by Kelly Cain
Chef Buccola says, “Welcome, Townsend family. Time to get to work. First up are your ideas for the dining room. We’ll need to start construction as soon as possible to be ready by Sunday. You’ll find software on your laptops for us to get started.”
I mostly know what I want already, since I’ve been toying with the idea for a few years, but I follow the process. It’s for the best because my scattered brain needs something concrete to hold on to instead of thoughts fleeing to Knox at every step.
By the end of the day, we’ve completed the design of the restaurant and Chef Buccola was actually a big help. We listened to his suggestions or redirection with open ears and made decisions based on his input, but in the end, we designed my vision with a few tweaks.
When the cameras stop for the day, I race over to our table and check my phone. Nothing from Knox still. I pack up my belongings as quickly as possible and head for the elevators. In my haste, I forgot the rest of my family though. The driver reminds me that we’ll have to wait. I pull out my phone and try Knox, but it goes directly to voicemail.
All I can do is stew in my juices until my family traipses out.
*
I’m not sure what my plan is, but I can’t just wait around the hotel hoping Knox will show up or contact me. I also have no idea where to look if his phone is off. Wyatt, Hannah, and I step into the hotel elevator.
Hannah says, “Where could he possibly be? Would he have gone back to Austin without his luggage?”
Wyatt puts his bag on the floor and leans against the glass wall. “Weston says no. And they have that family thing where they can track each other’s phone, but Knox’s is definitely turned off.”
I shudder. I’d rather pay a larger cell phone bill than have Mama or even Daddy be able to track me. Not that I go anywhere interesting. “I wonder if I can get up to the school and back before the morning?”
“You definitely will not. What if you don’t make it back in time to shoot?” Wyatt’s found renewed energy and has moved into my personal space.
The doors open and I rush out, having made up my mind. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing. I have to go.”
They’re both matching my strides. Even Hannah with her short legs.
The scene before me brings me up short, and Wyatt runs right into me.
Knox is sitting on the floor in front of my door eating a candy bar. “Where’re you heading, Amber?”
Wyatt asks, “Why does he call you that?”
I turn my back to Knox and face my brother and sister-in-law to be. “Thanks for everything today. I’ll meet you at seven in the lobby, okay?”
I’m met with identical sour looks, but they walk next door to their room, grumbling the whole way.
Once they disappear, I focus on Knox. He’s wearing the same dark jeans and pullover hoodie he had on the last time I saw him at four o’clock this morning. His stubble has filled in his entire jaw and his hair is messy but because it’s so curly, it looks good. Too good and I have to remind myself how worried I’ve been, but all I can feel now is relief.
“I was going to find you.”
He lifts himself from the floor, but hangs back, leaning on the door. There’s a weariness in his eyes despite his easy grin. “I didn’t know I was lost.”
“Your phone’s off.”
“In my haste to leave this morning, I forgot my charger.”
“I was worried.”
“Sorry.”
“I didn’t think you were speaking to me anymore.”
He frowns and pushes off the door. Before he can respond, a murmuring group walks down our hallway.
Weston beams. “Knox?”
Knox nods but is focused on his father.
Flynn frowns, but the relief is written on his leathered face and in the relaxation of his shoulders. “Where have you been, son?”
Where Flynn’s shoulders have relaxed, Knox’s tense and rise to somewhere around his ears.
I have no idea what he was about to say before his family walked up. Maybe he was going to tell me that he isn’t speaking to me anymore and was only waiting outside my door to officially end our relationship before it has a chance to leave the ground. Or maybe he was going to say that he came to his stupid senses. Regardless, I move closer to him, lending my energy if he needs it.
He puts an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side.
Thank you, sweet Black Baby Jesus.
Flynn’s frown deepens, but he doesn’t say anything.
Knox says, “I know what you tried to do.”
His father doesn’t even flinch. He’s probably done so much, an accusation like that doesn’t even show up on his radar. “What have I done?”
“Who makes such a large endowment and doesn’t put their name on it?”
“Oh, that.” He shrugs. “What of it?”
“You tried to buy my way into school.”
I look up at Knox because that’s not exactly the story I heard. Could I have been misinformed? Because they both seem to be on the same page now. I wonder what happened since I saw him early this morning.
“Do you think I’m the first to make a large donation to their alma mater to clear the way for their offspring? It’s common practice. You’re a legacy twice over and should be proud of that. Wait, is that why you quit?”
“I am proud. Very proud that I actually got in on my own merits. You could have saved your money. I’ve just come from Napa. And that’s only a small part of why I quit.”
I knew it! He’s so impulsive. Of course he went to the school.
“What are you on about, Knox?”
“I went to the school to find out for myself. Turns out I was in the top five applicants. It had nothing to do with legacy.”
Flynn crosses his arms across his chest and some of the tension slips back into his shoulders. “What does all this matter now? You’re the assistant chef in a Michelin restaurant. Your future is all set.”
“I didn’t just quit the show, Dad. I quit being a chef. It was always your dream, but I’m nearly thirty years old, and it’s time I follow my own path.”
His father’s face reddens, and he swallows hard. “I won’t allow it. Being a chef is what you’re destined for. You have twice as much talent than I did at your age. We’ll win this competition, and you’ll be head chef at our second restaurant. What more can you ask for? What else will you do?”
Knox shakes his head, a sad smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t want to be a chef, Dad. I’ve never wanted to be a chef. I thought I could compromise and maybe get a little restaurant somewhere, but it’s never been my dream.”
Flynn stutters, obviously reaching for anything to maintain control. “I’ll let you have the restaurant if you win. And if not, I’ll help with financing. You can cook pasta or whatever it is you want.”
Knox lets go of my hand and walks over to his dad and hugs him, kissing him on his cheek. “I’m not mad anymore. You thought you were doing the best for me, but I have to make my own decisions. And the first one is to take this beautiful woman into her room and apologize until she forgives me. Good night, Dad.”
Flynn stands there with watery eyes, looking between Knox and me. Finally, he huffs and stalks off down the hall to his room.
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
He shrugs. “He’ll come around. He just needs to stew for a while.” He grabs one of my curls and wraps it around his finger. His face is more relaxed, his smile easy.
I open the door to my room and step through. “Now, about that apology.”
Smothered in Love Comfort Mac and Cheese
1 32-ounce package small elbow macaroni
1 8-ounce block of medium sharp cheddar cheese
1 can evaporated milk
3 eggs
3 tsp Lawry’s seasoning salt
1 8-ounce block of sharp cheddar cheese
1 stick of unsalted butter
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Boil macaroni
to al dente. While boiling, shred medium sharp cheddar cheese. Pour drained macaroni into a casserole dish and add shredded cheese, stirring until cheese is melted and macaroni is coated well. In a mixing bowl, whisk together milk, eggs, and seasoning salt. Pour milk mixture over macaroni. Cut sharp cheddar cheese and butter into 1/2-inch blocks and press throughout the macaroni, alternating between cheese and butter. Cover and bake 45 minutes.
Yield: 8 to 10 servings
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Hot child in the city.
The set is buzzing with construction workers engaged in a variety of activities. Some are setting up walls, others are moving booths and tables in, and a couple are working on the lighting.
This morning we’re planning the back-of-house design, and we’re set up in our bare-bones kitchen. No conference table today, but there are kitchen-element samples spread throughout on different counters. We’ll pick appliances, cookware, how we want the hot plate area set up. Everything. I’m bouncing on my toes and smiling as wide as my mouth will allow. I’m excited about creating a kitchen from scratch, but I may also be a little happy about Knox being okay and him waiting for me when I’m done. He only made half an effort of getting my clothes off last night, and when I reminded him of my early morning call, he easily gave in. The strain of the day had taken a toll on him. Me too. Lying in each other’s arms all night was peaceful, and I got lots of rest and am ready to go this morning. Flynn may have been dealt a blow by his son, but he’s still a formidable competitor and I need to be on my game.
As arrogant as I always thought he was, Knox really knows how to apologize. All is well on that front, and it’s good timing because working with Dean Ellerson this morning would have been more than awkward. I’m happy to know she didn’t accept a straight-out bribe for allowing Knox in school, although she did facilitate Flynn’s generous contribution. It sucks and the system is unfair, but no different than any other elite school. It’s a bonus that Knox deserved to be there. Something I knew after five minutes of meeting him but was too butt-hurt to acknowledge. That along with what I overheard later with his roommate. I’m not sure if I 100 percent forgive him for those harsh words, but now I know he was only parroting what his father had told him.
When we begin, Dean Ellerson has a tablet with her, which is different than Chef Buccola’s method. “Hello, Townsend family.” She smiles at all of us, but her eyes land on me. “Rowan.”
“Hi, Dean.” She’s clearly in touch with Flynn so I wonder how much she knows of what happened yesterday.
“Do you have an idea of what you want? Or do you want me to make recommendations first?”
I know exactly what my dream kitchen would consist of. I’ve dreamt about it since I was in middle school, helping Mama in the restaurant. I perfected it during culinary school. I only need to go through the motions at this point. As I rattle off each piece of equipment, pot, and storage container and rack, Dean Ellerson clicks on her tablet finding a match. We walk through the kitchen area and talk about what counters I want. Hannah even throws in some good suggestions here and there.
But the pièce de résistance is the attached greenhouse for growing herbs. It will be unique and open for customers to marvel. Dean Ellerson said she was impressed.
At lunch, we switch again, and the crew brings the conference table back in and sets everything up for the next round of menu design, including the bar.
Chef Buccola is in a rare mood. Normally good-natured if not a bit reserved, he’s practically growling when he comes into our kitchen. He’s grumbling under his breath and I catch “that man” and “pompous” so it doesn’t take a genius to guess that Flynn has gotten under his skin. Declan’s able, but he’s not bold enough to go against a world-famous chef. His father on the other hand… It’s his calling card.
“Townsend family, let’s get started.”
This is going to be great drama for viewers at home. The producers are probably salivating right now.
“Okay, Chef.” I open my laptop and pull up the file where I transferred the handwritten menu I created into an electronic form. All four of us huddle around and hash out suggestions until we have a final product. One that I can be happy with.
When the day is over, I hurriedly pack my belongings and urge Wyatt and Hannah to do the same. I’m ready to get back to the hotel as soon as possible. To get back to Knox.
*
The hallway is empty this time. Hopefully Knox is inside my room as planned. I barrel my way through the door, bouncing and bubbly, a huge smile splitting my face, but it falls when there’s no Knox to greet me. I texted him that I was on my way.
I set my backpack on the desk and glance around the room. Something’s definitely different. I look in the bathroom and there’s an extra toothbrush and toothpaste, plus a comb that isn’t mine. Next, I open the closet and sure enough, there’s a suitcase that doesn’t belong to me, plus Knox’s bag he carries his laptop, knives, and other personal stuff in. Hmm.
I go over to the bed which is unmade, ugh, and there’s a note on the nightstand. It reads: Amber, be ready in forty-five minutes, please. We have seven o’clock reservations. Birdsong chef’s table.
Holy crap. This is the epitome of fine dining. Or so I’ve heard. I definitely couldn’t afford to eat there before. I march back to the closet and survey the couple of dresses I brought. One is a black tuxedo dress that falls a couple inches above my knees. The other is a hunter-green bodycon dress, shoulders out with lace sleeves. It’s a little longer, hitting right above my knees, but it highlights my, uh, ample assets in the back. I can’t make up my mind, but I wish I had a third, more conservative option. Maybe clarity will come after a shower.
In the end, I decide on the tuxedo dress because although it’s mid-thigh, it isn’t form-fitting and has the appearance of being more prudent. I hang it in the bathroom in case there are any wrinkles while I style my hair. I leave my locks down but work to define my curls and let them halo around my shoulders. I opt for light makeup because wearing camera-ready makeup all week has become tiring—just a little mascara and a red lip. I only brought one pair of dressy shoes, a black three-inch strappy heel. I search through the drawers to see if I just happened to bring any matching underwear. Looks like red lace unless I want to go with granny panties.
When the knock on the door comes, I rush to slip my dress over my head without messing up my hair, and grab my shoes from the closet. I’ll have to put them on after I let him in. I gave him my extra key card before I left this morning so I’m not sure why he doesn’t just come in. Or why he wasn’t here when I returned.
My shoes slip out of my hand when I open the door and witness the blinding beauty that greets me on the other side. He’s trimmed his stubble perfectly, showcasing his square jaw, and put product in his hair, styling his thick curls into a sexy quiff. Or more than likely, he spent part of his day in a salon because he’s too exquisite to have done it himself. His dark suit looks new but maybe not, because it’s flawlessly tailored. The blue dress shirt matches his eyes perfectly. He’s too pretty to look at so I avert my gaze. “Hi.” Hopefully he heard me because I barely eked that out.
There’s no response, and when I glance back at him, he’s staring at me with his mouth open. On this second look, I notice the red roses in his hand.
I try again, clearing my throat. “Hi, Knox. You look beautiful.”
He snaps out of the trance and grins. “I think that’s my line. God, you’re gorgeous. Your hair.”
I pat it and shrug. “Nothing special.”
He comes across the threshold and puts a hand behind my neck, under my hair, tilting my head back. “Everything about you is special.” He places a whisper of a kiss on my lips and steps back, taking me in again. When his gaze makes it down to my bare feet, he bends and retrieves my shoes, placing the flowers on the floor next to him. He’s on one knee when he offers the first shoe to me, which I slip my foot into. He closes the strap and then we repeat with the other sho
e. My view from above has me rethinking going out tonight.
When he stands, I reach his nose with the extra boost. “Thank you, fair prince.”
He picks up the bouquet. “I almost forgot. These are for you.”
“They’re gorgeous. Thanks, Knox.” I peck him on the cheek and take the blooms to the bathroom and run some water in the sink, placing them there until I can get a vase. “You’ve certainly been busy today.”
He shrugs but can’t keep the grin from his face, eyes sparkling. He knows he’s beautiful, and I appreciate the restraint against false modesty. “We better go so we’re not late.”
“Okay, let me get my purse.”
As we ride down the elevator, we hold hands and stare into each other’s eyes. Yup, we’re super corny. Also, what rhymes with that. No filming tomorrow while they finish the individual restaurants, so tonight’s gonna be lit.
Knox hasn’t asked me about filming today and I don’t offer.
“Have you talked to your mom since this morning?”
I called Lillie before we left for the studio this morning, and she was feeling so much better. She wanted to go to the restaurant, but Daddy put his foot down and she actually listened.
“No, I haven’t had a chance, but I’ll call her in the morning.”
He nods.
“So I noticed that your luggage is in my closet…”
“Oh, yeah. About that.” He actually looks sheepish. “I can move it to Weston’s if you want. I got kicked out of my room since I quit the show.”
I stare at him and smile. We’ve come such a long way that I’m his first choice to share a room with. “No, it’s fine where it is.”
He leads me off the elevator and through the lobby. Heads turn as we pass and I have to admit, I snuck some glances in the elevator mirror-walls. We do make a striking couple, all cleaned up.
We catch a cab to the restaurant, inside an unassuming three-story gray building. The interior tells a different tale though. There’s an open kitchen plan, but the chef’s table is practically in the cooking area. They also have an open fire area, but it’s not nearly as impressive as Everheart’s. The furniture and fixtures aren’t fancy but the food definitely is. When we’re seated, I glance at the menu and my eyes go wide. “Thirteen courses, Knox?”