Recipe for Redemption

by Anna J. Stewart

  “Nice to meet you.” She counted five, no, six additional guests coming in the front door. “We have your rooms all ready for you. We’ll take care of registration and keys and you can start enjoying Butterfly Harbor. We have your dinner vouchers for the Butterfly Diner set aside—”

  Roger stopped short. “I’m sorry, our what?”

  Yep, definitely a sneer.

  “I was told our accommodations included breakfast and dinner here at the hotel.” Roger Evans’s face contorted as he yelled, “Emily!”

  The young woman standing almost directly behind him cringed, tucking her thin brown hair behind small ears as she cleared her throat. “Ah, yes, sir.” She tapped open her tablet and said, “I was certain I told you that the Flutterby’s dining room was closed until further notice. Yes, here it is.” She showed him the registration confirmation. “We were notified ahead of time.” She cast Abby an apologetic glance.

  “And I told you if this was the case to make other arrangements. I pay for the convenience of in-house dining. If that’s not possible, perhaps we need to look at alternative accommodations outside Butterfly Harbor.”

  “There’s no need for that,” Abby said as Gran emerged with the sandwich and salad Abby had fixed for her earlier that day. “I’m sure we can come to some agreement—”

  “Our guests have arrived.” Alice’s face lit up as she set her plate down on the counter and approached the group. “Alice Manning. Former manager and grandmother to this charming young lady.” Her right foot shuffled slightly as she moved toward Abby and Mr. Evans.

  “Roger Evans.” The politeness returned, but only barely. “And the rest of my staff from the National Cooking Network. We were informed the kitchen was closed.”

  “Oh, no. Well, yes, I mean it has been.” Alice glanced down at her plate. “Our cook is out of town for a charity event, but Abby’s hired—”

  “Excellent, problem solved. All the better.”

  Abby felt the color drain from her face. “I’m sorry?” she squeaked. “How, exactly?”

  “Your grandmother just said you’ve hired someone to fill in. We don’t expect much, only what your website promised.”

  “But—” Abby couldn’t stop her mouth from dropping open. His reservations hadn’t promised the dining room. If anything, they’d warned...

  “Emily, it appears as if we’ll be checking in after all.” Roger smirked in Abby’s direction as all the color that had flooded her face over the past few minutes drained away. “I look forward to seeing what one of our contestants is capable of in her own kitchen. Miss Manning, is there someone who can take care of our bags?”

  “Yes, of course.” How could so few people have so many bags? She couldn’t recall the last guest who had requested bag delivery, but, as she’d told Lori, whatever they wanted. “Lori, would you mind getting everyone checked in for me? I need to make sure the kitchen is ready for dinner service.”

  “Would you like me to call—” Lori started as she frowned past Roger Evans.

  “No, that’s okay.” Abby’s head went light as she steadied herself. Dinner. For... She counted the number of people again. Oh, who was she kidding? But she’d have to figure something out. If she had to send Holly and Paige an SOS for takeout, so be it. “I’m good.” She slid a sympathetic smile to the relieved-looking Emily. The poor little thing seemed as if she could use a good meal, something she wasn’t likely to get from Abby. “Ah, dinner service is at seven.” She fell into her usual Matilda-inspired spiel. “We’ll open the dining room for wine and appetizers at six thirty. Any questions or concerns, please let us know. Gran?” She watched her grandmother retrieve her lunch and, with a surly expression aimed directly at Roger Evans, Alice sat in one of the chairs by the window overlooking Gramps’s bench.

  “Eloise is picking me up in an hour,” Alice said. “I’ll poke my head in before we leave.”

  “Great.” Anything they wanted, she’d told Lori. Time to do whatever it took, she told herself. Abby checked her watch. Three hours. Should be plenty of time. The question was, to do what?

  CHAPTER TEN

  JASON PULLED HIS rental into one of the few remaining spaces in front of the Flutterby Inn and stared at his past. The oversize white panel van with a satellite welded to its roof was an upgrade from the last one his former producer had used. The custom hubcaps and silver striping along the sides were a dead giveaway Roger Evans had arrived, probably driving in from San Francisco, where NCN had a satellite office. Early. As usual.

  There wasn’t anything Roger Evans liked more than keeping people on edge. Especially in front of the camera. Last-minute script changes, missing implements, even replacing ingredients on a whim or creating conflict between on-screen personalities made for good TV, he’d told Jason and David multiple times.

  David had been able to roll with the punches.

  Jason had just wanted to punch Roger.

  He grabbed the gift bags containing the presents he’d picked up in Monterey that afternoon and imagined the look on Abby’s face when she saw the monogrammed chef’s jacket for her to use during the competition. A graduation present, he told himself. Nothing more. She’d been working hard and deserved it, and, okay, maybe she needed a confidence boost. She might have become more comfortable in the kitchen, but he wasn’t convinced her mind-set was where it needed to be to win. Every little bit would help. But to be safe and to make certain there was no mistake as to his motivation, he’d tempered the gesture with small tokens for both Alice and Lori.

  He thought a day away would help clear his mind. Leaving behind the kitchen, the reminders, all those thoughts Calliope had managed to plant in his head. Whether he needed it or not didn’t seem to matter, not when his mind wouldn’t stop spinning around all the ways he could incorporate those beautiful ingredients into various dishes.

  He imagined a grilled summer vegetable salad topped with balsamic and a sprinkling of goat or feta cheese. A chilled sangria spiked with apples and oranges. Berry-vanilla shortcake and orange liqueur whipped cream.

  He clenched his hands around the steering wheel.

  How many endless hours had he and David spent tweaking and finalizing seasonal menus to make the most of whatever was available to them? It didn’t seem to matter David wasn’t helping him this time. His brain was perfectly content to take over the task all on its own, despite Jason’s determination to resist.

  Before coming to Butterfly Harbor, he hadn’t had any intention of returning to the kitchen. He didn’t want to be reminded of the life he’d walked away from. The life he didn’t see as possible without his brother by his side.

  But now...

  Maybe Abby was right. Maybe something different was possible.

  Abby with her radiant smile and teasing eyes. Abby and her verbal battles interwoven with a language all her own.

  Abby and her desire to do whatever it took to protect her family and her livelihood.

  He’d missed her. Not having her with him today felt strange, as if he’d left something behind. Except all he had to do to find it again was return to the Flutterby.

  Between dodging Gary’s increasingly pleading phone calls, the festival and now Roger Evans’s arrival, how many more hints did Jason need to finally stop running and move forward? He dismissed the inclination to sneak inside and avoid the crew. It wasn’t as if he had anything left to lose by having to deal with them. Besides, avoiding them would only make his connection to Abby and the Flutterby all the more suspicious. Not that he planned to do much socializing outside the inn once the festival started. If anything, he was hoarding a stash of crime novels to dive into so he could avoid it altogether except when it came to Abby’s competition.

  He’d promised to be there for her.

  Time to step out of his comfort zone.

  Familiar faces swam past h
im as he headed inside. Fragments of names of those he knew tried to grab hold as they worshipped the coffee cups in their hands, marveled at the view and coughed the fresh air. All this time, all these months, and they’d stuck it out working for Roger. Brave souls. It wasn’t until he got inside without having been acknowledged that he realized he wasn’t being ignored; they hadn’t recognized him with his short hair and beard.

  Emily—he thought that’s what her name was, a petite dark-haired girl who couldn’t look more stressed—sat chatting with Alice while Abby’s grandmother held her purse in her lap.

  “Hello, Alice.” Jason bent down beside her and touched her arm. “How did your PT appointment go this afternoon?”

  “Oh, Jason.” Alice beamed at him, breaking into a chuckle as she touched his hand. “I’m waiting for Eloise to pick me up. It’s nice of you to ask. It went fine, dear. Although between you and me, I’m not sure I need them.”

  “You let Abby and your doctors decide that, okay?” He offered Emily a smile and when she blinked, he could see her begin to reason things out. “I bought you something.”

  “A present?” Alice gasped as Jason handed her one of the bags. “Oh.” She pulled out the filmy scarf and held it against her wrinkled cheek. “It’s lovely, Jason. And it’s my color.” She tucked it around her neck and shone. “Bob loved for me to wear color.”

  “Your Bob was a smart man.” Jason heard the muted conversations begin to wane. “It’s as perfect for you, as I thought. Have a good time with Eloise, okay?”

  “Jason?” Emily asked in her soft tone. “Jason Corwin?” She shifted forward in her chair and held out her hand. “I’m E—”

  “Emily, yes, I remember. Nice to see you again.” She couldn’t have looked more surprised if he’d jumped out of a birthday cake. “Is Roger still keeping you hopping?”

  “Faster than a jackrabbit.” Emily’s Texas twang came out. “It’s good to see you, too. Ah, are you here for the festival?”

  “I hear it’s sure to be a great event.” He avoided the question.

  “We hope so.” Emily didn’t sound convinced. “You know Roger. He’s all about the drama.”

  “And where he doesn’t find it, he’ll make it up. Speaking of.” He rose to his full height. “I’d best say hello. I’ll talk to you later. Alice, don’t go breaking any hearts tonight in that club of yours.”

  “Go on with you.” Alice laughed, but he enjoyed the tint of pink in her cheeks that reminded him of her granddaughter.

  “Good afternoon, Lori.” Sidling up beside Roger, Jason leaned a casual arm on the registration desk and mentally counted down the seconds until Roger paid attention to the world around him. “Can I get my room key?”

  “Of course, Jason.” Lori looked grateful for the break as Roger scribbled his name on the registration printout. “Did you have a good day?”

  “Quiet,” he replied without going so far as to admit to being lonely. “This is for you. A thank-you for your hospitality the last few days.”

  She grasped the bag in both hands. “That’s so nice of you. Give me just a moment and—”

  “If you don’t mind, she’s helping me—” Roger glanced at him. Jason watched recognition take hold and Roger’s attitude shift. Slightly. “Jason? Well, this is certainly a surprise.”

  “For both of us,” Jason lied. Seeing Roger again in his painfully familiar chinos and polo shirt reminded Jason of how he’d always compared him to a weasel with his beady dark eyes and shifty personality: charisma when it worked to his advantage, temper and bluster when it didn’t. Not the best for forging relationships, but more than adequate for producing ratings.

  Unless one of his star talents got busted for cheating.

  Maybe Jason had found a silver lining after all.

  “Probably more for you. Not sure if you heard, but I was promoted to assistant VP of programming.”

  “I did. Congratulations.” The word scraped like a razor in his throat. “So this festival coverage idea is your baby, then.”

  “We’re hoping to discover some untapped natural talent now that space on the schedule’s opened up.”

  Jason pretended that wasn’t a veiled reference to his current on-hold status.

  “You’re different, Jason,” Roger said, his critical gaze skimming over Jason’s short hair and beard. “For a moment there I swore I saw David—”

  “New start,” Jason interrupted, ignoring the comment he knew was intended to stab. “New look.”

  “Everyone’s been wondering where you’ve been hiding. It was like you dropped off the face of the earth. And now here you are. What a coincidence.”

  It was, but not because of Jason’s machinations. “Not hiding.” Not anymore. “Recharging. This is a good place to do that.” He gestured to Alice, who, along with the rest of Roger’s employees, had given up any pretense of conversation so they could listen. Everyone always loved a show. Too bad Jason wasn’t up to giving them one. “Enjoy your stay.” He pocketed his key and moved away.

  “Mr. Evans, you’re in the Monarch suite, room 207.” Lori slid a key toward Roger. “I’ll bring your bags up as soon as I get the rest of your party checked in.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jason glared at Roger’s back as he headed toward the stairs. He slipped into kitchen commando mode so easily, his heart thudded heavy against his chest. To the remaining group he said, “Anyone who’s incapable of carrying their own bags, please feel free to leave them here so I can deliver them later.”

  Murmured apologies and cringes of regret accompanied the reclaiming of bags.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Lori said. But he could hear the gratitude in her voice.

  “You do more than enough around here,” Jason told her as he realized how often he’d acted like Roger: as if the world owed him something because of what or who he was. He tasted bile in the back of his throat. As if he were better than...everyone.

  “But Abby said to give them whatever they—”

  “I’m sure she did.” Because that’s what Abby did. She kept everyone happy no matter what price she had to pay. At least he wasn’t held to those same restrictions. “I’m overriding her on this one. Speaking of Abby, where—”

  The smoke alarm shrieked from the kitchen.

  It took him a second to process the sound before he dropped his chin to his chest and sighed. “Never mind. I know where to find her.”

  * * *

  “OH, NO. NO, NO, NO.” Abby slammed the smoking oven closed, turned the dial to off and grabbed the broom and hoisted herself onto the work counter amid the jumble of bowls and knives, along with half the items from the refrigerator.

  She used the broom handle to smack the plastic cover. “Come on. Off. Off, you stupid—” The alarm chirped, screamed, chirped again and fell silent with what to her sounded like an exhausted whine.

  In her haste to scramble down, her foot caught a bottle of chardonnay and sent it crashing to the floor. Wine exploded everywhere. Her hands slipped as she tried to grip the edge of the counter and she toppled backward and landed in the midst of wine and shattered glass. “Son of a biscuit—”

  “You’ve made progress.” Jason’s voice boomed from the doorway as he stared up at the detector. “You didn’t kill it completely this time.”

  “You’re back.” Abby sagged, partly out of mortification, partly out of relief. Could the man have a worse sense of timing? “I wasn’t sure when you would be—”

  “Obviously.” He swung the door shut and set a purple gift bag on the counter. “What happened?” He headed over to the stove, opened the door and ducked down. “There’s nothing in here.”

  “I know.” Only she could make an empty stove smoke. “I was preheating it.”

  “To five hundred?”

  “I gue
ss I wasn’t paying attention,” she grumbled.

  “Abby, this stove is ancient. It needs caution and care, remember? You overloaded it taking one of your shortcuts.”

  “I didn’t have time to think about it.” She slapped a hand down on the floor and yelped. Glass shards stuck out of her palm. Tiny beads of blood exploded on her skin. “I have to fix dinner for all those people.”

  “Why?” Jason left the oven door open, probably to finish airing it out. “The dining room’s closed until Matilda—”

  “Because that...that man out there threatened to take his entire crew to another hotel if he didn’t get food service.” She plucked the glass out of her palm and winced. “Ow. Even though his reservation clearly stated the dining room wouldn’t be available during his stay. I can’t afford to lose the business. So.”

  “Typical,” Jason muttered. “Roger managed to find your weak spot and you took another of your flying leaps.”

  Abby flinched. “I’m on a slow learning curve. What’s wrong with me? And what weakness?” Wine seeped through her clothes, straight through to her underwear until she felt as if she’d squish when she moved. She dragged her jean-clad legs in under her and tried to stand, but her feet slipped. “I thought I had all this cooking stuff under control. Then I got in here and panicked.”

  “You had your lessons under control. I don’t recall setting you free to work on your own just yet. Give me your hands.”

  She shook her head. “I can do it.” Except she couldn’t. All she managed to do was completely soak the rest of her jeans and butt. She felt like a struggling beached whale. “Okay, fine.” She held up her hands.

  He moved in and leaned down, locked his hands around her forearms and hauled her up. “Thanks,” she sighed as she flew off the floor before being dumped over his shoulder. “What are you... Jason!”