As she paced in front of her last class, Athena was surprised at the pang she felt. Many of these people had come to every single class. She’d seen them learn and grow and embrace the joy of food, and that was a bigger high than she’d expected. It had been a long time since cooking had been entirely about the food. But while the whole thing had gone better than she’d anticipated, her relief that it was almost over outweighed the pang.
“Over the past few weeks, we’ve talked about how all cooking is really, at the root, about the interplay between fat, salt, heat, and acid. We’ve discussed how to choose the freshest produce, the best cuts of meat. You’ve practiced your knife skills. You’ve addressed the challenges of substitutions when you’ve got limited availability of ingredients. In each class, you’ve expanded your palate and focused on the food—no distractions—learning to appreciate the taste and quality of your component ingredients and how they interact to create a sum that’s greater than their parts. As a chef, that’s my favorite part of cooking.” It had been good to be reminded that there was joy in addition to the control she craved.
There were a couple of new faces today, and she tried to incorporate them into the group that had already established its bonds. Smiling at the slim man with the finely-trimmed goatee who’d come up from Nashville for the class, she continued, “Now, I’m classically trained. I could teach you about master sauces or other fancy pants chef stuff. But the fact is, I’m not just a chef. I’m a Tennessee girl. A farmer’s daughter. I believe good food should be accessible.” This whole farm-to-table series had been a great reminder of that. “I want to send you home today armed with recipes that you’re comfortable recreating in your own kitchens. Recipes that you can head on down to Garden of Eden or out to Maxwell Organics to pick up and fix for supper without a whole lot of fanfare and fuss. I’m talking readily available, local ingredients that we’re going to elevate to perfection.”
“Bring it.” Denver rolled his shoulders, flexing his big, tattooed arms as if ready to enter the boxing ring. “What are we making?”
“Oh, you’re gonna like this,” Athena promised. “As the centerpiece to the meal, we’re making everybody’s date night favorite: steak. I’ll be teaching you about a variety of lagniappes—those little something extras that make a steak not to be missed. Alongside it we’ll have potatoes boulangère and green bean bundles with a brown sugar balsamic reduction. For dessert, my take on a rustic, stone fruit tart. Let’s get started.”
“Was this the kind of thing you served at Olympus?”
The question caught Athena off-guard. Her heart skipped a beat, then leapt into a nervous tattoo. When had she stopped expecting questions about Olympus? Blinking at the guy from Nashville, she tried to formulate a proper response. What was his name again? Nelson something? “No. Olympus was far more focused on haute cuisine that was a blend of French, Greek, and Southern inspirations.”
“So why not teach that?”
“Eden’s Ridge isn’t Chicago. We don’t have access to the same wealth of ingredients here. And even if we did, that style of cooking falls well outside the scope of what can be covered in a class like this. The intent of these classes is to pass on practical skills that can be used to elevate food that you’ll actually cook. Nobody goes home after a long day at work and makes escargots à la bordelaise. Not even me.” Athena forced a smile and hoped it didn’t look like a grimace.
She waited a moment to see if he’d pursue the line of questioning, but he merely nodded as if he were giving permission for her to carry on. The gesture rubbed her the wrong way and left her paranoid all through the lesson on making fresh pastry for the tart. He was polite, attentive, and followed instructions to the letter. Everything about him suggested he was a good student. But something about him kept her hackles raised.
The potatoes boulangère lesson went off without a hitch. The only questions were related to the dish itself. By the time the green bean bundles were wrapped and ready to go into the oven with the potatoes, Athena had almost convinced herself she was imagining the judgy stare from Nelson.
“Be sure to leave your bacon grease in the pan. It’s going to become part of your balsamic glaze. Does everyone have your brown sugar measured out?”
“Was this the kind of stuff you cooked growing up?” Nelson asked.
Athena couldn’t find anything actually wrong with the question but, again, there was something in his tone that didn’t hit her right. “Some of it. I liked to experiment with the basic ingredients we had. Most of it we grew ourselves, so I was blessed with the experience of picking the components for dinner straight from the garden or gathering eggs fresh from the nest. As an adult, my palate has expanded considerably, but I still take great pleasure in simple ingredients.” She intended her answer as a defense but realized it was true. Her return to Eden’s Ridge had been very much about getting back to the basics. Filing that away as something to think about later, she went back to walking the class through the reduction.
There were a few mishaps during the rest of the lesson. Essie lost track of the sautéed mushrooms while talking with Cayla about a wedding she was planning. Abbey nicked a finger removing the pits from the plums they were using in the tarts. And Ford McIntosh, owner of Temptation Vineyards, was highly skeptical of cooking a steak any other way but on a proper grill. Athena was grateful for the bumps, as they kept her occupied and away from Nelson. She didn’t like the guy. Didn’t like the sense that he’d done a thorough Google search on her before joining the class. She’d resisted the urge to do that since she left Olympus, but his curiosity made her itch to check, to see what was out there and whether the furor had faded.
She wished Logan were here to talk her down. Hell, even his silent presence made her feel more steady and stable. He was so…unflappable. But he was tied up at the farm, helping Sebastian with repairs to the stable. She’d be headed out there as soon as class was over.
“Who’s ready for dessert?” Crystal announced.
A resounding cheer went up in the dining room. Plates were cleared and her students paraded into the diner kitchen to carefully retrieve their respective tarts from the oven. Everybody set theirs on a trivet at the edge of their station and waited for Athena to inspect them.
“This is just like The Great British Bake Off,” Ari giggled.
Relaxing, Athena quirked her mouth. “Should I do my best impression of Paul Hollywood, while you inspect for soggy bottoms?”
“I’d pay money to see that,” Abbey said.
“We did pay money,” Misty pointed out. “Do it!”
Laughing, they did a taste test of the tarts, declaring Essie’s the hands down winner, with Denver and Misty’s coming in a close second. Nelson seemed offended by the results, but by that point, Athena didn’t much care. Class was essentially over and he’d be taking his sour ass back to Nashville, never to be heard from again. Hopefully.
As the leftovers were divvied up and packaged, Misty asked, “When is the next series and what’s it going to be on?”
“Oh, uh...” Athena scrambled to think. Objectively, she had to consider the cooking school experiment a success. Her students had learned stuff. They wanted more. She’d made a little money that helped make up for the loss of normal income. And though it was an apples and oranges comparison, cooking in a group like this, being at the center of the camaraderie that had developed gave her the same spark of pleasure she’d felt cooking with her staff at Olympus. Good food prepared and appreciated by good people.
But she hadn’t given any thought to more. She wasn’t cut out to teach like this. Not all the time. There was way too much peopling, way too many details involved, way too much having to watch what she said and curb her perfectionist streak to accommodate their mostly novice skillsets. Doing that with Ari was one thing. Doing it on a scale this big? Hell no. But maybe once in a while she could tolerate it again. For special occasions.
“I’ll have to give that some thought, but if you’re definitely interested, please contact Celeste Keeling at the chamber of commerce to let her know. She’ll send out an email or something whenever something else is planned.”
“Great!”
“Can’t wait!”
“This was awesome!”
“Everybody huddle up for a group selfie!” This came from Essie. Ari did the honors for that.
Somewhere in the middle, Nelson left without a goodbye. Good riddance.
Everybody gave a big round of applause and thanks to Crystal for donating her diner for the classes. Another to Ari for being sous chef extraordinaire. And finally a resounding one for Athena that left her feeling almost warm and fuzzy. Not that she’d admit it or risk losing her tough-as-nails reputation.
Logan had been right. He deserved a big reward for having this idea. For caring enough to believe that she could do this, to see that it was something that would be good for her, something she needed, even though she never would have thought of it herself. And then he’d gone and practically made it happen. All she’d had to do was get over herself and let it. Wasn’t that how their entire relationship had gone? Him knowing her, seeing her, giving her just what she needed?
Damn, all this time at home was turning her into a sap. That was probably because of all the time she’d been spending with Ari.
Sure, it’s all Ari.
The girl in question crossed her arms with a smirk. “You look like you’re thinking about asparagus again.”
Athena gave her a playful shove against the shoulder. “Go load the dishwasher, squirt.”
Logan had heard rumors about the level of competition at a Reynolds family game night, but he’d never been a part of it before. Friendly insults and teasing were lobbed fast and furious across the big, farmhouse table. Kennedy and Xander sat across from him, Ari presided at the head of the table, and Athena leaned against him, currently trailing a finger up his thigh.
Logan laid a hand over hers, trapping it from going any further and draining sufficient blood from his head to handicap him. “What Texas blues-rock band, known for their beards and fur-lined guitars, made the 2004 list of Hall of Famers?”
As he finished the question, he shot a warning glance at his woman. She only smirked in response and tipped her head against his shoulder. She wasn’t treating him as a fling or a secret. They hadn’t talked about making any kind of formal announcement that they were together. But that easy affection, the open claiming of him in front of her family, gave Logan hope that this was truly the beginning of something lasting.
“Who is ZZ Top?” Kennedy announced.
“This is Trivial Pursuit, not Jeopardy. Answers should not come in the form of a question,” Athena protested.
“I got it right, didn’t I?” Kennedy looked to her husband for confirmation.
Xander nodded. “You did.”
“Fine. Fine.” Athena grabbed up the die and rolled, moving her token two spaces over to land on yellow. “Lay it on me.”
Kennedy drew a card. “Which mathematical symbol, whose value is 3.14159, is celebrated with sweet desserts every March 14th.”
“Duh. Pi Day.”
“You are correct. That was totally a gimme question.”
“You’re the one who read it.” Athena added a yellow wedge to her token. “Okay Pipsqueak, you’re up.”
Ari thumbed at her phone. “Mom and Dad say they may be late.”
“Good for them. They deserve a proper date night. Once the baby comes, that’ll be a lot harder,” Kennedy said.
“You wanna bet they’ve gone and found somewhere to neck?” Athena asked.
“If Mom can pull that off seven months pregnant, I say more power to her.”
Xander choked on his beer. “I did not need that mental image.”
Ari rolled her eyes as she moved to a blue space. “You’re such a guy, Xander. Okay, lay it on me.”
As Athena pulled a question card, Ari’s phone dinged again. She picked it up.
“Which state, famous for its gooey mud pies, is the birthplace of author John Grisham and media personality Oprah Winfrey?”
Ari frowned, clicking and swiping at the screen.
“C’mon now. No cheating by googling!”
An instant before Athena snatched the phone from her niece’s hand, Logan caught the flash of distress. As Athena looked down at the screen, her own teasing smile faded, her cheeks turning ashen.
“What is this?” The eyes she lifted to Ari’s were hard.
“I…it’s a Google alert.” Ari’s chin wobbled.
“Why?” Athena’s voice was soft, but there was the ring of steel beneath it.
Everything about the girl shrank as she closed in on herself. “I’ve been monitoring what people are saying about you.”
Logan gripped Athena’s thigh in warning as he felt her tense and coil with rage. Across the table, Kennedy scooted over and wrapped an arm around Ari’s shoulders.
Athena swiped open the article. “That slimy bastard.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Kennedy asked.
Athena didn’t answer immediately. Her face went grimmer and grimmer as she read, lines carving deep around her mouth. “I knew there was something off with him, with his questions.”
Logan squeezed her leg again, reminding her they were there. “What is going on?”
She sucked in a breath and read, “‘Athena’s Fall From Olympus: The Unmaking of a Culinary Goddess.’ His name was Nigel, not Nelson. Nigel Hitchens. He’s a food critic from Chicago, and he went undercover in my cooking class because he wondered what I’d been up to since I disappeared from the foodie scene in Chicago—oh because it’s rumored I knew Michelin was yanking the star from Olympus and manufactured that whole outburst with Jayson to give everyone something else to talk about. He has opinions about what I taught, none of them flattering. And now, having seen the small town I come from, he understands that I could never have withstood the rigors of big city life and hopes I’ll be very happy back in my greasy spoon, serving others who share my limited palate.”
Logan’s own temper, usually mild, ignited. How could this son of a bitch say any of those things? She was brilliant in the kitchen. And so the hell what if she was cooking something other than the over-priced, under-portioned pretentious stuff that most everyday people hadn’t ever even heard of? That didn’t make her food any less amazing, didn’t make her any less. The desire to do something hit him like a freight train and the knowledge that there was nothing to do left him feeling impotent and frustrated. He understood better now some of what lay beneath Athena’s anger issues.
Xander broke the ensuing silence. “What an asshole.”
Athena inhaled another ragged breath, then another. Her hands curled to fists on the table, the skin on her knuckles going white. Her shoulders shook. Logan wanted to wrap an arm around her, to draw her in, but he suspected that would make her explode. Or break.
“I’m sorry.” Ari’s voice was small, miserable.
“None of this is your fault, honey,” Kennedy assured her.
That needed to come from Athena to matter. But she was too far gone, spiraling through the rage and pain that had been banked these past weeks. The sight of it, the knowledge of it, cut Logan deep. He hated to see her hurting, hated that he could do nothing to make it better. But he could do damage control and keep the impending explosion from hurting anyone else.
“We’re going for a walk,” Logan announced.
Athena lifted her head, eyes sharp as a blade. “What?”
“You need a minute. We’re going for a walk.” Maybe he could talk her down, use his clinical skills to de-escalate the situation. Except, no, he couldn’t sound like that’s what he was doing. She’d balk at that. He’d figure it out on the way. “C’mon.”
Without a word, she slid off the bench and stalked toward the back door.
Logan cast one last glance at everybody. “We’ll be back. It’ll be okay.” Then he followed.
By tacit agreement, they took the trail down toward Opal Springs. Neither of them would be swimming tonight, but it was far enough away for privacy. He didn’t touch her on the walk, wasn’t sure how she’d take it. And he was busy trying to figure out how he was going to handle this without coming across like the therapist he still was.
At the water’s edge, she whirled on him. “That petty, pissant, jackass insulted me, insulted Crystal, insulted everybody in this town. And he has the fucking nerve to discuss my life?”
Conscious that voicing his own fury over the situation would only fuel hers, he kept his tone calm. “Do you want to scream? Here’s as good a place as any.”
She let out a growl and began to pace. “This is a disaster.”
He had to cut off that line of thinking before she spiraled out of control. She needed a reality check. “It’s not. It sucks and it’s hurtful, but in the end, he doesn’t matter.”
She hissed out a breath. “How can you say that?”
“He’s one man.”
“That article is going to be read by my peers. By everybody in the foodie world in Chicago. It’ll go beyond that because it’s going to stir up the circus again and that’s only just started to die down.”
And damn the man for setting her back when she’d only just really begun to get past the whole thing. “He’s not going to ruin you. That’s not in his power.”
“He can turn public opinion. And that influences my prospects.”
Her prospects? The only prospects any of this would influence were those that weren’t here. Was she honestly still thinking of leaving? After everything between them?
No. He shut the thought down with brutal swiftness. This was just her knee-jerk response. She hadn’t really thought it through. And yet that her instinctive reaction involved her leaving had him wondering if they weren’t as stable as he’d thought. Putting a lid on his own panic, he strove to remind her that she was past all this.
“In the world you left. The world you admittedly despise. Why would you want to go back to that? Why would you give a shit about what people like him think? They don’t understand you.”
“Because I want redemption, damn it. I want a chance to prove myself again.” Her voice cracked, her shoulders slumped. This time it was the tears underneath the rage that spilled out, and Logan wanted to beat the critic all over again.
He drew her in, holding tight as she let go of the control she held so dear, dropped the mask, and let him see the pain.
Of course she wanted redemption. He could understand her need for that. Why it was still important to her. Maybe he should’ve seen this coming. No matter that part of her had wanted out to begin with, she’d been forced out of that world by someone else. Another person taking her control.
When she’d cried herself out and quieted, he pressed a kiss to her hair. “You will prove yourself. Your way. But not in Chicago. Because you’ve found things here that are more valuable than whatever you left behind.”
She sniffed. “I don’t want it to be about the money. But Logan, that’s a financial reality for me. I have to find something that can support me, support my dad. The clock’s ticking on that. And the more shit like this happens, the less likely I am to be able to do that.”
The weight of that responsibility had to be staggering, yet her determination to do right by her father never wavered. Her steadfastness just made him love her more, but he hated the stress it added to an already difficult situation.
He brushed at her tears with his thumb. “You have no idea how much it kills me not to have all the answers. To not even have any more good suggestions. I want to be able to fix this for you, and I can’t. But I have faith that if you just hang on, just wait things out, the right thing is going to work itself out.”
“Faith has never been my strong suit.”
“Then I’ve got enough for us both.”
When she sighed, all the fight seemed to drain out of her. “That’ll have to be enough for now.” Brushing a kiss against his cheek, she stepped away, already pulling herself back together. “We should get back. I need to apologize to Ari.”
Taking her hand, Logan let her lead him back up the trail to the house.
He felt hollowed out from the whole exchange and a helluva lot less confident of where they stood than he had a half hour ago. He wanted to wrap her up and take her home so he could comfort them both, make love to her until she remembered all the reasons why staying was the only acceptable option. But, like everything else, it looked like that would have to wait.