Anna fastened the last button on her jacket and stared in the mirror. She hadn’t worn chef’s whites since she’d graduated from culinary school, but it was more than the uniform that made her feel like she’d stepped back in time.
Mark and Cassie, chatting and laughing, while she stood on the sidelines. Wasn’t that a page straight out of her memory book? It hadn’t even occurred to her that the other woman would be here, but now she was surprised she hadn’t seen more of her classmates around the hotel.
They’d probably moved away, out of state. Something she probably should have done, too. Instead she’d come full circle. Pinning all her hopes on the man who had the ability to crush them.
Anna smoothed her ponytail and squared her shoulders. Time to get back on track. The competition was about to start, and here she was, getting all misty-eyed over a man who had already broken her heart once. She’d be damned if she let him do it again.
Glancing down at her crisp white jacket, Anna’s mouth drooped into a frown. At the café, she wore regular clothes, aprons in cheerful colors or patterns. The last time she’d worn this, her father had been at her side, his arm tight around her shoulder, smiling for the camera on her graduation day. That picture in her kitchen at home was all she had left of that moment. Photographs were all she had left of her father. That and the bookstore.
I’m going to make you proud today, Dad.
She looked up to the sky, at the towering mountain above her, trying to imagine him up there somewhere, looking down on her, protecting her somehow. She clung to that thought as she turned away, feeling the first heat of the morning sun on her back, daring to believe it was her father’s guiding hand, until she reached the double set of doors to the grand ballroom and stepped inside.
Mark was already at their station when she entered the ballroom reserved for the contest a few minutes later. Anna gave him a small smile and scanned the ingredients they’d ordered, making sure nothing was missing. All she had to do was focus. Keep it professional, not personal. Follow her own rules.
Judges paraded down the aisle, stopping at the platform at the end of the room where they took turns introducing themselves and welcoming the contestants. Fifty teams had entered, but only one would win. As if they needed to be reminded.
The timer was set for two hours. Anna pressed her minute-by-minute list flat on the table and waited for the clock to start. They’d prepared for this. They’d trained for this. This was it.
The first hour passed in a blur, but at the midway point, the room picked up. Sharp orders could be heard from neighboring stations; tension was high. The temperature in the room rose as ovens and burners were pushed to their full capacity, and smells wafted through the room, blending together, until it was hard to discern what stemmed from one station to the next.
Anna finished peeling the second butternut squash and glanced at the oversized digital timer that hung at the back of the room just above the judging tables, watching as it ticked off another second. “We’re on track,” she said to Mark.
“Good.” He didn’t look up as he diced purple beets into even cubes. “How’s the dessert coming along?”
Anna bent down and peered through the oven window. The tarts’ crusts were turning golden, and the sweet smell of apples could almost be detected. “Another five minutes and we should be ready to take it out,” she informed him.
Mark nodded as he slid the beets off the cutting board and onto a metal baking sheet. He seasoned them with a drizzle of olive oil, salt, and pepper. “These are set to go.”
Anna crossed the item off her list. Halfway there. She grabbed a knife and cut the squash in half, then quickly scooped out the seeds with a spoon.
“Here.” Mark nudged her with his hip, sending a flare of heat over her skin. “Let me. You deal with the dessert.”
Her eyes flashed on his. “That’s not how we rehearsed it.”
“Well, we’re down to an hour,”
“I don’t care,” Anna said. “We agreed on a plan of action. Now’s not the time to go off course.” She began dicing the squash into orange cubes, careful to match the size with those of Mark’s beets. The entire salad was dependent on making every mouthful a perfect mix of flavors and textures, without one overriding any others.
“I’m not trying to—”
“Mark.” Her voice was firm, and she realized she was holding the knife at an alarming angle. Releasing a long, slow breath, she lowered it to the work station and began hastily transferring the butternut squash to Mark’s baking dish. “Darn. We should have seasoned them together.”
Mark cursed under his breath and grabbed some beets from the vegetable bowl. “I’ll start over.”
“There’s no time now,” Anna pressed, reaching for the olive oil. “We’ll just have to make do.” Anna balled two fists at her side, willing herself to stay quiet, to not light into him now. This wasn’t the time or the place for any distractions, and she knew that the emotions building inside her had a heck of a lot more to do with the business card he’d accepted from Cassie than the fact that he had gone ahead and salted the beets.
“Let’s just… stay focused,” she ordered, hoping she was capable of following her own direction.
She bent down and pulled the tarts from the oven. The first, for the presentation score, had turned out better than she could have hoped, and she nearly wept with relief as she gingerly set it on the rack to cool. The second, which would be sliced for the tasting, went beside it, and Anna resisted the urge to take a bite. She had to learn to trust herself—something she used to be good at until Mark stumbled back into her life. She’d made this dish at least a dozen times over the past few weeks. She had perfected the recipe. She knew what it tasted like.
Besides, it was too late now.
Mark popped the baking dish into the oven and set the time for the vegetables to roast. Anna scratched the item from her list. Her chest was beating steadily, at an accelerated speed like a drum in a marching band, but she couldn’t stop now. They had a flow going, they were doing what they needed to do, and she had to admit it was all coming together easily.
But then, that was just the thing with she and Mark. They just fell into sync, into their old patterns, didn’t they?
“Last chance to change your mind on the glaze.” Mark cocked an eyebrow and held up the pink slab of salmon.
She gave him a hard stare. “We agreed on the maple and mustard.”
“Just checking.” Mark slipped her an easy grin and reached for the container of Sugar Maple syrup.
“I thought we agreed the soy was too much of a risk. Mustard went better with the salad.”
Mark just shrugged. “Your call.”
Anna felt her temper flare. “Please don’t do this, Mark. We agreed on our plan. Don’t yank it out from under us at the final hour.” She blinked quickly. “You never change,” she muttered under her breath.
“Hey,” he said sharply. “Are we talking about the salmon or are we talking about something bigger?”
Her blood stirred. “You tell me. I’m the one staying the course. I’m the one who stuck to the plan. You’re the one who just comes and goes as he pleases, changes his mind every five seconds, never sticking to one damn thing.” Or one damn person.
He waited a beat. “I’m here, Anna. And I intend to see this out to the end.”
Her breath had turned heavy, and she blinked, gritting her teeth against his words. “Good.” She held the mustard container out to him. “Then let’s finish what we came to do.” She turned away, leaving him to the glaze, and began rinsing the baby spinach for the salad while the water for the gnocchi began to boil.
They fell back into their pattern, working quickly and confidently, each taking turns to move this way and that—stir a sauce, check the oven, adjust a temperature, as if in a well-choreographed ballet—and then the buzzer went off. Just like that, it was over.
Anna stepped back from the station, roaming her eyes over the three presentation plates and the tasting portions set just behind each course.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Mark standing less than a foot away, so tall and strong, so sure of himself in that white jacket and apron, and she felt a flicker of pride for all he had done. All they had done.
Perhaps feeling her gaze, he slid his eyes to hers, and her breath caught at the intensity in his eyes. “Couldn’t have done it without you. We sure do make a great team.”
All it took was one look, one murmur of kindness, and she was right back there again—wishing, hoping, for so much more than he could ever give her. More than they could have.
She gave a small smile. “We always did.”
He nodded, and swallowed hard. “Anna…”
She stiffened, feeling him come near, and searched his face in alarm. He reached over and set his hand on the small of her back. The small gesture sent a ripple of pleasure up her spine, and her breath caught as her eyes widened in alarm. He slid his eyes to the left, and alarm prickled her skin, overriding the pleasure of his touch.
The judging panel stood before them. Three of Cedar Valley’s best chefs, all Michelin star winners, and two suited men who introduced themselves as senior staff at the tourism board.
The pleasantries stopped there.
Anna plastered on a smile she could only hope masked the sudden nerves that threatened to make her voice shake. She glanced to Mark, hoping he would take the lead, despite what they had planned, and realized it was no use. His naturally dark eyes had grown deeper, more unreadable in their intensity, and his attention was focused squarely on the men and women before him. He grinned, but there was a decided twitch in his jaw. He quickly pulled his hand from her back and folded his hands in front of him.
Anna let out a long breath and held her hand out to the first plate. “For our starter course we have a small plate of fresh butternut squash gnocchi in a maple sage brown butter.”
From the smaller, sample-sized plates, the judges each took a small bite of the dish, chewing thoughtfully. Anna tried to intuit meaning from the slightest of gestures, but it was no use.
Mark waited until the judges moved to the next course to continue. “And for our main course, we have a maple- and mustard-glazed Atlantic salmon on a bed of baby spinach, roasted beets, butternut squash, and candied walnuts, with a maple dressing.”
Anna stole a glance at Mark, wondering if they had made the right decision in going with the mustard over soy, and the butternut squash now sounded so redundant and unoriginal instead of consistent with the flavors.
She gritted her teeth. It was too late now.
“And for dessert,” she smiled, gesturing to the final course, “we have a maple, apple, and cheddar tart.”
The tart sat perfectly crimped and baked, its golden crust decorated with maple leaf cut-outs. The judges bit into their servings, and just as quickly finished.
All that work. All that anticipation. There was nothing more they could do but wait.
The judges nodded their goodbye, barely making eye contact, and Anna turned to Mark, sighing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous in my life!” she admitted, watching with growing dread as the panel moved on to the next team. Her eyes fell to the food, to all their effort, and she felt a wave of sadness wash over her.
Next week Fireside’s kitchen would be good enough to operate out of, and she could at least prep for the Annex while the rest of the space remained under construction. The contest was over, and there was nothing else linking her to Mark. Nothing but a handful of bittersweet memories and a secret she wasn’t sure she could keep to herself much longer.