Two

“Hey, Chef.” Oz strode forward. His voice was cheerful, as if he could put out the other man’s fiery temper with his own positive attitude. “Can I assist?”

The man turned to face them. Up close, his face was loose-jowled and puffy-eyed, with the bone structure of a man who’d formerly been good-looking. It was clear that he wasn’t being treated kindly by the years. He had the red-nosed look of a man who drank too much and there was a mean twist to his lips. He did not look pleased to see Oz.

“Did I ask for your assistance, Ruiz?” The chef’s tone was scathing.

“No, Chef,” Oz answered. He didn’t sound fazed in the least.

The rest of the kitchen staff stood frozen, as if they didn’t move then the chef wouldn’t notice them and yell at them, too.

“Well, he seems like a peach to work with,” Angie whispered to Mel. Except she didn’t whisper.

Oz glanced back and shot her a wide-eyed look, clearly indicating she should hush.

“Sorry.” Angie mouthed her apology. Oz nodded and turned back to the head chef.

He raised his hands in a placating gesture. “We’re all on the same team, Chef.” He glanced at the young woman, who stood with her head bowed and asked, “You all right, Sarah? You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

The young woman blinked back the tears that filled her eyes. She shook her head. Her blond braid swung across her back and she sucked in a breath and said, “I’m fine. I just—”

“Well, I’m glad you’re fine,” Chef interrupted, his tone scathing. He balled his fingers into a fist and slammed it on the steel worktable, causing everyone in the kitchen to start. Very dramatic. “My dinner is ruined and it’ll take my reputation with it. Do you have any idea what an honor it is to work for me, Miles Gallway, in my kitchen?”

Sarah flinched and cowered, but Oz drew himself up taller. Mel knew how he felt about bullies. She wondered if Chef Miles knew. She was betting no. She glanced at Angie, who was not known for letting acts of aggression go unchallenged, and noticed that the mother-to-be had put her hands over her belly, as if she would protect her wee one from the hostility pouring off the indignant chef.

“Chef, come on,” Oz cajoled. “Accidents happen all the time. Kitchens are crazy, you know that. We have time to make it right and dinner will be fine.”

The executive chef, or chef de cuisine, glared at Oz. He was not going to be talked out of his anger.

“You work for me, Ruiz,” Chef said. “You exist in this kitchen at my pleasure and there are a million pâtissiers who would jump at the chance to take your job, and don’t you forget it.”

“Yes, Chef,” Oz said. His mouth was a thin line and Mel suspected he was forcibly holding in his temper. The two men stared at each other for a long moment.

“Don’t you have some buttercream to mix?” Chef Miles snapped. He managed to slight the position of pastry chef, and Mel felt her own temper heat.

“Nah, my kitchen is perfectly in order,” Oz said. He made a careless shrug as if he hadn’t just delivered a barely veiled insult.

Mel was in awe. Her mild-mannered former sous chef was not the least bit intimidated by the head chef. Had she been in Oz’s shoes at his age, she would have hidden in the walk-in freezer until she either froze to death or the chef calmed down. The hierarchy in the kitchen was sacrosanct. One simply did not butt heads with the chef de cuisine even when he was wrong. It was always “Yes, Chef” or “Oui, Chef.” Period.

“If this imbecile hadn’t dropped tonight’s tomato sauce then my kitchen would be just fine,” Miles snapped. “But no, I’ve been saddled with a saucier who is too stupid to live.”

A single tear slipped down the young woman’s cheek.

“That’s enough, Chef!” Oz snapped. He looked like he wanted to punch Miles in the mouth and Mel wouldn’t have blamed him a bit. “Sarah, go grab two of the busboys to help clean up the mess.”

The young woman nodded and dashed away, clearly relieved to be out of the room.

“How dare you undermine me in my own kitchen,” Miles hissed. If Oz didn’t tower over him by at least eight inches, Mel was certain he’d take a swing at him. “You think you’re such hot stuff, Ruiz, then take over tonight’s dinner.”

He yanked off his coat, which was almost comical when he didn’t pause to unfasten it and tried to tug it over his head. He staggered around a bit and then ripped the coat free and tossed it on top of the crushed tomatoes that had been spilled on the floor.

Mel, Angie, and Oz watched as he tipped his chin up and stormed from the kitchen. Oz glanced at Mel and rolled his eyes.

“Any chance you two are free to help me prep dinner?” he asked.

“My savory skills are a bit rusty, but I’m in,” Mel said. “Angie, are you up for it?”

“Of course,” she said. She glanced between them. “It’ll be fun.”

---

It was not fun. It was chaotic and messy and Mel wondered if she and Angie were more of a help or a hindrance in the prepping of the resort’s dinner. The restaurant wouldn’t open for a few hours but there was much work to be done beforehand.

The resort kitchen operated in the brigade style, meaning the chefs were assigned stations and specific tasks, such as Sarah the saucier, who was in charge of sauces, hot appetizers, and finishing touches on the meat. The concept had been popularized by the famed French chef Auguste Escoffier.

Angie and Mel stepped in to help by preparing stations. Angie fetched and carried from the larder as directed, while Mel stocked stations with olive oil, bottles of water, and clean kitchen cloths. She had a flashback to her cooking school days and remembered why she’d been drawn to the sweet side. Aside from her love of baked goods, she hated the stress of the timing required for meals. Plating everything, presenting it all, getting multiple meals to customers on time and hot. It completely stressed her out.

Oz hunkered down at the saucier station with Sarah. Together they re-created the ruined sauce, and even from where Mel was standing on the other side of the kitchen, it smelled divine. Oz had savory skills—who knew?

Utilizing her former teaching skills, Angie started to banter with the chefs. In no time, she had the mood of the kitchen elevated. Mel had never appreciated Angie’s people skills more. She had a magical way of rallying the troops when it was needed.

Oz worked the kitchen like a champ. He had everyone moving with the rhythm of those accustomed to working as a unit in a high-pressure situation. He consulted with the butcher and the larder chef, and they both nodded as he directed them around the evening’s menu, which he already knew even though he was in charge of the bread and desserts. Mel was sweating, literally, over the rub she was applying to a rack of ribs, when another chef entered the kitchen.

She was very tall, slender but curvy, had enormous blue eyes, and dark brown hair in a bun at the nape of her neck. She surveyed the kitchen and a frown line appeared between her eyes. She zeroed in on Mel.

“Who are you? Where is Miles?” she demanded.

Mel glanced at Oz. He was inspecting the prep work being done on the fish station and didn’t notice her.

“Excuse me, I asked where is Chef Miles?” The female chef’s voice went up to shrill and Mel winced.

Oz glanced over at the woman and said, “He stepped out for a sec, Ashley.”

Ashley crossed her arms over her chest and stared Oz down. “And you just thought you’d step in and take over?”

“Not exactly,” Oz said. He seemed completely unperturbed by the woman’s ire. “There was a spill, so when Miles . . . had to get some air, I thought I’d make sure dinner stayed on schedule.”

He gave her a pointed look and Mel suspected that Ashley was Miles’s sous chef and should have been here to step into the breach, but she hadn’t been.

So much drama in the kitchen. Mel wondered how Oz could stand it.

Mel noticed that none of the other chefs looked particularly happy to see Ashley. Kitchens were pretty high-stress environments. It really mattered who was in charge and so far it looked as if this kitchen had two of the most miserable chefs Mel had ever seen running things.

“I’m here now,” Ashley said. “You can go back to your pastries and cupcakes.”

Oz glanced around the kitchen. He made eye contact with the staff as if to be certain they were okay with his leaving. His gaze lingered on Sarah. She gave him a tremulous nod and Oz turned back to Ashley.

“All right, here’s the rundown,” he said. He proceeded to tell her the progress of the dinner prep, at which Ashley looked completely uninterested, even going so far as to inspect her manicure. Mel frowned. Ashley’s highly polished red talons were not those of a real chef. Kitchen work was hard on the hands and didn’t allow for that sort of thing. She wondered if Ashley had ever had an acrylic tip break off in someone’s food. Oh, horror.

Mel handed the bowl of rub over to the chef closest to her. She and Angie tossed their borrowed aprons into the laundry bin and headed for the door. Before they reached it, Miles slammed back through the doors with so much force Angie jumped and let out a curse word.

Mel steadied her on her feet and they both watched as the chef de cuisine glanced around the kitchen with a sour look on his face. He strode forward and demanded, “What is going on in my kitchen?”

At this, Ashley snapped to attention and repeated everything Oz had just told her, but rather than give Oz any credit, she spun it so it sounded as if she’d been there running the show. Oz rolled his eyes as he walked towards Angie and Mel.

“And you, Ruiz!” Miles yelled after him. “Stay in your own kitchen!”

“With pleasure,” Oz said. He strode past Mel and Angie, pushed open the door, which he held for them, and led the way to the pâtissier’s kitchen, which was its own contained room at the end of the narrow hallway.

“Is it normal for resorts to have separate kitchens for savory and sweet?” Angie asked.

Oz shrugged. “We do so many weddings and special events here that there needed to be a separate kitchen for baking. Can you imagine trying to bake a cake in that chaos? We also have a separate kitchen for banquets as well. The banquet chef is super chill, which is amazing because we do get some high-maintenance brides coming through.”

Mel shuddered. She couldn’t imagine trying to bake cupcakes in the insanity of Chef Miles’s kitchen. “The drama.”

“Exactly,” Oz said. He pushed through another set of double doors and the scent of all good things engulfed Mel like a hug. Chocolate, cinnamon, lemon, vanilla, butter, all the smells that comforted her and made life worth living, as far as she was concerned, filled the air.

Standing by a large steel worktable was a tall man with broad shoulders, wavy dark brown hair, and a smile that still made Mel weak in the knees. Joe. The man who in a matter of weeks was going to be her husband.

“Hey, cupcake, where’ve you been?” he asked. He stepped forward to kiss Mel, before turning to hug his sister, Angie. He maneuvered around her big belly and grinned when she wobbled on her feet. He steadied her, helping her onto a nearby stool. Then he turned and shook Oz’s hand.

“Hey, Joe.”

“Good to see you, Oz.”

“Chef, I’ve started working on the lemon curd.” A young man in a black chef beret and white coat approached, juggling an armful of ingredients.

Oz stepped forward to help him out and consulted with him by the stove, where the curd was cooking. Mel watched as he moved over to speak to the other two chefs in the large, well-lit space. One was kneading dough for the evening’s dinner rolls while another dipped fat red strawberries into a pot of liquid chocolate. Yum.

It hit Mel again how much of a grown-up Oz had become. Running a kitchen, ordering people around in that upbeat, confident way he had. She felt a burst of pride rocket through her as she remembered the awkward teen who had arrived at the bakery’s front door a few years before.

No, she didn’t take credit for how well he had turned out. Okay, maybe just a little. But she had to admit that his decision to leave the bakery and go out on his own had been a good one. He was clearly ready to be his own man—in fact, he was thriving. When he rejoined them he met Mel’s stare.

“What?” he asked.

“What what?” Mel countered.

“You’re staring at me with that proud mom look you get,” he said.

“Am I?” she asked. She grinned. “‘Don’t ever let anybody tell you they’re better than you.’”

“Mrs. Gump,” Angie said, identifying the character who said the movie quote.

“Forrest Gump,” Oz clarified.

“Just so,” Angie said. They exchanged a knuckle bump.

“All right, let’s get down to business,” Oz said. “I’m going to get the samples I made for your wedding reception. I went for romantic but with plenty of subtle flare. I’ll be right back.”

Mel and Joe exchanged a look. “I’m the romance,” he said. “You’re the flare.”

Mel laughed. “I’m quite certain I’m the romance, given that I’m the one in the poofy dress and all.”

“What about me and baby?” Angie asked. “I’m quite certain we’re the flare.” She gestured around her large belly and Mel nodded.

“I’m going to have to give you that one.”

Oz returned bearing a fully loaded tray. Mel gasped at the sight of the cupcakes. They were decorated with incredibly elaborate flowers, all done in shades of pale pink and sunset orange, and at the end of the tray sat a bride cupcake in a lacy paper cutout wrapper, sporting a veil on the elaborate swirl of vanilla frosting, and beside it was a cupcake in a tuxedo paper liner with a tiny top hat perched on top of its chocolate frosting.

“Bride and groom cupcakes,” Mel sighed. She clasped her hands over her heart. “They’re perfect.”

“I know you have that glass cake topper from Rene,” Oz said. “And I plan to make a small cake in the same sunset colors as the cupcakes that you can take home and save for your first anniversary, or some random night at midnight when the mood strikes, but the bride and groom cupcakes can be eaten at the reception while Rene’s piece will stay on display for the whole event.”

“Genius,” Angie chimed in.

“Agreed,” Joe said.

Mel nodded. She had wanted her friend Rene’s glass sculpture to be featured. “That’s perfect. Thanks, Oz.”

He grinned. “All right, now let’s discuss flavors. We’ve got a lot happening here.”

Joe rubbed his hands together. His sweet tooth was legendary. “Hit me.”

“All right, this one is the classic flavor of chocolate cake with vanilla icing but with a twist.” Oz picked up one of the cupcakes that had very pretty sweet pea blossoms piped on top of it. He plated it and then handed it to Mel and Joe with two forks.

“Ahem,” Angie said. Oz grinned and gave her a cupcake all to herself. “You get your own, because you’re eating for two.”

“See?” Angie asked Mel with a grin, then she laughed.

Angie beamed and helped herself to a forkful. Mel studied the cupcake in front of her. Given that Joe, local district attorney, was marrying her, a cupcake baker, she felt that the cupcakes had to have a wow factor of epic proportions. Their guests were mostly family and friends, but she still felt appearances mattered, and there was no one she trusted more than Oz.

Her fork slid through the delicate petals of pale pink icing and into the decadently moist cake. She tried to have a fifty-fifty ratio of cake to frosting on her fork. She glanced at Joe and noted that he had done the same, instead of stuffing the entire cupcake into his mouth, which she had seen him do before on occasions of high stress. She didn’t judge. She’d had a few days in her life where if she could have mainlined frosting, she would have.

“Count of three,” Joe said. She nodded. “One, two, three.”

Mel bit down on her fork. The first taste was one of the pleasantly comforting commingling of cake and frosting. Yum. Was there any greater source of food in the world? No, there was not. Then a sneaky explosion of flavor crept up on her and she straightened up and glanced at Oz. A small smile played on his lips. She chewed slowly, processing the flavor of melted chocolate within the chocolate cake. She gasped.

“I know, right?” Oz asked.

“Ermagawd.” Joe swallowed and went in for another forkful. “It’s like you made a chocolate lava cake in the cupcake.”

Oz rocked back on his heels, clearly pleased. “Just wait until you get to the daisy-shaped one.”

“What’d you do to the daisy?” Mel asked. Oz plated one for her and pushed it in front of her. The palest pink icing had streaks of a deeper rose color, but the flower’s shape was that of a daisy with a burst of colorful sprinkles filling the center of the flower. Mel used the side of her fork to slice through the vanilla cupcake, cutting out a wedge as if it were a mini cake and she was serving tiny pieces. She stabbed the slice with her fork and when she lifted the morsel, the center of the cupcake spilled out in a river of sprinkles.

“Ha!” Joe laughed. “The kids at the reception will love that.”

“That was the plan,” Oz said. “I figured the kids would lock on the cupcakes with the sprinkle centers.”

“Oz, that’s genius,” Mel said. She turned to look at Angie. “Why did we let him go?”

“Shortsighted,” she said through a mouthful. “Clearly, we should have kept him locked up in the pantry for our own good.”

“What’s this? Is someone trying to steal my pastry chef?” A man entered the kitchen. He had a deep tan and was wearing golf attire, a bright green polo shirt over equally bright green and blue plaid shorts. He had on a visor and a right-handed glove. He’d obviously just gotten off the course.

“Afternoon, Mr. Perry,” Oz said. He turned to them and said in a low voice, “That’s Mr. Perry, he owns the Sun Dial Resort.” As the man joined them, Oz said, “This is Joe DeLaura and Melanie Cooper. Their wedding reception is going to be here in a couple of weeks. And this is Angie Harper.”

“Matron of honor, at your service.” Angie nodded at the man, while Mel felt herself get a little dizzy at Oz’s announcement. Sure, she knew their wedding was just a few weeks away, but hearing someone else say it made it so much more real. It was hard to believe. After all this time, she and Joe were finally getting married. It felt like a small miracle.

“Joe DeLaura, as in Assistant District Attorney Joe DeLaura?” Mr. Perry asked.

“That’s right,” Joe said. He wiped his fingers on a napkin and shook the man’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Perry. You have a beautiful resort.”

“Thank you. Call me Clay,” he said. He turned to Mel and shook her hand as well. He extended his hand to Angie but turned it into a wave as she had moved on with trying the flavors and was now double-fisting with a cupcake in each hand.

“This one is loaded with caramel,” she said. “Soooo good.”

Clay laughed. He turned to Oz and said, “Hiring you was one of my best decisions to date.”

“Was it, was it really?” a voice asked from behind them. “Do you have any idea of what he’s done?”

They all glanced at the door to see Miles Gallway standing there. He had his arms crossed over his chest, a dripping ladle in his hand, and his chef’s toque perched low on his brow. He used the ladle to point at Oz. “He ruined tonight’s main course!”