CHELSEA WAITED UNTIL she knew David had left for work before venturing out of bed.
The rat bastard.
She’d felt so good. So good. Against her better instincts she’d let herself go, let him seduce her.
Frustration at her own stupidity rose like a scream. She’d known since she was fourteen years old that David Wolfe was bad news for her. At fourteen there’d been some excuse for her naiveté. At nearly thirty? No excuse.
And now what was she supposed to do?
She showered and dressed and quickly considered and discarded such ideas as packing up and moving out before he got home from work. She’d made a bargain, devil’s bargain though it had turned out to be, and she wasn’t the kind of woman to renege. Besides, part of the deal was this amazing kitchen and she had no interest in giving it up, not before she had another lined up. Not before she’d proven herself.
Speaking of which, she had a wedding to cater, and moaning and bitching wasn’t going to get it catered.
And on top of today’s work, she needed to make dinner.
She stopped, realizing that she did not have to make dinner. That the cozy evenings she’d been creating were part of her problem.
The truth struck her with the cruelty of a whiplash.
She’d been playing house.
She’d fashioned her own personal dream house complete with picture-perfect food, clothes she loved to wear and the final prop to any girl’s dream home—an idealized male she could bend and pose around the house. Maybe there’d been some exclusively adult activity that wouldn’t have been part of her child’s playworld, but other than that, she’d been indulging fantasy.
And it had to stop. She needed to get real.
David had managed to survive for thirty-two years without her to fuss over him and cook for him. He could do it again.
Having that decision out of the way, she started working. She had a meeting with the wedding planner this afternoon and needed to get going. Beating the eggs into the flour-and-water paste for the choux pastry was remarkably satisfying. It was physically strenuous, since she preferred beating by hand with a wooden spoon to whizzing the confection in a machine. She liked to “feel” the dough so she knew by instinct when it was ready. After piping tiny puffs onto a cookie sheet and placing them in the oven, she filled tart shells with a selection of exotic mushrooms and goat cheese, then grilled prawns to go with her signature dip and prepared asparagus foam to squirt on top of the vol-au-vents. She added a couple of seviche in miniature martini glasses. It wasn’t the complete line of appetizers she planned to serve at the wedding, but she thought she’d included a good selection.
She’d already pulled together lists of wedding menus she’d created for different budgets, times of the day and themes. She placed the sheaf of pages into one of the folders she’d had printed, complete with her new logo. She had to admit David was responsible for spurring her on to get her marketing materials together before she had much of a track record.
However, she had a great product she believed in. That had to count for something.
So, she readied a pretty tray of goodies, dressed in one of her favorite outfits, a simple black dress with a short red-and-black jacket, stepped into black heels and grabbed her folder. She supposed she ought to have a briefcase, but she didn’t.
As she was leaving, a flash caught her eye. Her engagement ring. She’d fallen into the habit of wearing it. One more prop in her adolescent dream life. She slipped it off and placed it in the dish David used for his keys by the front door.
Even though she already had the job catering for the Sloane/Franco wedding, she wanted the wedding planner, popular in the area, to like her and hopefully hire her again.
So it was with some trepidation that she entered the renovated brick warehouse where If You Can Dream It was located. She walked in and immediately felt bridal. The reception area featured a photo gallery of happy couples at their weddings. Everything from Chinese dragon-inspired ceremonies to eco-conscious weddings were represented.
A young blonde woman was seated at the reception desk. “May I help you?” she asked in a British accent.
“Yes. I have an appointment with Karen.”
“I’ll let her know you’re here. Would you like to set down your tray?”
“Thanks,” she said gratefully, placing the tray carefully down on a handy tabletop displaying bridal magazines. She’d had no idea there were so many magazines devoted to weddings.
In a very short amount of time a short, curvy woman in a floral-print dress came out of a back office with her hand held out and a professional smile painted on her lips like lipstick. “You must be Chelsea. Thanks for coming in. I always like to meet the caterers to make sure we’re on the same page. You do understand.”
“Of course.”
“We’ll talk in my office. I’ve got the Sloane/Franco binder in there.”
Chelsea picked up her tray and followed. Since Karen was leading the way, she didn’t see the tray until Chelsea had placed it in the middle of her desk.
To Chelsea’s horror, a cry of distress slipped out of the woman’s mouth when she eyed the tray, and she threw her hands up.
“No.” She shook her head and took a step back. “No, no, no.”
Chelsea had no idea what to do. She’d worked so hard and she thought she’d done such a good job. “You haven’t even tasted anything.”
Stricken blue eyes met hers. “I can’t. I’m on a strict diet. Twelve hundred calories a day. It’s killing me.”
But she gazed at that tray like a gambling addict at a slot machine.
“And I’m so hungry, I’m hungry all the time. I’m thirty-five years old, wouldn’t you think by now I’d have learned willpower?” She took a step forward and then sharply back. “Oh, get those things out of here.”
A diet. Of course. Her confidence rushed back. “I can, of course, but that seviche is only thirty calories. I wish you’d try it. It’s only fish marinated in lime juice and spices, no fat at all, and it’s high in protein and potassium.”
Karen’s bright blue eyes grew round. “Seriously? Something that looks that delicious is only thirty calories?”
“Yes. In fact, if you can afford two hundred calories, I can also suggest these four canapés.”
Karen almost snatched the seviche from the tray and, using the tiny cocktail fork, tasted the delicate concoction. “Mmm,” she moaned. “Delicious.”
Licking her lips, she motioned Chelsea to a seat.
“Really? I can eat four of them for only two hundred calories?”
Chelsea smiled, holding up her right hand. “I swear.”
It was a pleasure watching a stranger devour her food with such obvious enjoyment. The woman didn’t simply chow down, though, Chelsea could tell that she was tasting the food with a critical palate, closing her eyes as she ate each selection, then nodding approval.
When she’d finished the canapés, she pushed a button on her phone. “Dee, honey, come in here.”
When Dee appeared Karen motioned to the tray. “Take these away and eat them before I succumb. Then report back on what you thought of them.”
“Certainly.” The young woman carried off the tray and Karen watched the way a dog watches a steak being eaten by its master.
“Pastry,” she whispered. “I love pastry, and cheese. And ice cream. And chocolate.” Then she shook her head. “I hate diets, but no one wants to hire a fat wedding planner.” She sighed. “Now that you’ve proven you can cook, let’s see your menu for the wedding.”
Chelsea withdrew the menu sheet from her folder and placed it on Karen’s desk. “The appetizers on that tray will be part of the predinner selection, and then for dinner, here’s the menu. Wherever possible, I’ve sourced local produce.”
The wedding planner scrutinized the menu. “Vegetarian options?”
She nodded. “And kosher. I can also work around pretty much any food allergy.”
“This looks great. I approve.” She started to rise, clearly getting ready to move on to the next thing on her agenda.
Chelsea knew she had to start selling herself if she was to make a success of her business, so she said, “I’ve also brought you some other sample menus and services I’ll be offering, in case we get a chance to work together again.”
She offered the folder and Karen opened it, scanned several of the menus and then, pushing the open folder away from her, stared at Chelsea for an uncomfortable moment. “Why haven’t I heard of you?” she finally asked.
“I’ve been in Paris, training at Le Cordon Bleu. I only returned six weeks ago.”
The woman tapped her manicured nails against the table top. “So you haven’t catered any weddings here in Philadelphia?”
“No.”
“What are you doing for a kitchen?”
“I’m working from home right now. The kitchen’s been inspected and approved, of course, but I’m looking for a commercial space.”
The woman nodded again. “I might be able to help you there.”
“Really?”
“Tell you what. Let’s see how you do with this wedding. Then we’ll meet and maybe we can help each other out.” She shuffled the menus back into the folder. “In the meantime? I don’t want you talking to any other wedding planners.”
She was about to agree. She had no time to meet with anyone anyway, but maybe she’d been listening to David too much. She copied Karen’s professional smile. “I have a business to run.”
The woman nodded, seeming not at all put out by her blunt speaking. “Okay. Cards on the table. Here’s what I’m thinking. If I like your work at this wedding, and I don’t only mean turning out more of that heavenly, delicious food like you brought in today, but also being able to run a kitchen and an event without losing your cool, and if the client is happy, then I’d be interested in using you as my exclusive caterer. It would mean you couldn’t cater for any other wedding planners.” She leaned forward and said, “And I’ve got more business than anybody in town. You want to take the deal. Ask around.”
Chelsea was so excited she wanted to jump up and kiss Karen right on her calorie-hungry mouth. But she held on to her cool composure with both hands. “I could probably live with that. What about the commercial kitchen you mentioned?”
“There’s a café near here that went bankrupt a couple of months ago. It’s got a fantastic kitchen. I have a cake-maker who does the most amazing wedding cakes. I suggested it to her, but she can’t afford the space on her own. I was thinking maybe if you two could work around each other that you might be able to share the space.”
Her heart began to thump. She’d have the same problem until her business got off the ground, but if she could split the rent, it could work.
“You say it’s got a storefront?”
“Yes. The location’s not great, which is why it went bust and why the rent’s reasonable, but you might want to open to the public. Sell ready-made dinners and nibbles for people planning their own parties. Could be a nice side business.”
“Yes,” she said, bubbles of excitement rising behind her sternum. “Yes, it could.”
Karen opened a drawer and withdrew a notepad, then she hit a few buttons on her computer. She scribbled a few lines and passed Chelsea the paper. “That’s the address and the name of the Realtor who’s handling the property. Why don’t you check it out? I have good instincts about people. I think you and I are going to get on fine.”
“Me, too.”
“Great. You’ll get to meet Laurel on Saturday. She’s the cake-maker. See if you two like each other. Who knows? Maybe we’ll all end up working together.”
Chelsea left the meeting filled with excitement. As she walked by the front desk, her empty tray awaited her, not as much as a stray crumb left.
The receptionist was on the phone, but when Chelsea walked by she gave a thumbs-up sign and mouthed, “Fantastic.”
She knew she was a good cook, but it was nice to have strangers taking such obvious pleasure in her food.
She had to admit, David had been right. If she hadn’t come ready with her list of menus and what looked like an operating business, Karen might never have taken her seriously. The thought of catering all the weddings for If You Can Dream It was amazing. The weddings would cover a huge proportion of her business.
She was certain of one thing: if she could pull off the catering event on Saturday, she was on her way.
And that much closer to being free of David.
David. She didn’t even want to think about him. And she wasn’t rushing home to make him dinner.
There were a lot of old friends she hadn’t had a chance to see since she returned home. Having spent a few minutes this morning on Facebook and the phone, she’d arranged to see a few of her old girlfriends tonight for dinner.
Staying away from David had nothing to do with her sudden urge to organize a girls’ night out.
Nothing at all.