by Kelly Cain
He smiles finally, shaking his head. “You took that so wrong. I didn’t mean that I wasn’t worried about competing with you. I meant that I didn’t want to compete with you anymore. After the first round when I realized what you were in this for, I knew I’d never make it to the end. Then you didn’t advance to the next round, and I didn’t know what to do. I decided to keep going and see what happened.”
“So, you let me win?”
“Ha, no. You haven’t won anything yet. I also knew that as long as I was in it, there’s no way I wouldn’t try my hardest to beat you. That’s why I dropped out.”
“I thought you dropped out because of your father.”
He leans his head back on the couch, taking me with him, placing my head on his shoulder. “That was unfortunate timing. I was dropping out anyway and had told my father to sub in for me, especially since he wanted the restaurant for his own. That was right before I heard his conversation with Dean Ellerson.”
I try to absorb all of this new, surprising information. Knox has always loved me. That seems impossible. “What about the Michelin star at the nursery?”
His diaphragm vibrates against my side, and he finally lets loose a thundering laugh. “Oh my gosh, that was hilarious. The look on your face.”
“Yeah, very loving. And who carries something like that around with them in their pocket anyway?”
He’s still wheezing, trying to calm his laughter. When he finally does, he wipes the moisture from his eyes with the heel of his hand. “We have those everywhere. When I saw you with Weston, I ran back to the car and got one out of the glove compartment.” He chuckles again.
It’s really not that funny. “Your aunt’s right; you are a silly boy.”
“Maybe, but one that you love.” His grin is contagious and when I gaze at him, I can’t imagine that I ever thought I hated him.
How to Get a Girlfriend
1 maybe asshat man
1 paranoid woman
4 years culinary school
6 years quarterly alumni meetings
1 cooking competition
Combine first 3 ingredients and see what happens. If nothing happens, mix in longing looks during alumni meetings. Still nothing? Insert cooking competition and hash it out.
Yield: Knox finally getting his girl
CHAPTER TWENTY
And the prize goes to…
Seated at our family table, I glance over to the Everheart assembly where Weston sits with his face close to a tablet, typing furiously on the built-in keyboard. When I look at Declan, he nods. My eyebrows shoot up because I don’t think he’s ever given me that much acknowledgment before. Flynn is reading a print newspaper, legs crossed, not a care in the world. He thinks he has this zipped up, that I’m not worthy of a second thought.
My phone chimes, and when I read the text from Knox, I grin. “Kick Dad’s ass. Love you.”
I type in a quick heart-kissing emoji and the words I haven’t been able to stop saying since yesterday. “I love you too!”
Wyatt looks over my shoulder and I scowl. “That went from zero to sixty in three point five seconds.”
“Mind your business, brother.”
Hannah giggles and quickly covers her mouth.
“Really, Hannah? You two are both ridiculous.”
She shrugs and leans closer across the table from me. “You have to admit it’s so sudden. You got on me and Wyatt for getting engaged after dating two years. Last month, you said you hated Knox. Now you’re in love.” She taps her chin with a finger. “Although admittedly, it was clear he was harboring some serious feelings for you. But you never even acknowledged that was a possibility.”
“I was in denial. Plus, we had a lot going on that I needed to worry about like holding on to the restaurant and keeping Mama healthy. I’m allowed to miss a couple of cues.”
Wyatt scoots his chair right up to mine and leans in. “Nah, that’s not it. You were afraid. But hey, I’m happy for you now. Knox is a good guy. Did you tell Mama?”
I take in a deep breath, then slowly let it out. “Not yet. As you already know, she’s not a huge Everheart fan. Not that I can blame her. Flynn’s a hot mess.” I turn my phone off and put it in my backpack. “Hey, both of you. Let me tell Lillie. Got it?”
They both throw up hands in surrender.
The set is buzzing today. Besides our little groups of three, there are the audience members and a space for over eighty additional people who will serve as customers for our individual restaurants (forty for each). They will come in later this afternoon. There’s also another space for twenty restaurant personnel. Some will be cooks, others will be servers. They’ll be split between the two restaurants so we can provide a full dinner service this evening.
Our restaurants are finished but hidden until the unveiling on camera. My shoulders are tight with excitement and nervousness. I’m confident in my vision but also hope it was executed well. It’s unbelievable to me that Flynn is so relaxed with the appearance of not caring at all. Maybe he doesn’t. If by some miracle (in his mind) he was to lose, he can easily open a second restaurant if that’s what he really wants. Although without Knox, would he want to? Then again, he probably thinks Knox will come back to him with his tail between his legs when he finally has to start adulting on his own.
Ugh, focus, Rowan. I need to be finalizing the order in which we’re prepping and cooking, not worrying about what Flynn is or is not thinking. The problem is that Knox lights up my every unintentional thought.
When the set turns hot, the presenters do their thing, then come over to our tables and interview us on our expectations and how we’re feeling in this stage of the competition. Next, it’s time to unveil our restaurants. They usually start with us, but today, when I’m at the height of anticipation, they decide to start with the Everhearts.
The men walk over to the edge of their restaurant and watch expectantly as the curtains are drawn back. I gasp at the beauty of it, and Hannah kicks me under the table. It’s basically a replica of Everheart Bar and Fine Dining, but on a smaller scale. And because of the more intimate environment, the details really pop. The wood grain is lush, the brass shiny, and the kitchen sparkling. The tables and booths are maroon-leathered seating with white tablecloths so crisp, it looks as though you could slice brisket with them. The only drawback for me is the missing hearth. Others may not think it’s a big deal, but I definitely think it’s a difference maker.
The servers come out in black pants and white shirts with black vests, and I’m reminded of penguins. Not the best look if you ask me, which nobody did.
The catch to all of this Flynn-vision extravagance is that they still have to serve pasta. That’s what they ran on, and I’ll be interested to see how father and sons execute without their talented pasta maker. Not that I’ll have time to watch since I’ll be busy with my own service. It has to be a bug in Flynn’s butt though.
I smile to myself and Wyatt arches an eyebrow. I just shake my head, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to us.
Our turn is next. Hannah grasps Wyatt’s hand and he grabs mine, and we walk to the curtain united. Lee and Aaron are there with microphones in hand ready to catch our every reaction.
Lee says, “The ambiance of your competitor’s restaurant is a classic steakhouse. We know your hope is to have a French bistro which can manifest in many forms. Before we pull the curtain, please explain your vision, Chef.”
“Thank you, Lee. Yes, the Everheart restaurant is lush and fancy.” I clear my dry throat, wishing I’d brought some water over with me. “Our vision is a little different. The idea of a French bistro is to serve good, quality food in a more casual environment. We’ve taken this guidance and made it our own, adding farm-to-table ingredients including an on-site herb garden, and in the front of house, comfortable wooden tables and chairs.”
Aaron says, “That sounds inspiring. Well, let’s have a look at how it all came together, shall we?”
I’m worry
ing the inside of my cheek so hard and watching the curtain, I miss if I’m supposed to respond or not. I just sort of nod, I think, and wait for the curtain to fall. When it does, the wind is knocked out of my chest. Wyatt’s there to catch my elbow and squeeze as a reminder that we’re being watched, by the studio audience and personnel today and later, a whole lot more people at home.
Aaron is back in my face with a microphone. “What do you think, Chef?”
I look at the walls and flooring first. The walls are made of green distressed brick with golden tones coming through. The floor is laminate for strength and durability but to the untrained eye, it resembles mahogany hardwood. The tables are round and made of macassar ebony wood with matching chairs in the middle of the restaurant. Along the perimeter, wall benches are placed with chairs opposite them across the tables. The bar is V-shaped and made from reclaimed wood. Wyatt’s influence was strong here, and I’m happy I let him have so much input. The servers are lined up in front of the kitchen in their hunter-green shirts and pants with gray waist-aprons. The open kitchen is homey, but strategically laid out in zones for maximum efficiency. The greenhouse is a bit smaller than I’d asked for, but probably better sized than what I planned. It’s full of all the herbs I wanted, so no complaints from me.
“It’s perfect, Aaron. Absolutely perfect.” I clasp my hands and turn to Wyatt and Hannah. Wyatt’s eyes are pinned on the bar area and the smile on his face indicates he’s happy with it. Hannah is scanning the kitchen setup, eyes alight. She meets my gaze and grins, then nods. Yup, we did the damn thing.
Lee says, “Since you approve, let’s get started. Dinner service begins at five.”
*
The cooks helping us are trained well and easy to direct. As the customers pile in, we work as a well-oiled machine with communication our primary asset. Our secondary asset is how the kitchen is set up. The station layout allows us to work in zones, each cook specializing in a part of the menu. I love the way this works; the efficiency is maximized and I can only hope that Lillie will agree to it for her new restaurant. Because we’re winning this thing and that’s what she’ll have.
Our food gets out on time and hot. There are few complaints or food sent back and countless customers have come into the section of the kitchen where the greenhouse is, having a look around.
We can’t see the Everheart kitchen, but if the customer ruckus going on over there is any indication, it’s not going well. I’m thrilled for us, but I worry about Weston and maybe even Declan to some degree because he lives for his father’s approval.
At the end of service, I look around at what we’ve accomplished. Forty people served, no mishaps, only six plates sent back for adjustments, a spotless kitchen left in our wake.
When we gather at the end and Chef Buccola and Dean Ellerson, along with the presenters, give the postmortem, I feel confident that we’ll win. I look over at Flynn, and he’s red-faced and flustered, his white chef’s jacket covered in flour and sauces. I catch Weston’s eye and smile, offering him whatever comfort I can. He smiles back and shrugs. Declan doesn’t look my way.
Aaron and Lee have the final results in their hands, ready to announce. When they give the name of the winning family, blood rushes through my head and I can’t hear anyone. Tears stream down my face. Wyatt is close to me, but I’m disoriented, unable to decipher his actions. He shakes my shoulders, then hands me water and I drink deeply, trying to calm myself enough to join the celebration.
Can it really be true? Have we saved Smothered in Love? No worries over Mama losing her health insurance anymore? Keeping Sue?
I look at Wyatt, whose smile is reserved. I must be freaking out so much that I’ve scared him. Finally, I laugh and throw my arms around his neck and we hug and bounce around, then grab Hannah into our winner’s circle. I can’t wait to call Mama. And Knox.
The thought of Knox has me rotating around to where the Everhearts are standing. Weston is the only one clapping and smiling. He gives me a thumbs-up when our eyes meet.
Lee says, “Congratulation, Townsends. As you know, the prize is a new restaurant. What you don’t know is that Chef Buccola’s consulting company will advise you through the whole process until you’re open for business.”
I feign excitement, because although that’s an incredible leg up, witnessing someone trying to advise Lillie is not going to a joyful experience. Hopefully I will have found my new gig so I won’t be around.
Next, Weston and Declan come over to congratulate us. Well, Weston congratulates all of us and gives me the biggest hug ever given, and Declan pats Wyatt on the back and says, “Great job.” Flynn is standing back a bit with his arms crossed.
Weston turns to him expectantly. “Dad?”
Flynn coughs, “Congrats.”
I’ll be the bigger person, especially now that I’ve seen his vulnerability with the man I love. “Thank you, Mr. Everheart. It was very competitive.”
He frowns. “It would have been had my son not sabotaged it. We would have won otherwise.”
Rage bubbles up in my throat and before I can tell him the fuck off—not just for my own pride, but for blaming Knox for his nonsense—I glance at the set light and note that it’s still red. Hot set. Instead, I rotate back to my family and Knox’s brothers. “Great job, guys. You are truly talented. All of you.” And they are in their own compartments. It’s true that Knox has the head chef thing covered, but honestly, if Michelin-starred chef Flynn Everheart couldn’t beat us, then maybe, just maybe, we’re pretty talented ourselves. I’m so over doubting myself.
It’s close to ten at night when we’re finally released with a packet of information a foot thick. I’ve been running on adrenaline, but after staying up way too late with Knox last night, my lack of rest is catching up to me. Plus, we have the earliest flight out in the morning at eight which drags my steps down further. I slump into Wyatt’s side, and he throws the arm not occupied with Hannah around my shoulders as we ride down in the elevator. I’d love to be the first person to tell Knox what happened, but I don’t have the energy to dig my phone out of my backpack and turn it on.
We exit the building for the last time and step to the waiting town car when I trip on the curb. Knox is there to catch me before I faceplant. “Whoa, Amber. Don’t die before you can celebrate your win.” He squeezes me so tight, I can barely breath. “Well done, you.”
I look up into his smiling face and suck up all the energy he’s giving, jumping to wrap my legs around his waist. I kiss him then with everything I have. He’s still smiling against my mouth but manages to kiss me back. “You’re here. How’d you know?”
“Someone called me as soon as you were done filming.”
I slide down his body back to the ground, suspicion filling my sleep-deprived brain. “Who, Knox?”
“Chef Buccola. It’s sort of a long story, but from the look on your face, I guess I better hurry up and tell you. I’d sure hate to find myself on the street tonight.”
I step back and cross my arms. “Okay.”
Wyatt calls to us from the car. “Are you getting in? My bed is calling my name.”
Knox says, “I’ll tell you all about it on the ride back to the hotel.”
We pile into the car, and I’m trying to remain positive, to trust Knox, but I’ve had a bad feeling there was something going on with him and our judge since almost the beginning of the competition.
Hannah asks, “What’s wrong? We just won and you two are being awfully quiet.”
Knox clears his throat. “I have something to tell Rowan, but I may as well say it now because it involves all of you.”
I’m sure my eyebrows have shot so far up, they’ve disappeared into my hair.
Knox grabs my limp hand and kisses it. “I love you. And I promise I will never do anything to hurt you.”
I start to protest and he squeezes my hand. “Nothing else to hurt you.”
It’s a difficult transition for me and I know I need to let my guard all
the way down, but after fighting with Knox for so long, my first instinct is to go on the offensive instead of listening. I relax into the leather seat and squeeze his hand back. “Okay.”
“I approached Chef Buccola through Dean Ellerson once we made it to the semifinals. By then, I’d started thinking about my future and what I would do if I really didn’t want to be a chef anymore.”
I gasp because I know where this is leading. “No way.”
He smiles, winking a sparkling eye. “Oh way.”
“But how? You’re only a few years out of culinary school.”
“That’s true but I’ve been working in a Michelin-star restaurant for six years. That helps.”
I throw my arms around him and kiss his cheek. “I’m so happy for you.”
Wyatt taps my shoulder and I unwrap from Knox. “Um, hi. Since you said this involves all of us, do you want to clue us in to your little short-cut language you have going on?”
Oh, that’s true. How does this involve them?
Knox smiles at my confused face, then turns to Wyatt. “Meet the new consultant for Buccola and Dramberry International. You just won me.”
Oh no. Lillie is going to blow a gasket. “Uh, okay. That’s…awesome.”
Wyatt slaps the back of Knox’s neck. “You should have led with that, man. This should be interesting.”
Knox raises an inquisitive brow.
I just shrug and lie back in the seat, patting his leg.
*
“We better go to bed because we have to get up early.” I sit on the side of the bed, pulling off my shoes. I’m still giddy from winning but I’m so tired. Wyatt and I agreed we’d tell Mama we won together tomorrow afternoon once we land, since it’s after midnight in Austin.
Knox is in the bathroom and when the toilet flushes, I shake my head. We’re already an old married couple. Spending almost every waking moment trying to get inside the head of your opponent for four years will do that to a couple, I guess. I probably know Knox better than I know myself although I’m feeling closer to me these days.