Straight on Toward Paradise

by Kristin Wallace

  “Why? Did she cheat on you?”

  Again, a puzzled stare. “No one cheated. We realized we wanted different things in life. I wanted a family, and she was more interested in building a career.”

  “Oh…” Emma nodded. “I’ve known a lot of chefs like that. They’re all about making a name for themselves, and that doesn’t leave time for relationships. Plus, restaurant hours can be insane.”

  Reece continued to stare at her, his probing gaze seeming to reach into her soul. “Who cheated on you, Emma?”

  “What?” Emma stepped back. “Why would you ask that?”

  “I imagined your hang-ups about men had to do with your father, but now I think it’s more than that,” Reece said. “So, why don’t you tell me about your dating life?”

  “I’m not talking about that with you,” Emma said, as she turned away.

  “Come on, turnabout is fair play,” he said, following behind. “I told you about my love life. Now it’s your turn. Have you ever had a long-term relationship? Ever been engaged? Ever been in love?”

  “If you watched your mother fall apart because your father decided she wasn’t enough anymore, would you trust in something as inconsistent as love?” Emma spun to confront him.

  “I’d probably be reluctant,” he said. “So you’re saying you’ve never had a relationship because you can’t trust men?”

  “Nothing significant. First, I was too wary, and then I was too wrapped up in my career. I had to work ten times harder than the male chefs to get ahead. Twenty times harder to get the respect, especially if people assumed I got my position because I’d slept my way into it. So, I learned not to dabble with the kitchen staff or the chefs or the owners or managers.”

  “You could have dated outside a restaurant kitchen,” Reece said.

  “Which usually led to listening to complaints about how I was never home or even accusing me of sleeping with someone at work, multiple someone’s in one case.”

  “That happened I assume?”

  “Two different people,” Emma said. “Those were short-term relationships for a reason, if you can call them relationships.”

  “But there must have been someone who broke through.” Reece moved toward her. “Who drove the nail into the coffin?”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” she said, backing up a step.

  “It does if we ever decide to stop ignoring what’s happening between us,” Reece said, continuing to pursue her until she ran into the edge of the table. “If we ever decide to find out if there’s something more to that heat?”

  “There is no heat,” Emma burst out. “It’s ridiculous.”

  One brow quirked. “Maybe, but honey, it’s still happening.”

  The word ruffled every feather in her being, mostly because she liked it. “Don't call me honey,” she snapped.

  His hand lifted to run along the tie that held her robe together. One tug and the silky concoction would tumble open. Emma held her breath, waiting for him to take the next step… knowing she wouldn’t object.

  Instead, he looked up into her eyes. “Then tell me about him,” he murmured. “The one I need to punish for hurting you badly.”

  “Why do you think he needs to be punished?”

  His expression hardened. “Because I can see it in your eyes, and I don’t like it.”

  “What would you do? Seek him and beat him up?”

  “If you want me to.”

  Emma believed him, and because she did, she took the unprecedented step of opening up. What could it hurt to talk about her one great disastrous love affair? Before she told the tale, she needed alcohol to dull the pain, however. She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle.

  “It was that bad?” Reece asked, dark brow quirking as he eyed the wine in her hand.

  “Worst decision of my life.” Emma poured a glass and stared down into the golden liquid. She took a sip, welcoming the sweet yet bitter taste. Sweet and bitter described her relationship with Joseph.

  “His name was Joseph Fontega, and he was the new wunderkind chef in San Francisco two years ago,” Emma said. “He’d won a prestigious cooking competition and landed the Head Chef position at the restaurant where I was sous chef. He was cocky and intense and probably the best chef I’d ever met.”

  “And you fell for him?”

  “So easily,” Emma said. “I’d always prided myself on keeping my emotions intact. I didn’t fall for every prima donna chef who thought he was God’s gift to food and womankind. But Joseph slipped through before I knew what had happened, and I decided to follow my heart for once. Bad decision number one.”

  “What happened?”

  “His French wife – whom he’d neglected to mention of course – happened,” Emma said, remembering the awful day when the impossibly gorgeous and elegant Cherie had glided into the restaurant and kissed Joseph in front of everyone. Mostly she remembered the gut punch and the sound of the roaring wind that had assaulted her as Joseph cupped Cherie’s perfectly pert butt and pulled her closer.

  Reece drew in a breath and cursed. “Bastard.”

  Trust him to come up with the perfect sentiment so succinctly. His instant defense made telling the rest of the story somewhat bearable.

  “That’s the word I used when I confronted him later,” Emma said. “The real problem wasn’t just his betrayal, though. Something else I didn’t know about Joseph was that Cherie’s father was the silent, co-owner of the restaurant. When she showed up to take her husband back, she did it during the afternoon staff meeting.”

  Reece let out a groan and closed his eyes. “She must have known about her husband’s antics.”

  Emma swirled her glass, watching the wine slosh against the side like a small, golden wave. She’d felt battered and tossed around after that horrible day. “Oh, she knew, and she made sure everyone in the restaurant knew, too. They all got to hear her screeching about how I was a harlot and a home wrecker, trying to steal Joseph away from his loving wife and three children back in France.”

  “Christ Emma…” Reece cursed.

  Emma gripped the glass so hard the stem nearly broke. In frustration, she set the glass down, with enough force that some wine sloshed out onto the counter. Then she rounded on Reece.

  “It wasn’t just my heart that was destroyed,” she said. “I was fired and then blackballed, not only in San Francisco, but along the entire West Coast. I couldn't find another chef position, until I finally answered an ad as Head Chef on a luxury yacht, which would be sailing around the world for two years. That two-year escape plan sounded wonderful.”

  His second curse was dark and dangerous. “I will kill him.”

  She ignored the threat, instead lifting her gaze to him. “He made me a mistress. He turned me into the person I hated most in the world.”

  “Your stepmother.”

  She pointed a finger in the air. “Yes…so you see…I can’t trust my heart, and I can’t trust my body. And I certainly don't trust you. You were my father’s and Mona’s trusted confidant long before I came along, and your loyalty will always lie with them. They will always come first, because you feel you owe them for some reason. And that’s why we will continue to ignore whatever is happening between us.”

  Chapter 18

  As was the case in most of Florida, fall in Shellwater Key was always a crapshoot in terms of the weather. Florida basically laughed at the notion that seasons should change according to the date. If summer refused to let go of its stranglehold, one could leave the house in the morning and wonder who’d installed a sauna outside. There was something especially disheartening about ninety percent humidity when the rest of the country was breaking out the jackets and boots.

  On the other hand, a cold front could be coming through from the north, which this early in the season generally meant days of non-stop rain, followed by not one degree of difference in the temperature.

  Not to mention, hurricane season wasn’t over until the end of November so ther
e was always a chance of a late tropical storm, or Category 4 hurricane, arriving right about the time Halloween candy went on display.

  Then there were the rare times when the stars aligned. The humidity finally dropped to normal levels, the almost daily torrential thunderstorms tapered off, and a cooling breeze kicked in, to go with a sky so blue it almost hurt the eyes.

  That time had somehow arrived overnight, Emma noticed, when she walked out of the house with her mother on the way to work. They both stopped in the driveway and then looked at each other.

  “It’s fall,” her mother said, sniffing the air with a sense of wonder.

  “I hope it’s not just a tease,” Emma said. “It’s been pretty brutal since I’ve been back.”

  Since Emma had lived away for so long, she’d actually forgotten what a Florida summer felt like. She’d forgotten having to peel the shirt away from her body just walking to the car, the sensation of having her makeup melt off her face, and the fact that she needed to keep an umbrella with her at all times because a thunderstorm could brew in a matter of minutes…and often be over just as quickly.

  Mary nodded. “Yes, but this is perfect timing since we have the Harvest Festival tonight. I almost dreaded being outside, but now it’ll be quite comfortable.”

  “Speaking of the Harvest Festival, we need to stop reveling in the weather change and get to The Paradise,” Emma said, already hurrying for the minivan. “We have to produce fifty pies by six o’ clock, and I don’t trust that kitchen for one second. We’ll be lucky if that ancient oven makes it and we don’t have to run back here to finish the job.”

  Her mother jumped in the passenger seat. “I’m sure your equipment will work just fine, perhaps even better than you imagine.”

  “You keep praying that way,” Emma said as she started the car.

  They made the trip to the theatre in a matter of minutes. Since they had to produce so many pies, Emma had recruited her mom, as well as Mrs. Pringle and Layla’s Aunt Grace, to help. She walked through the lobby, hoping the other two ladies were already there.

  They were…along with most of the staff. Layla was there, along with her mother and grandmother, Grayson, Noah Johnson, and the old man Chester. For a moment, Emma wondered if she’d gone through a time warp and ended up back on her first day at work.

  “Hi…” Emma said, looking at everyone curiously. “Why the welcoming committee?”

  Layla came forward, a huge smile on her face. “We have a surprise for you.”

  “What?”

  “Not telling,” her oldest friend said. “Just close your eyes.”

  “Do I have to?” Honestly, Emma hated surprises. They generally did not bode well for her. Her parents’ divorce had been a surprise, after all, as had the revelation of Joseph the Prick’s wife.

  Layla shook a finger. “As your boss, I’m ordering you to do it.”

  “You’re pulling rank?”

  “In this case…yes.”

  Emma sighed and did as she was told, allowing Layla to lead her into the kitchen.

  “Okay…open your eyes,” Layla said when they finally stopped.

  Emma did and gasped when she saw a gleaming new oven standing where the decrepit old pile had once been. Beside it was the stovetop griddle and grill pan.

  Layla chuckled and clapped her hands. “Merry Christmas, a bit early!”

  Pure joy shot through Emma. “My oven…you got my oven…and the stove!”

  “They were delivered late yesterday, and Noah spent most of the night installing them,” Layla said. “Actually, everything from the restaurant in Sarasota arrived yesterday, but we figured the oven was the most important, so that went in first. Noah will install everything else from the truck on Monday.”

  Emma let out a gleeful yell and threw her arms around her friend. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”

  Layla’s laughter rang out through the kitchen. “You approve then?”

  “Oh my gosh…yes! They’re fabulous.” Emma released her friend and tackled Noah, too. “Thank you! You’re like a genie or a wizard or something.”

  “Nothing like that.” Noah’s gentle chuckle sounded in her ear. “But you’re welcome.”

  Emma spun back to look at her two new babies. She raced across the kitchen and swept a hand across the top of the stove. Then she opened the oven door. Oh, there was space for about six pies in there.

  “I’ve died and gone to heaven,” Emma said, clasping her hands in front of her chest.

  Layla shook her head. “Oh, you’re alive and well…and you have a lot of work to do. We need those pies finished by the festival tonight.”

  “They will be now,” Emma promised. “I have three extra pairs of hands, too, so we’ll make it.”

  “I’ll leave you to it then,” Layla said. “The rest of us are heading over to the festival grounds. We have to set up the booth, and Annaliese and Brent have agreed to help organize the entertainment in exchange for singing a number from the show.”

  Layla took her minions and headed out, leaving Emma to gaze at her new kitchen appliances in absolute bliss.

  Mary tapped Emma on the shoulder. “You can admire the shiny objects later,” she said. “We have pies to make.”

  Emma sent her a sheepish grin. “Right…but it aren’t they cool?”

  “Yes very.” Her mother smiled back. “Now, let’s get to work.”

  The morning and afternoon flew by, with the four women working as one well-oiled machine. Her mom and Layla’s aunt mixed and rolled piecrusts while Emma and Mrs. Pringle sliced and prepared apples, blueberries, cherries, pumpkins, and peaches for the fillings. The pies were assembled and baked, and then the finished masterpieces were put in special containers, which were placed in larger boxes for transport to the festival grounds.

  There wasn’t enough time to go home and get ready, so everyone changed in the dressing rooms behind the stage. By the time they loaded all the boxes into Emma’s minivan and made it out to the Harvest Festival grounds, it was five-fifteen.

  Layla was pacing in the grass parking lot, while Noah and Grayson watched her frantic movements with thinly disguised amusement.

  “Finally!” Layla cried as Emma jumped out of the minivan. “I thought you’d never get here.”

  “I told you I would.”

  “There are already people waiting to get in,” Layla said. “It’s like a swarm of invaders. We need to hurry because I’m not sure the gatekeepers will be able to keep them out until six.”

  Emma craned her neck, and sure enough, she spotted what looked like the entire town of Shellwater Key congregated behind some police barricades. It looked like something one might expect to see at a rock concert. “Wow, I forgot the Harvest Festival is such a big deal.”

  “It rivals the Fourth of July parade in attendance,” Layla said. “Maybe more, because some of the Snow Birds have already started to trickle back into town.”

  Right…the annual migration of senior citizens from the Northeast and Midwest, seeking to escape the bitter cold of winter. Shellwater Key’s population almost tripled during the Season, and so did drive times. A trip along The Strip could go from six minutes to thirty on a bad day, and wait times at restaurants went through the roof.

  As the crowd outside looked very impatient, Emma quickly opened the back of her minivan. “We need to get these boxes moved.”

  Grayson and Noah jumped in to help, and they carried everything to a booth that had been constructed to look like a mini stage. There were even velvet curtains framing the entry to the booth, which looked remarkably like the ones at The Paradise. Inside the booth, two long tables had been set up. One had dioramas with pictures of the theatre pinned on them, as well as some shots taken during rehearsals.

  “Wow, you guys have been busy,” Emma said, impressed by the display. Layla obviously intended to go all out to attract patrons.

  Layla ignored the praise and waved at the empty table. “We’ll set you set up over here,” she said. “M
y grandmother and Aunt Grace have agreed to handle the sales.”

  “As long as I don’t have to deal with money.” Emma’s eyes started to cross when she tried to balance her checkbook.

  “Oh, using our relatives is more strategic than that,” a blonde-haired woman said as she walked through the curtains into the booth. “My mother saved the lives of many of those people out there, and Aunt Grace can talk a hapless victim into buying three whole pies if she wants. She looks sweet and innocent, but she’s a pit bull when it comes to bargaining.”

  Emma blinked as she realized the woman was Layla’s mother. Beth McCarthy’s short crop of dark curls had been covered with a shoulder-length, blond wig. She also had full makeup on, which emphasized her green eyes and cheekbones that a super model would kill to have. Beth looked years younger, much like she must have before cancer struck.

  She was gorgeous…and resembled her daughter so much Emma that gasped in surprise.

  Beth chuckled. “I clean up pretty good,” she said, with a dry hint of amusement.

  “You’re beautiful, Beth, but then you were before the transformation,” a man’s voice intoned behind them.

  A tall, older man with a hint of salt in his dark-blond hair had appeared. He grinned and kissed her on the lips. It wasn’t a little peck, either, but one that hinted they might need to get a room in the near future. Beth McCarthy melted into him, with a throaty sigh.

  Layla groaned and slapped a hand over her eyes. “Come on guys, knock it off. Aren’t you over the can’t-keep-your-hands-off-each-other phase yet?”

  “Never,” the man murmured.

  “Gross!” Layla squealed.

  Emma started to laugh, but the sound caught in her throat as she realized something important. “Wait, is that…” she said, as she stared at the man.

  Layla turned her head, and the happy expression on her face belied her objection to the public display of affection. “My dad.”

  The man managed to extricate himself from Beth McCarthy’s arms long enough to greet Emma. “Colin Landry, it’s good to finally meet you, Emma.”