They spent a couple of hours going through everything. Ransom was so good at this. Ava marveled at the enticing menus he created and his fabulous ideas for holidays and special events. She liked to change up the rotating menus every quarter so her people didn’t get bored. But would he be on board with doing this all over again in three months? With looking at her other facilities across the country?
That struck her in the heart—that he might do all of this, then go on his merry way, leaving her behind, ghosting her once again for his fabulous famous chef’s life.
She didn’t mention anything long term, telling herself that she had to think only about the next few months. By then, she would have found somebody permanent. Someone who could continue with all his ideas. Someone who didn’t have another life they couldn’t wait to get back to.
When her stomach suddenly rumbled, she glanced at the computer clock. Three thirty. How the time had flown, and even after that huge breakfast, she was hungry again.
“I would say we could push through on the rest of this.” Ransom grinned at her. “But your stomach is sending out messages.”
Her hand went reflexively to her belly. “I am a bit hungry.”
He handed her one of the menus they’d printed out. “Pick something from this, and I’ll make it for you.”
The fact that she was dying to have him cook for her was going too far. She needed to get off the bus right now. They’d already spent too much time together. And while for the entire time in his office they’d been completely businesslike, she had teased him over the pancakes. It could all turn against her in a second.
She’d been fighting an attraction for him all day long, and yesterday as well. Quite frankly, the exertion exhausted her.
The voice inside her frightened her the most—the persistent little voice asking, Wouldn’t it just be easier to give in?
She sat up straight. What the hell was she thinking?
“So what, you have test kitchens right here in your building?” Her words came off a little sharp and sarcastic.
But he didn’t seem to notice. “I do.” Of course he would. “But now that I think about it, I’d rather take you over to the restaurant. They have everything I need right there. And I’ll choose the menu. Okay with you?”
Her heart, already ravaged by him years ago, screamed at her to say no. But something far bigger ran through her head. Though she’d never been in his restaurant, she’d walked by and maybe once or twice gazed through its windows. Now, here was her chance. She couldn’t resist seeing what would undoubtedly be an incredible kitchen. Nor could she resist letting him cook for her after so many years.
That part of her won. “Yes, okay. You choose.” But she absolutely would not chop vegetables for him. That task would hold far too many memories.
The restaurant was closed between lunch and dinner, so when they entered, they found the staff setting up for the evening. The tables were set apart, with tall planter boxes dividing the large room into smaller corners while low lighting turned the atmosphere more intimate.
Ransom led her straight to the kitchen, though he wasn’t remiss in greeting his people, stopping at a newly laid table to say, “Brilliant work there,” and patting the woman on the arm. He smiled and waved hello as if he actually knew these people. But how could he when he was always gallivanting around the world?
Just before entering the kitchen, he tapped a sweet-faced young busboy on the shoulder. “Could you set a table for two by the window? I’ll be making a meal for myself and the lady.” He looked from Ava to the boy, whose face flushed as if he were being called out by his employer.
“Y-yes, sir,” he stammered and rushed off for linens and cutlery, while Ransom said, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
He was so polite to them, as if they were not just his staff, but people he respected, even down to the busboys.
He pushed through the swinging doors, holding one for Ava so it didn’t slap her in the face. The kitchen was already warm; maybe it never lost its heat. Men and women in white coats dashed about or stood at the counters prepping for the night’s menu. The actual meal would be cooked once a customer ordered, but all manner of things needed to be done ahead of time—preparing dill sauce, chopping scallions, slicing vegetables, peeling potatoes.
He was just as complimentary here. As he passed a woman whipping cream, he said, “Your peaks are perfect.” The woman smiled her gratitude.
Ava wanted to laugh, hearing a vague innuendo in his words, though neither Ransom nor the chef seemed to take it that way. It was just her naughty mind. And watching him in his element, oh yes, her peaks were up and paying attention.
“Honorine,” he called.
A tall, thirtysomething woman approached them, a chef’s hat perched on her blond curls, her name stenciled above her jacket pocket, a speck of yellow the only thing marring the pristine white.
Ransom took Ava’s arm. “Ava Harrington, I’d like you to meet Honorine Aubert,” he said with a French flourish. “Honorine is head chef here.”
Having talked about women in a man’s world, Ava was pleased to see he had a female chef in his highly prized San Francisco restaurant. “Nice to meet you,” she said, and the woman returned the greeting in slightly accented but perfect English.
Then he explained to Honorine, “I’ve agreed to cater Ava’s Bay Area retirement homes for the next few months.”
The next few months. All right, he certainly wasn’t thinking long term. But she’d already known that, and she’d guarded herself.
“That’s something new for us,” Honorine said, the furrow above her brow showing her consternation. Us. Ransom made all his people part of his team.
“It won’t change anything we do at any of the restaurants. But Ava was in great need, and I wanted to help out.” There was that smile, the one that turned her inside out and made anyone within its beam eager to do his bidding. “I want to make her one of the recipes on the menu I’ve created. Do you have sand dabs? And lemons?”
Honorine puffed out a breath. “Of course. It’s one of the regular dishes on our menu?” She made it a question, as if she thought Ransom might need the reminder.
Sand dabs in butter and lemon sauce. It was one of her favorites. And Ransom had made the dish a regular on his restaurant’s menu. It couldn’t mean anything. Lots of restaurants served sand dabs.
Ransom beamed that brilliant smile at her again, then put a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell Ava that,” he said, the joke in his tone. “I want her to think it was something special just for her.”
Honorine zipped her lips. “Of course. I’ve never heard of sand dabs. Is that some kind of fish?”
They all had a chuckle.
Of course he hadn’t created her new menus from scratch, but he had offered her favorite. And now that she thought about it, he’d included other favorites. Stir fries they’d made together, curry dishes, although with less spice to fit her residents’ palates.
Honorine flicked her fingers and sent her helpers scurrying for the ingredients Ransom asked for.
When he stood at the long stainless-steel counter, she waved her people over. “Venez, watch a virtuoso at work.”
As he prepared the meal, Ransom talked about his plans for the catering. When the sous-chef piped up with a suggestion, he listened and asked for more. He even listened to the woman who’d been whipping cream. No one was too lowly to provide a good suggestion.
Watching him now reminded Ava how much she’d loved being part of his cooking team.
When Ransom sprinkled a red spice into the sauce, Honorine made a noise. “We don’t put cayenne in our lemon butter sauce.”
Ransom laughed. “Let’s see how it tastes. Maybe we should try it.” He looked at Ava. “I know Ava likes it spicy.” And he winked.
Okay, that was definitely a sexual innuendo. She didn’t react, at least not on the outside. But a shiver ran through her as she remembered all the spice he’d added to her bed, to her life.
Honorine smiled thoughtfully as Ransom said, “Not that I’d add an overabundance of cayenne for your menus, Ava. Promise.”
He’d seen her in her environment. And now she saw him in his, the sous-chef and all of Honorine’s people watching with rapt attention. Even Honorine took note of everything he did. They respected him. They even expected that he would listen to them.
This was how he’d built his cooking empire, not by kowtowing to the rich, but by listening to and appreciating all the people who worked for him. The way she did.
Her estimation of the man he’d become grew a bit more.
* * *
Ransom examined the sand dabs, the egg batter in which he’d soaked them crisping lightly around the edges. “They’re perfect.”
He didn’t need to hear the murmuring assent from his audience. Plating the sand dabs, he drenched them in the spicy lemon butter sauce, leaving just enough to pour over the asparagus spears poaching in another pan.
He’d always loved cooking for Ava, especially her favorite foods. He’d loved cooking with her as well. And now he loved having her in his restaurant.
Leading her into the dining room, he pulled out a chair for her at the window table. Though it wasn’t dark yet, Jacob, the busboy, had lit two candles and added one rose in a bud vase, its perfume rising in the air between them.
Once they were seated, Honorine brought out the plated sand dabs, steam still rising off them. They would be perfection.
He wanted to give Ava that. Wanted to remind her of what they’d once had, the way he remembered it all.
He thanked Honorine, who then returned to the task of readying the restaurant for the evening. Before he sampled the flatfish, he waited for Ava to taste them, since they’d always been a favorite of hers. With the first bite, she closed her eyes to savor it, a soft moan rising up her throat, reminding him of all the times in his bed—that same ecstasy on her face, that same seductive moan on her lips.
“Too much spice?” he asked, knowing it wasn’t. He and Ava had always made just the right spice together.
She opened her eyes. “Perfect.”
Then he tried his own plate, and yes, the spice was just right, mixed with the tang of the lemon and the buttery texture of the fish.
“And the asparagus?” He served it al dente, with just a slight crunch, enhanced by the sauce.
She told him what he wanted to hear. “You timed it with precision.”
That’s how he had to work with Ava now—timed with precision. If he moved too fast, their relationship would be half-baked. Too slow, and he could burn it all away.
“The wine?” He’d paired the meal with a white wine, not too sweet, not too dry.
She raised her glass. “You know everything is perfect,” she said, her smile wry.
He wanted to lean over and kiss her, but all he did was wink.
As they ate, people glanced in the window, then checked the restaurant’s hours, wondering how these two could be eating before it opened for dinner. Perhaps they made a spectacle, but he liked being a spectacle with Ava.
“My people have a lot of good suggestions.” He steered the conversation to her menus and her facilities.
She nodded and, after swallowing a bite, said, “I especially liked the idea of having an Easter egg hunt on Easter. I’ve done it for the children visiting, but never included the adults.” She laughed, a tinkling sound that trickled down his skin. “After all, we’re all just big kids, aren’t we?”
“Absolutely. And the tree-decorating party at Christmas.”
She shook her fork at him. “I should have thought of that. I always have the staff decorate the tree overnight so everyone can be astounded in the morning. But it’s an even better idea to include them, with sugar cookies and hot cocoa like kids are supposed to serve Santa on Christmas Eve.”
“Your thinking was sound. I’m sure they all loved walking into the lounge to feel the magic of a fully decorated tree. But this could be even more fun.”
She agreed with a nod. “They love surprises, but they’ll love the activity just as much. We can pop popcorn right there and string it for garlands.”
Her eyes gleamed with ideas, and he was glad he’d brought her here. It wasn’t just a reminder of how they’d cooked together, how they’d eaten together, and all the sexy, seductive things they’d done afterward. It was how she’d made suggestions while he cooked. How he’d helped her with her studies, sometimes quizzing her with index cards before a test. How they’d hiked together, shopped together, cleaned the apartment together, walked the city streets together under an umbrella on rainy nights. At least, when they actually were together, when she wasn’t at school or working and he wasn’t traveling.
It was about the here and now, too, working on the menus, sharing ideas, involving his people in the new project, painting Edith’s and Myrtle’s nails.
But how long would she need him? How long before she found a permanent caterer? She’d thrown out an estimate of three to six months when she’d come to him that first day. But it wasn’t long enough.
After they’d finished every bite, the plates were whisked away. Across the restaurant, the swinging doors opened, and Honorine came through, proudly holding a flaming dessert, her sous-chef following her across the dining room.
“You didn’t ask for dessert, but I thought this would be just the right ending,” she said.
Two of her helpers moved the candles and bud vase out of the way, and she set the dessert plate between them.
“It’s beautiful,” Ava said, looking up at Honorine. “But what is it?”
The chef just laughed. “You have to try it to find out.” When the flames died down, she pumped freshly whipped cream out of a pressurized canister. “Go ahead,” Honorine urged. “Cut into it.”
Ransom waved his hand. “Ladies first.”
Ava picked up the pie knife and sliced into the round cake topped with cream, removing a piece dripping with melted chocolate.
“It’s a lava cake,” she said in delight.
But Honorine wagged a finger. “It’s called hot chocolate pudding. You pour the sauce over the cake batter and as it bakes, the two are almost blended. I used a jelly mold to give it shape.” She kissed her fingers. “A little brandy drizzled over it makes it sing.”
They all waited with bated breath for Ava to take her first bite. She closed her eyes again, savored in exactly the same way she’d savored the sand dabs, ending with a hum in her throat. Then she looked at Honorine. “It’s one of the most delicious desserts I’ve ever tasted.” Her eyes bright, she glanced at Ransom, then Honorine. “Do you think we can add this to our menus? Probably just for a special occasion, like Christmas.”
He wanted to cover her hand with his, and he might have if Honorine hadn’t been hovering. “I can see your servers carrying out flaming plates to every table. Your residents will love it.”
Honorine’s face glowed with pride. “It would be my very great pleasure to provide the recipe.”
When they were once again alone, he leaned forward to say softly, “Thank you. You honored her with that request.”
After another bite, Ava said, “This deserves honor. It’s not your creation?”
He shook his head. “No. Honorine is free to use my signature dishes or create anything she’d like.” And indeed, the hot chocolate pudding was delicious.
She blinked. “You don’t even taste-test beforehand?”
“I trust her.”
For a moment, she seemed dumbfounded. “But she’s a woman.”
With an imperceptible movement of his head, he said, “She’s a chef. Trained at Le Cordon Bleu.”
Something shone brilliantly in Ava’s eyes, as if he’d said just the right thing.
“She comes to me, we bounce ideas around, she uses some of my signature recipes, like the sand dabs, and creates many of her own straight from her heart.”
“Do you do that with all your chefs? Let them have free rein?”
“I might own the restaurants, but they own the kitchen. It would do them a disservice to limit them to a menu only I chose.”
She looked down then. As if she didn’t want him to see the expression in her eyes, she concentrated on the hot chocolate pudding.
But he thought that might have been admiration in her gaze.
* * *
The meal suddenly seemed too intimate. The best sand dabs she’d ever had, the candles, the rose, the flaming dessert, and his admiration for Honorine’s talents and willingness to use them—it was all too much.
More than anything, Ava wanted to lean over the dessert plate and kiss the chocolate off his lips.
God, yes, it was all too much. She was almost dizzy with need. If she wasn’t careful, she’d act on it. That meant she needed to get out of here. Before she threw herself at him.
As if she’d conjured it, her phone rang in her purse. She grabbed it like a lifeline. “Sorry, I need to take this. It could be an emergency.”
The voice on the line was the bucket of cold water she badly needed. “It’s Campbell from Los Gatos.”
Then she heard the concern in the man’s voice. “What’s wrong, Campbell?”
“Mrs. Anderson had a fall.”
Her stomach sank, and she was immediately assailed with guilt for even thinking she needed an emergency to save her from Ransom. “Is she all right?”
“She hit her head. We’ve called an ambulance, and they’ll be here soon. They’ll take her to Good Sam.” Good Samaritan Hospital was only minutes away, thank goodness.
She felt Ransom’s eyes on her, but didn’t look. “You did the right thing.” One could never take chances with a head injury. Her heart was beating fast. Mrs. Anderson was a sweet, generous woman. She always tried to give Ava a tip after she’d done her nails. And Mrs. Anderson’s daughter was so attentive, visiting every week. “Have you called her daughter?”
“I wanted to call you first.” Unspoken between them was that Campbell knew how Ava felt about the lady.
“All right. Let me call her.”
“You have her number?”
“Yes. I’ll call right away. Thank you for letting me know. And please keep me updated.”
“I will.”
She ended the call and said to Ransom, “I have to leave. An emergency call I need to make.”
“Please feel free to make your call right here. I understand the importance.”
“This could take a while. I don’t know if you could tell, but one of my residents in Los Gatos, Mrs. Anderson, has taken a bad fall. She’s hit her head.”
“The hot dog lady.”
Ava tipped her head. “The hot dog lady?”
“She told you never to stop serving hot dogs, or her daughter would stop coming to visit.”
She puffed out a breath. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“I remember everything you tell me.”
Why did that shock her? Worse, why did it make her want to cry? It was her fear for Mrs. Anderson, of course.
She was already standing, shoving her phone back in her purse. “I really do need to go.”
He stood too. “Please, call me later and let me know how she is.”
“I will. Thank you for the delicious meal and all the great work we did this afternoon.”
Then she ran, as fast as her wedge shoes would let her.
* * *
Ava was damn near running when she left.
Of course she needed to call Mrs. Anderson’s daughter, and Ransom more than admired that about her. Out on the street, she had her phone in her hand, obviously searching her contacts. She was so caring, had always been that way with every patient at the convalescent home, not just his grandmother.
She wasn’t required to personally call the daughter. Under normal circumstances, she would have received a report. The CEO of a billion-dollar care home conglomerate didn’t call a relative about an accident. But Ava cared. She knew how worried Mrs. Anderson’s daughter would be. And she was worried herself. He’d heard the tremor in her voice.
But she’d still used it as an excuse to run away from him.
And that made him want to break through all her emotional walls. Now. Not later.
In the car, he’d been thinking about his own scars, but now, after another afternoon spent with her, and yes, after seeing her concern for an old woman who lived at one of her homes, he no longer cared about the scars. He didn’t want to bide his time or wait for the right moment. If it had been any reason other than the misfortune of the poor injured woman, he would have run after Ava, made her confront him, made her feel, made her tell him why she had to run.
Under the circumstances, he could do nothing but let her go.
The meal had been such a success. They’d talked like any other couple getting to know each other. Maybe doing that had pierced at least one emotional wall Ava Harrington had built around herself.