Parched after all the dancing, Ava took a glass of water off the rolling bar cart. When she’d gulped it down, she couldn’t resist an espresso martini.
She couldn’t see Ransom. And really, she shouldn’t be looking for him. She’d actually been terrified he might sit down with her during the meal, but thank God he hadn’t. The worst was over—sitting next to him during the wedding and all those sweet vows.
Refreshed by the water and martini in hand, she rejoined her compadres from the dance floor, which now consisted of Kelsey, Tasha, and Cammie. Then Charlie bounced back after her dance, while Sebastian whirled Susan, aglow with delight and laughter, around the floor.
It was only as she sipped her espresso martini that Ava noticed her friends looking at her. Kelsey’s eyes were full of mirth. That woman always seemed to be laughing.
Tapping her bottom lip with a polished finger, she smiled at Ava. “You know,” she drawled, “if I were single, I wouldn’t kick the chef out of bed for eating crackers.”
Something slithered down Ava’s spine. Kelsey couldn’t know. She could only be guessing.
But that gleam in Kelsey’s eyes said, oh yes, she knew something. Maybe they all did. “I wouldn’t kick him out for potato chips either.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Not even for tacos.”
Tasha giggled. “You’ve eaten tacos in bed? I’ve so gotta try that with Daniel.”
All the women laughed. Ava forced herself to laugh too. “Ransom is in the kitchen. If you want to give him some… crackers.” She raised one eyebrow.
But Kelsey wagged her finger in Ava’s face. “Oh, no. I think that chef is taken.”
Good Lord. They did know. They all knew. She felt as if a bucket of water had fallen on her head. But she kept smiling.
Then Kelsey hugged her and whispered in her ear, “Go for it.”
“Stop that,” Charlie chided them all. “You’re embarrassing her.”
When Ava’s eyes met Cammie’s, her friend said, “Ava doesn’t embarrass easily.” Then she added, “Everyone’s making something out of nothing.” She held Ava’s gaze. “After all, what’s in a look?”
Good God. They’d seen her looking at Ransom. Probably way too many times.
But it couldn’t be just that. Someone must have said something. Not Gabby. First of all, Gabby would never say anything to anyone. Second of all, her sister was consumed with perfecting her cake. She hadn’t spent more than half an hour outside the kitchen, and that was just to witness the wedding vows and to gulp down Ransom’s special marinated tofu and vegetables at her assigned table.
And it wasn’t Ava’s secretive looks.
That left only one person. Ransom.
“Hold that thought,” Ava said. “I need to powder my nose.”
She would have made it to the kitchen if Clay hadn’t stepped into her path. She did not like the look on his face. She liked even less the first words out of his mouth. “Is there something between you—”
She held up her hand a millisecond before he could say Ransom’s name. Leaning in close, her voice deadly, she said, “If I were you, I wouldn’t go where I think you’re going.” She paused a beat to let that sink in. “As you well know, my personal life is my own.”
Clay shut his mouth as if Ava had suddenly become an alien. She took the opportunity to add, “Not that you deserve an answer. But if I were to give you one, the answer would be no.” She marched around him, turning at the last minute to say, “I’m on my way to the ladies’ room to powder my nose. Don’t even think about following me and adding one more word to what you’ve already said.” Not that she’d let him say much at all.
She opened the kitchen door, stepped inside, and found such a flurry of activity that she almost walked right back out.
But there was Ransom, wearing an apron. An actual damned apron.
She crooked a finger at him. He slowly, deliberately, pulled the apron over his head and laid it on the counter, never taking his eyes off her. The racket in the kitchen seemed to go quiet, too quiet. She couldn’t bear to see who else was there. Instead, she headed out the front door, closing it when Ransom stepped out with her.
She did not need witnesses for this conversation.
“Did you say anything to anyone about that night at the Motel Y? Because Clay just asked me if there was something going on between us.” She was trying to remain calm, even though she could feel her blood rushing through her ears.
He said smugly—yes, with actual smugness in his tone, “But nothing happened at the Motel Y.”
Nothing happened? She wanted to say that something had happened. Everything had started to change.
“But,” he said, “I don’t think it’s been that hard for anyone to figure out.”
“Why on earth would you say that?” But she was afraid she knew the answer. Even the ladies were making wisecracks.
One eyebrow raised, he said simply, “Longing glances are hard to ignore.”
She wanted to shake a finger at him, but she was still holding the espresso martini, and it was too good to spill. Dammit, she should have dropped it off in the kitchen before she started this. But she said with the same force she used on Clay, “I wasn’t giving you any longing glances.”
She wanted to slap that smile right off his face. “Maybe you weren’t,” he said. “But I sure have been sending them to you.”
She took a step away, her back against the door. Her throat was dry, and she gulped a quarter of the espresso martini. “But it’s just business between us.”
He took back the extra step she’d tried to put between them and said, so softly it was like a caress, “You know damned well this isn’t just business anymore.”
She tried to say something, but her throat clogged up. And she had to gulp the martini. Next to a champagne cocktail, it was one of her favorite drinks. Her damn favorite cocktail—of course it had been on the bar menu. It was so good, she felt a little wobbly after all the champagne and now this.
She threw it all back at him, at least figuratively. “What’s up with you making all my favorite foods for dinner?”
He arched an eyebrow. And there was that smile again. “Do you really need me to explain that to you?”
She’d seen it for what it was, then. A foodie’s love letter. She’d been afraid when she called him, but she couldn’t have done anything else. Gideon needed help. But this—all her favorite appetizers, her favorite drinks, her favorite entrées, soups, even the damned salad.
She felt as if she might topple off her high heels.
Her feet wanted to run away. But she’d run away on Friday after that dinner at his restaurant. She was better than that. Tougher than that. She had to stand her ground.
Changing tack, she ignored his question, ignored his love letter, ignored her roiling emotions. Instead, she complimented him. “You did a fabulous job. Everything was scrumptious. And the drinks.” She held up the nearly empty martini glass. “They’re divine. The way you stepped in to help Gideon and Rosie, that was above and beyond. Thank you. But I also want to thank myself, because I was the one who asked you.”
Her sudden change had him stepping back. Then she added the coup de grâce, the statement that would show him she wasn’t flustered at all. “Tell me what I can do to help you now.”
* * *
The woman left him dumbfounded. First, because she didn’t run. Second, because this sudden change felt like a step forward in their new relationship. In the past few days, whenever it felt like they were getting close, she’d run. But this time she didn’t. Instead, she’d offered to help.
Could he trust the change?
At least she’d noticed that everything he’d prepared today had been just for her. Right down to the espresso martini in her hand.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m pretty much done with dinner now. Honorine did most of it.” But he wasn’t about to let Ava go. How the hell could she help?
Of course. The cake.
“Gabby and Fernsby are making the final touches on the cake. My servers will take care of handing it out. But I need to get all the plates and cutlery out there. Can you help me?”
He had people to do it, but now that she’d offered, he couldn’t let the opportunity pass, even if it was make-work.
“I’d be happy to,” she said with a smile. God, how he’d longed to see her smile for him alone all day long.
She drained the last of her martini like a statement, either a thank you or a screw you, then handed him the glass. “All right, I’m ready.”
He was so damn ready. He just wasn’t sure they were ready for the same thing.
Guiding her back to the kitchen, he set the empty glass on the counter and turned to his two master bakers. “Ava and I will take out the dessert plates and cutlery. Are you almost ready?”
Gabby didn’t even turn. “Almost.” She’d been fretting over the cake the entire afternoon. Perhaps it was the collaboration with Fernsby. Or because this was for Rosie and Gideon.
Fernsby simply raised an eyebrow that could mean anything. “That’s good of you, sir. Miss Harrington is the perfect helpmate.” Was that a gleam in the man’s eye? “At least under these circumstances.”
As they piled plates and cutlery on a trolley, Ava whispered to him, “What was that supposed to mean?”
He shook his head. “It’s just Fernsby. If you look up the word enigmatic in the dictionary, you’ll find a picture of him.”
Then he let Fernsby drift right out of his mind and concentrated only on Ava. As they worked, he thought of all the times they’d stood side by side in his kitchen. She did all the things that needed a careful touch, cutting precisely, chopping exactly. She was his sous-chef. And so much more.
Together, they rolled the trolley out onto the deck and down the ramp the Mavericks had laid out to make serving easier.
“Stop looking at me that way,” she said so softly no one could overhear.
He raised an eyebrow just like Fernsby. “What way?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “You know what way.”
Oh yes, he knew. He looked at her with such longing that he felt his breath stop in his chest. It was impossible not to.
* * *
Fernsby watched with beady eyes as two beefy servers rolled out the four-tiered cake. Because of course the baker didn’t carry his own creation. He walked behind, so that everyone could congratulate him on the magnificence of the masterpiece.
Once they were out the door, he allowed Gabrielle to walk beside him, since she was half creator of their objet d’art.
He dipped his head to hide his smile. Half creator. That would put Miss Gabrielle Harrington in her place. But he gave kudos where kudos were deserved. In fact, he’d grown to admire her over the years.
And the cake was splendid, with minute decorations piped in icing. No simple rosettes for Gabrielle. Icing dots banded the bottom of each tier like a double-stranded pearl necklace. She’d piped a delicate design of leaves, flowers, and baby’s breath all around the sides and tops. She ended with tiny silver sugar balls in and around the piped design. Once the cake topper had been placed, she piped delicate cream flowers around it, securing its base to the top tier.
Of course, then she’d had to fiddle. And fiddle. Until Fernsby thought he might have to carry her bodily away from the cake.
But there was no doubt about it, the young woman had oodles of talent. If only she would use butter. But now was not the time to dwell on that. They had a cake to show off.
The table had been set up in the gazebo where Ava and Ransom had laid out the cutlery, plates, and serving knife.
And wasn’t that extremely interesting.
Ransom hadn’t needed to carry anything out to the table. He was the master chef. Minions did his bidding. And yet, he’d enlisted Ava’s help, and they’d done it together.
Fernsby knew for a fact that it was his thoughts pervading the atmosphere to the point where Ransom and Ava were finally getting the right idea. All he’d had to do was leave an empty spot next to Ava during the wedding and guide Ransom right to it.
They still needed a nudge there, a nod here, and a wink there, but truly, it was as if they were doing the job for him.
There’d be a hot time in the old town tonight. Oh yes.
Finally, the cake was displayed on the table, the silverware gleaming as brightly as if he’d polished it himself.
He’d been afraid the cake topper might be a travesty, but once the bride and groom figurines were piped into place, he acknowledged the delightful appropriateness of it. The Dia de los Muertos bride and groom, holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes as they leaned close to kiss, their skeletal teeth not quite touching, were perfection.
Yes. The cake was a triumph. Even if he did say so himself.
As Gideon and Rosie stepped up, Fernsby allowed Gabrielle to ceremoniously hand them the cake knife, informing them softly, “The lower and the third tiers are Fernsby’s. The second and the top tier are mine.”
“Yes, butter and eggs on the bottom to support everything else.” Fernsby sighed. “Then vegan.” Even in his own mind, he heard the drawl of that word.
“I absolutely must have a piece of both,” Rosita Diaz, now Rosita Jones, was a dear child. An amazing mother to Jorge, she was now also an enviable mother to Isabella. Good Lord, he hoped they didn’t start calling the poor child Izzie or some such nonsense. Rosita’s veil was gone, the adorable miscreant having pulled it off the bride’s head during the ceremony, and Rosita had never replaced it.
Fernsby didn’t chuckle. Although he wanted to. He thought of all the new babies in the Maverick realm. He wondered if Susan would allow him to babysit; Susan, being the matriarch of the family, would have to make that decision.
Wouldn’t it be nice, just for an hour or so, to bounce a little tyke on his knee? And when they needed changing, they could be returned to their mothers forthwith.
God forbid he should wait for the Harringtons to get down to the baby business. While he’d maneuvered Cammie and Dane into each other’s arms, he couldn’t very well maneuver them into having a baby.
Or could he?
He raised an eyebrow in contemplation.
Together, Rosita and Gideon cut four narrow slices of cake, two from the all-important first tier, and two from the second vegan tier. Even the word was a guttural sound in his mind.
Thank God they didn’t play that disgusting charade of shoving cake in each other’s faces. Especially not his cake. It deserved to be treated with respect.
Gideon fed his bride a forkful. And Rosita glowed. Then she fed Gideon. And if a man could actually glow, Gideon Jones did.
The look of love on his face was like Mr. Darcy finally telling Elizabeth Bennet that he loved her. Pride and Prejudice, the greatest love story ever told. But then, these Mavericks seemed so adept at creating their own greatest love stories that they didn’t need Jane Austen.
When they’d eaten from the two tiers, Rosita and Gideon turned to their bakers.
“They’re both so delicious,” Rosita said. Then she smiled like Elizabeth Bennet finally accepting Mr. Darcy’s proposal. “I can’t even tell them apart.”
Fernsby muttered, “Nonsense,” under his breath, just like Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
He was sure only Gabrielle heard him.
Rosita hugged him, then Gabrielle. “Thank you so much for doing this for us.”
Foregoing a man hug, Gideon shook Fernsby’s hand, then hugged Gabrielle. “Thank you both. You’ve made our wedding so special.”
Fernsby waved away their thanks. “We could do no less for two such as yourselves.”
Then Gideon asked, “Have you tasted both cakes?”
Fernsby harrumphed. “Of course. A baker must always make a test cake for occasions as important as a wedding.”
Beside him, he could feel Gabrielle Harrington’s smile. “I’m sure Fernsby’s is delicious,” she said mildly. “But unfortunately, I couldn’t taste-test since it isn’t vegan.”
Fernsby, nose in the air, said, “I found Miss Harrington’s cake to be… tolerable.” It was actually more than luscious on the palate, but one simply couldn’t say that aloud. Tolerable was compliment enough. Anything more might go to the young woman’s head.
But Gideon and Rosita laughed.
Fernsby took Gabrielle’s hand and moved aside, allowing the bride and groom to step down from the dais as the servers began cutting the cake for the rest.
When he tried to release Gabrielle’s hand, she held on. “See? You don’t always need butter and eggs to make a fabulous cake.”
“My dear young woman, please do not delude yourself. While your cake is moist and delicious—” He leaned close for Gabrielle’s ears only. “—butter and eggs are food for the soul.”
“You mean they harden the arteries.”
She was definitely quick-witted. Fernsby looked down at her. Then he bared his teeth in what might have been a smile. “As long as they don’t harden the heart.”
* * *
Ava hugged her sister, whispering into her ear, “Your cake is a freaking masterpiece.” She looked around for Fernsby, but he was talking to Susan Spencer. “It was better than Fernsby’s,” she added. “But do not under pain of torture ever tell him I said that.”
Gabby hugged her back. “Don’t you tell him I actually tried his cake, even though it’s not vegan. And it was totally yummy. In fact, I ate a whole piece,” she ended on a whisper. “Then I got sick from all that butter.”
They put their heads together and laughed, drawing a glare from Fernsby over Susan’s shoulder.
Of course Gabby would have tried Fernsby’s cake, since their tiers were so closely tied. Though she was generally vegan, she sometimes splurged when no one was looking. And sometimes even when someone was looking.
“I’ll never tell.” Ava zipped her lips. “Your secret is mine.”
They laughed together at Fernsby’s expense and hugged again.
“You,” Gabby said, tapping Ava’s shoulder, “were so amazing, getting Ransom to jump in at the last minute to handle all the food.”
“He owed me big-time.” She wanted to turn around and look for him, but she was afraid people would notice. Not that she’d made any longing glances. All she’d done was look.
“He totally owed you after what he did to you.” Gabby was silent a moment. “But he’s jumped in with catering for your care homes. And stepping in for the wedding at the last moment couldn’t have been easy.”
“He has amazing contacts.”
Gabby was thoughtful. “Still, it must have been stressful and demanding to do it all with no notice. If Rosie and Gideon had asked me on a Friday night to make a wedding cake for Sunday?” She left the question without an answer, just widened her eyes in horror.
Ava was sure Ransom’s feat hadn’t been easy at all. Not only had he taken on the job with less than two full days to accomplish it, he’d managed to make all her favorite foods. And he’d brought in that fabulous champagne.
Then Gabby added, “I judged him pretty harshly for what he did to you. But maybe the guy has actually changed.”
Had he? Or was he trying to win her over? Ava couldn’t allow herself to be fooled by all the kind gestures, by the foodie love letter or the way he’d painted Myrtle’s nails, by the Supermart shopping trip or the chocolate-chip pancakes they’d shared.
Before her thoughts could overwhelm her, she shoved her sister lightly. “Now, off you go to collect your accolades.”
Gabby fluttered her fingers in her wake.
Even as something inside her wanted to soften toward Ransom, Ava forced herself to remember the last time. Doing everything she could to please him, just as she had with her parents. Trying everything she could to get them to notice her and love her—the best student, the best at sports, the best at everything. They’d never noticed.
Part of her wondered if she was still trying to please them even after their deaths, to get them to love her, to accept her. Maybe that was why she’d worked so hard to build her business.
Ransom knew just the right buttons to push by telling her what an amazing job she’d done over the years. He’d known how to do that even then, offering the praise she’d most craved from her parents, telling her how smart she was, how hardworking.
Then he’d made his offer as if none of that mattered at all. And when she hadn’t jumped at it, he’d ghosted her.
What would stop him from ghosting her again once he’d set up her catering? Three months, six months from now, he’d be back to his fabulous famous chef’s life. And she’d be just the ghost he left behind.
But God, it was so hard to remember their massive screw-up in the past or even to consider his future leave-taking with all the love blossoming around her—Gideon and Rosie lost in each other’s gazes, Cammie and Dane returning to the dance floor, wrapped around each other. All the Mavericks, all the love. Susan and Bob Spencer dancing in each other’s arms, their lips so close they could be kissing, even after all the years they’d been together.
She was wrung out by the time the reception wound down. The only thing she could be grateful for was that Ransom hadn’t cornered her while she felt vulnerable.
They’d screwed up so badly before. How could she trust that they’d be any better at it now?