and it’s already the worst.

  Declan elbows Knox. “I don’t think we need to worry about her winning anything.”

  “I don’t need to try to beat Rowan.”

  Well, damn. Looks like I stayed up all night for nothing. There’s a knot in my throat, but I push it down because I don’t have time for knots right now. Or feelings although this is going to leave a mark later. And just like that, we’re back to where we started. Knox Asshat Everheart has not changed and I’m an idiot for thinking he had.

  *

  The Warrens and Everhearts square off this morning, and we’ll have our chance after lunch. There is absolutely nothing in this world that will keep me from winning today. I hope it’s enough to cancel yesterday out.

  I crack my knuckles and open my laptop, preparing to take notes as the director explains the last challenge today before the cameras start rolling.

  The judges will provide guidance through the challenge, splitting their time between the two families. Each team will need to create a signature dish using the same eight ingredients, each one picked by a different family member plus one by each judge. This morning, they’ll have one set of ingredients. In the interest of fairness, we’ll have a different set to pick from this afternoon. The kicker to this challenge is that we’ll have to take our creation down to the street and let the general public judge.

  The cameras roll and everyone picks an ingredient. The judges pick first, each selecting salt and pepper. Good. That gets the basic seasoning out of the way. Not much can be made without salt. I mean it can, but it won’t taste great. When everyone has picked, the protein they’ve chosen is chicken. All the better for me because chicken is boring. I won’t have to worry about one of the Ortiz’s picking it this afternoon.

  Chicken may be boring, but Knox and crew manage to turn it into something spectacular quickly. I’m not surprised since this is something we learned to do in our sleep in school. Just as swiftly as he assessed the items in my refrigerator and turned it into a croque monsieur, he does the same with today’s challenge. What’s more interesting to me is watching him interact with the judges. Surprisingly, Dean Ellerson is the most interactive with the Everhearts, although Knox didn’t entertain her much. The other two brothers definitely welcomed her into the kitchen like an old friend. When the judges switched between the two teams, and Chef Buccola began advising, Knox’s posture noticeably relaxed. He was still focused on his task, but more respectful and receptive to advice. Almost deferential.

  While on break, I run into the woman from Team Warren in the bathroom and smile at her in the mirror while washing my hands.

  She smiles back. “Rowan, right?”

  I n
od and turn off the water. “Right. You’re Elizabeth?”

  “I am. Some competition, huh? That last one really threw us.”

  “It was a surprise, but your team did a great job.”

  She leans against the wall and rubs her temples. “Thanks, but those Everhearts…” She leaves the rest of that sentence lingering out there.

  I throw my paper towel in the trash and head for the door. “Yeah, they’re very talented.”

  “Right? Especially Knox. I’ve never seen a chef so comfortable and nonplussed. He doesn’t miss a beat no matter what the judges toss our way.” She opens the door for me and I walk through. “Anyway, best of luck.”

  “Same to you.” For the first time since the competition started, I’m not a hundred percent sure I mean that. I want to be the one to beat the Everhearts and for once, I have a little more confidence that I can.

  When it’s our turn, the judges pick salt and pepper again. The uncle from the Ortiz family picks steak. Yes, perfect. Mama selects celery. Which, of course she does. It’s fine though. The next pick is tomato, then Wyatt selects jalapeno. The last Ortiz member picks mushrooms, so I select an oil and vinegar set.

  With the ingredients laid before me, my mind runs through the possibilities. It needs to be something inspired but also needs to taste really good for our pedestrian judges. Ah, okay.

  Chef Buccola starts with us first. “You have a glint in your eye. Do you know already?”

  “Yes, Chef.” I’m wary of him because I still think there’s something going on between him and Knox, but he’s not judging this round and he can’t exactly sabotage me, so I tell him what I plan to make.

  He nods, “Good choice.”

  “Okay, Mama, make me a vinaigrette. Wyatt, come here and I’ll show you how to shave the jalapenos and mushrooms, and what to do with the tomatoes.”

  I pick up my knives and think back to when I had Knox’s knives. When he’d substituted them in to save me. No wonder he thinks he can beat me with one hand tied behind his back. And maybe he can, but I’m ready today and this steak will be spectacular.