The alarm clock buzzed at four thirty but Mark was already awake. He set his coffee on the counter and wound through the house, Scout’s paws treading softly behind him. It was the normal routine, no different than any other day, but he couldn’t shake the restless feeling that had kept him from sleep.
He sighed, looking around the empty bedroom. It was a man’s room with sparse bedding and furniture, just like this entire house was a man’s house, empty and functional, probably in need of a woman’s touch. Oh, he knew he liked to joke with Luke, comment on the various shaped soaps, throw pillows, or printed hand towels that filled his cousin’s place, first from his wife, and now, after her passing, from Grace, but a part of it gnawed at him. Living alone was getting old.
He looked down at Scout, managing a grin. At least he had him.
Showering and dressing quickly, he took Scout on a brief walk through the trail in the woods that bordered the back of his lot and then drove into town, drumming his fingers against the leather steering wheel to the beat of the music. He kept the windows down, inhaling the cool morning breeze, but still, coffee was in order. It had been a long night, filled with thoughts he didn’t want to acknowledge, with feelings that had no place coming to the surface, and the day was just beginning. He’d tried to forget Anna. At times he’d even thought he’d succeeded. Yet all it took was the sight of her standing at the edge of his porch, petting his dog, giving him that watchful stare, and he knew he was kidding himself.
She’d been special, and that’s why he’d run, farther and faster than he had with all the others. That day all those years ago on the beach when he kissed her, he’d wanted to think that he could do this. That for once, he could commit to someone, trust in them to do the same. They’d been inseparable those two years in culinary school, and they’d grown up together, too. But the closer they got, the more a part of him was already pulling away—from her, and from every plan they were setting in motion.
They had a vision: a big, gleaming restaurant with local ingredients, innovative recipes, and just the right combination of style and comfort. He often wondered if it would have been a success, or if he would have met the same fate as his father… bankrupt and dejected, with nothing else to do but run from the mess he’d created. He’d avoided that path. Rejected the mere possibility. Rejected the person who could make it all come true.
She’d wanted too much. A restaurant. A relationship. He’d wanted both, too. But he couldn’t risk one over the other. In the end he would have hurt her more, just like good ol’ Dad had all those years ago. Tavern on Main was his baby, and when that was gone, well… so was he.
Now, however, just the thought of flipping a pancake or scrambling an egg made him feel tired. He had to get out of here, move on to something better. So what was stopping him now? Money. But after that? His mom was better. Luke was out of his rut. He could focus on business without having to worry about it consuming him, or letting someone down. No one needed him. He was free. Just how he liked it, right?
This time, he’d take the risk. And hope to hell he didn’t make the wrong decision.
The problem was that a little part of him was beginning to think he already had.
Hastings was dark when he arrived, and Mark felt a twinge of sadness that another morning would pass without Anna’s arrival. How she managed to prepare all that food in her home kitchen escaped him, but the mere thought of it made him angry—at himself, at her. She was stubborn, and she didn’t back down. The part of him that wasn’t driven crazy by this was left admiring her for it. Even more than he already did.
He shouldn’t have gotten so defensive last week when she found those notes. He should have just let her stay, enjoyed the fact that they were speaking again, rather than pushing her away.
But then, wasn’t that what he did best?
He worked in silence for more than an hour, greeted the staff as they trailed in, and then turned the sign on the door. The coffee was percolating behind the counter, and he was just pouring himself an extra mug, trying to drum up some energy for the weekend rush, when the bell jingled, announcing the first customer.
He smiled in surprise at the sight of his aunt Rosemary.
“Good day to you,” she said, taking a seat at the counter and flipping over a mug that had been resting on its saucer.
Mark took his cue and reached for the coffeepot. “Don’t usually see you in here this early.” More like ever at all, he corrected himself.
“A dancer’s figure is hard to maintain at my age,” she explained, and then helped herself to a liberal dose of sugar. She blew on the coffee and took a sip. “I was up early, and so I thought I’d stop in.”
Mark nodded, knowing better than to pry. Rosemary was here for a reason. In time she’d let it be known. He handed her a menu. “Hungry?”
“Oh… I’ll have some wheat toast. No butter. And a side of strawberries, but only if they’re fresh.” She hesitated as her eyes slid to the menu on the wall. “You know, on second thought, make that a number six.”
Mark grinned. “Two eggs with bacon, biscuits, and a side of hash coming up. Did you still want the strawberries?”
Her blue eyes were wide in alarm. “Well, you don’t need to shout it! Yes, I’ll still have the berries. But only if—”
“Only if they’re fresh. I know, I know.” Mark clipped a ticket to the top of the service window. All that training, all those dreams, and he was running a place where people questioned the produce.
Rosemary waited until her meal was served before broaching the real reason she had stopped in. She finished telling him about his cousin Molly’s graduate school roommate and her hopes that Kara had finally figured out what she wanted to do in life, and then fell into silence, preparing herself for whatever was coming next. Mark leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest as he settled in for her explanation. His mouth twitched in amusement as he watched her bristle, clearly having an inner struggle, and then push her plate away.
“This was absolutely delicious,” she announced. “So good, in fact, that I think you could, and maybe should, be doing more with your talents.”
Mark didn’t bother pointing out that he hadn’t cooked the meal. “Oh? And what would that be?”
His pulse kicked as he thought of Anna, the notes she had found. Had she mentioned something to Rosemary in passing? He stopped himself—Luke. Even though he considered Luke to be nearly as much a brother as Brett, Rosemary could easily draw information out of him when she set her mind to it. He shouldn’t have said anything the other morning. Next thing he knew, his mother would be knocking on his door, asking if he had anything he wanted to share. It was just the problem with this town—everyone knew everything about you. Well, almost everything, he thought, his mind trailing to Anna. There were still a few secrets.
“Well, the Sugar Maple Culinary Competition, of course!”
Mark frowned. “Excuse me?”
Rosemary could barely conceal her excitement. “It’s a new contest for professional chefs. First prize wins a hundred thousand dollars.”
Mark leaned in. “That’s a lot of money.” Enough to break ground on a permanent place. Enough to get on with life once and for all.
“Indeed. You prepare three courses, each with the Sugar Maple brand’s maple syrup. The winning recipes will be featured on the back of the product and the winning team will be spotlighted by the Vermont tourist bureau.”
“A team.” He speared her with a look. “And let me guess, you thought I should team up with Anna.”
“Well, it seemed the obvious choice,” she said airily. “Although, I suppose there’s that guy over at Piccolino’s or perhaps one of the chefs here…”
Mark wasn’t buying it. Piccolino’s was stale and unimaginative. It still hit a nerve that it had survived for twenty-three years while Tavern on Main had tanked. “You know that Frank over at Piccolino’s is a giant ass. His food isn’t even good; it’s just the best in town for white tablecloth service. And Vince here isn’t a certified chef; he’s a line cook. So that leaves Anna.”
Rosemary jutted her chin. “What’s wrong with that?”
Nothing and everything all at once. “I don’t think she’ll go for it,” he settled on.
Rosemary considered his response as she fished for her wallet, but Mark held up a hand. She demurred and patted her mouth one last time before setting down her napkin and hopping off the stool. “I must run. Rehearsals for the spring recital start today.”
“Break a leg,” Mark said, and Rosemary whipped around.
“Break a leg is for actors, not dancers.” She looked around, fist ready to knock on wood, but the entire joint consisted of metal, Formica, and vinyl.
Mark gritted his teeth, thinking of the restaurant he’d envisioned. Polished wood tables, lit by a single pillar candle. Wide plank bamboo floors in a warm stain. Beamed ceilings against ivory walls, and heavy velvet drapes in burnt orange. He could picture the gleaming bar with top-shelf liquor, the wine cellar just to the side, and a cluster of club chairs around a crackling fireplace. The kitchen would be sleek, with a manager at each station, buzzing and electric, just like his dad’s had once been.
He stopped himself right there.
Fifty thousand dollars would go far to support his plan. It would be enough to get it off the ground. To get him out of this town. To give him another chance at reclaiming the dream he’d somehow let slip away. Or thrown away, if he was being honest with himself.
“Hey, Aunt Rosemary,” he called just before she slipped out the door.
She turned, a knowing smile playing at her lips. “Yes?”
“When’s the contest?”
“Two weeks from Saturday,” she said. “And you have to register by this coming Saturday.”
He pulled in a breath. Just shy of three weeks, then. It would be a struggle, but it wouldn’t be impossible. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” she said, hurrying out the door.
Mark mulled the idea as he stepped back into the kitchen, daring to briefly skim his notes and plans before stuffing the papers into a drawer in his office, where no one would find them. He was still thinking about Rosemary’s suggestion when he cut out of the diner just after noon, having somehow survived the Sunday brunch crowd without a broken plate, screaming baby, or tripping waitress.
Winning that contest wouldn’t just set him up for the new restaurant; teaming up with Anna would force her to spend time with him, interact with him, hell, even speak with him. It might be just the chance he needed to make things right between them. But would she go along with it? Even now, when she was struggling, she was still resisting his help. She was stubborn, but she’d have to be a fool to turn down an opportunity like this.
Mark paused at the corner of Second Avenue and looked across to the charred storefront of the Fireside Café. If he tried hard enough he could almost see the old sign—Tavern on Main—and the red awning above the door. The owner just before Anna had removed it. Mark must have been eleven at the time, maybe twelve, and when he rode his bike through town and saw that it was missing, it was like a punch straight to the gut, a bitter, unbearable reminder that it wasn’t his father’s restaurant anymore, and that it never would be again, that his father really wasn’t coming home. Bill Hastings had left that place just like he’d left his wife and two sons. Without a look back. Not once in all these years.
He hated that the realization still hurt. Now, twenty years later.
Fireside had been an appropriate choice of name, Mark thought grimly, letting his gaze skim the now boarded-up windows and door. He wasn’t sure what had possessed Anna to take over the space to begin with, knowing the connection it had to his family. Even though he was grateful for the rent money his mom collected, a part of him wanted the place to stay empty. It was his dad’s place, no one else’s. If he couldn’t make it work, why should anyone else think they could?
The police tape was gone, but a makeshift fence had been erected to keep people away from the structure. His mother had told him they’d start rebuilding soon, beginning with the kitchen, and he supposed Anna might have survived this setback if she didn’t have the bookstore to think about. Even without a kitchen at the Annex, the loan on that expansion must have been hefty. Half of the prize money would certainly go a long way for her, too.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned toward the town square. The Briar Creek farmers market kicked off its season today, and already crowds had gathered on the green. Mark wandered over to an artisan cheese stand and sampled sharp, salty cheddar from a local dairy farm and creamy herbed goat cheese. He wove his way through the various stands, stopping to load his bag with fresh produce, then spotted Anna across the green.
Her back was to him, but he’d recognize that long, honey blond hair anywhere. And that rear. Telling himself it was just attraction, nothing more, he lingered on her curves a while longer, enjoying the way her jeans defined every contour of her hips and thighs. She was laughing as she carefully placed a bundle of greens into her straw bag, and Mark grinned. It was good to see her like that. Carefree. Happy. It was the way he liked to remember her.
Mark watched as she roamed to the next stand, the crowds making it hard for him to keep her in his line of vision. He pulled in a sigh and narrowed his gaze. He had a decision to make, and time wasn’t on his side. The contest was just over two weeks away, and there was only one match for him when it came to heating up that kitchen. It might take some convincing, but he would bet that Anna had just as much motivation to enter and win as he did. They needed each other, whether she liked it or not. Time to remind her of that.
He gripped his bags and put one foot in front of the other, taking long strides until he caught up with her. “Hello there.”
He grinned as she turned to face him, ignoring the fact that the pleasant smile that curved her mouth fell when she locked his gaze. She hesitated, finally breaking his stare, and glanced to the left, as if for escape.
“I see old Mr. Beckett talked you into the ever delicious asparagus,” he said affably.
She managed something of a grin, and then quickly checked herself. “I thought I’d make an asparagus tart with Gruyère.”
Mark liked hearing her talk like this. Back in culinary school, it was one of their favorite pastimes; he could sit and listen to her brainstorm ideas for new recipes, watching her eyes come alive while she spoke, and he’d chase her into a test kitchen, or the cramped little space in the back of her student apartment, and they’d cook, for hours, talking about food, about life, sometimes not talking at all…
“How about you?” she asked, tipping her head into his bag to discover a bundle of asparagus. “Ah, and here I thought you had gotten away clean. I’ll buy it off you if you want.”
It was the first gesture she’d made to him in years, aside from returning Scout, of course, but that was sort of obligatory. They locked eyes for a beat, and he finally said, “No, that’s okay. I have some plans of my own.”
“Oh?”
His gut stirred at the way her lips pursed to form that single syllable. “Yeah, I thought I’d roast it, maybe toss in a few capers and a soy balsamic reduction.” Not that he’d offer that up as a special at the diner—he could just hear Arnie Schultz grumbling now. Lately, he saved his real time in the kitchen for personal use, like some secret guilty pleasure.
“Interesting.” Anna turned to inspect a bucket of eggs. She plucked one from the top and considered it before setting it back. “Although I shouldn’t be surprised. You were always coming up with great menu ideas for—” She stopped herself and looked away.
They’d never settled on a name for their place, and in a way, he was glad they hadn’t. The plan had never been finalized. It didn’t have a true identity.
In theory, that should make it easier to forget.
He tried not to think about all it entailed, all the hours of planning that had gone into their big, shared plans. From the success she’d had with Fireside Café, he hadn’t considered that she ever thought about their other ideas. Now, seeing the downward curve of her mouth, he started wondering if he had been wrong about that, too.
Mark swallowed hard. “My mom tells me they’re finishing the demolition today,” he said, eager to change the subject.
“Hopefully the rebuilding will start soon after. I’d love to be back in business before the height of summer,” Anna added. He followed her to the next stand, where she selected two pints of wild strawberries.
“Things going well with the bookstore?” he asked casually. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, falling into step beside her, daring to glance at her sidelong.
His heart zinged at her simple beauty. Her creamy complexion was free of makeup, and her cheeks and lips were stained with a natural blush. Her turquoise eyes were rimmed with black lashes that fluttered when she blinked or dropped her gaze, just as she did now. He’d hit a nerve.
Just as quickly, she jutted her chin. That proud, stoic profile he’d come to recognize—and resent—replacing the softer side, the Anna he’d once known. The Anna he’d loved.
He gritted his teeth. Better not to think about that anymore. He’d made his decisions. Made them for the best.
More and more, though, he struggled to convince himself of that.
“Oh, fine, just fine. It’s really working out just as we’d hoped,” she said, referring of course to Grace, whose idea it had been all along to expand the original bookstore in an effort to revive it and generate more business. So far it did seem to be working, but Mark questioned how much could be earned off pastries, coffees, and the occasional gourmet sandwich. Fireside was one thing—that place was booming. A new place, however… Those start-up costs couldn’t be cheap.
The loss of their father hadn’t been easy for any of the Madison girls, and their mother, Kathleen, had only just started to pick herself up again with the help of Grace’s return. The bookstore renovation kept the sisters bonded and their father’s memory alive. He’d stopped in a few times, despite Anna’s chilly greeting, and he’d seen the work they’d put into the place. It was impressive—cozy and inviting and still true to the original. It would be a shame to let it go now.
“Well,” Mark said, stopping at the base of the white gazebo where several people had stopped to gather on its steps for an impromptu lunch of fresh bread, cheese, and fruit. “I was hoping to find Frank. Have you seen him around here?”
Anna’s brow furrowed with suspicion. “Frank Piccolino?” When he nodded, her tone turned wary. “Why?”
He gave a small shrug, not bothering to mask his grin. He was enjoying this far too much to try to deny it, and she was responding to him just as he had hoped. He knew women—how to read them, how to woo them—and of all the girls who had flitted in and out of his life, Anna was the one he knew best. A few doubts, a hint of a possible missed opportunity, and a few little reminders about her current financial state should be just the trick. “Oh, I just wanted to talk to him about a business venture.”
Her brow pinched tighter. “I thought you didn’t like Frank.”
“People can change.” His pulse kicked up a notch as their eyes met and a flicker of awareness passed through her blue irises. He wasn’t talking about Frank, and she knew it.
She blinked, breaking the spell. “I tend to think most people are who they are. At the end of the day, you just fall back on old behaviors.”
He locked her eyes. “I’d like to think it’s never too late.”
Her lips pinched tight for one telling second and she pulled in a breath, huffing, “Well, I haven’t seen Frank. Perhaps you should try him at the restaurant in a few hours.”
He had no intention of doing any such thing, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Nah, I’ll just give him a call. What I have to discuss can’t exactly wait.”
She tried to look casual as they wandered to the next stand, but she chewed on her bottom lip—something she only did when she was working through something. “You thinking of joining forces with the competition?” Her low laugh sounded forced.
“Something like that.” He moved his eyes over her inquisitive face. Here it went. “I was actually looking for a teammate for the Sugar Maple Culinary Competition.”
She groaned. “Not you, too.” She shook her head, her pretty lips pursing. “Rosemary mentioned it to me the other day.”
Mark stopped walking. So she already knew about it then. Just what was his aunt up to?
He shrugged it off. He’d deal with that later. “It sounds like fun, doesn’t it? And the prize…” He let out a long whistle.
Anna stalked to the next stand, and he quickened his pace to keep up with her. “The prize money is definitely appealing, but I don’t plan on entering.”
Somehow he found this hard to believe. “I would think you’d be eager to compete, especially now with everything that’s happened.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “The timing is bad. I can’t possibly focus on something like a contest when I have a hundred other things to deal with right now.” Her tone was brusque, but she couldn’t meet his eye.
“Here I thought you’d be stiff competition. Maybe I stand a fighting chance after all. People sure do like Frank’s cooking…”
“Well, good luck with that. I worked for Frank Piccolino the summer after my freshman year if you recall, and he’s a control freak and an egomaniac. Besides, you can cook circles around him.”
True, all true, which was why Mark would never even consider teaming up with the man. The few times he’d deigned to eat at Piccolino’s out of social obligation, he’d seen Frank, red-faced and ill-tempered, shouting out commands as his staff scurried around him, heads bent.
Time to soften the approach. “Well, I don’t really see any other options if I want to enter.”
Her hand hesitated above a bunch of kale. Recovering quickly, she ran her tongue over her bottom lip and said firmly, “Nope, it’s probably your only option.”
“Although I suppose he could already be entered with his sous chef,” Mark mused, watching Anna carefully as he casually shelled out cash for a brick of aged Gruyère.
“Perhaps,” Anna said airily. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, revealing the perfect slope of her neck. “You won’t know until you ask.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” He took a step backward, immensely enjoying the bewildered expression that fell over her pretty face. “I should probably get going. Lots to do today. People to see…”
Her lips parted for one telling second before pinching tight again. “Good luck,” she said.
“Thanks.” Mark grinned. Something told him he wasn’t going to need it.
By this time tomorrow, he’d have a partner for the contest. But it sure as hell wouldn’t be Frank Piccolino.