Deliciously Sinful (19 page)

T
he warm June sunshine, mixed with the scent of delicious flavors, flooded Phoebe’s senses as soon as she stepped out of her truck. It was finally here. The day of the big cook-off. She smiled. Despite her many failed attempts at baking the brownies, she thought all her practice had paid off. Pulling the still-warm tray off the passenger seat, she inhaled the chocolaty aroma rising from the dish. The brownies smelled like home. Like her aunt. And, if Aunt Sally was watching from above, Phoebe wanted nothing more than to make her proud.

She thought she had a damn good chance.

Jesse had tasted the final batch and agreed that Phoebe’s brownies were, in fact, as good as the original recipe. Remembering the day Nick had arrived and picked up the hard lump that was the result of one of her first attempts at the recipe, she just shook her head. Pathetic. Phoebe had seriously doubted she’d be able to pull it off.

She bumped her hip against the driver’s-side door of her Land Cruiser and set off to enter the county park where the cook-off was held every year.

As her sandals hit the gravel parking lot, she gazed into the green expanse of lawn where dozens of tables were set up with a mishmash of tablecloths. The place was already filling up, and she greeted several locals on her way to the dessert competition area. This was one of the regional events very few people missed, and Phoebe knew practically everyone she ran into.

Her smile grew. This was what she loved. The bordering grass field, the fresh redwood-tree-scented air, and the hills that surrounded her. The turquoise water of the Eel River ran on the outer edge of the picnic area, winding its way next to the gathering. The banks of sand edging the river were filled with families on blankets. Toddlers splashed in the shallow banks and the older, more adventurous kids were jumping off large rocks and landing in the water with big splashes. The cook-off brought out the largest crowd, but the park would be full of picnicking families and kids on summer break all season long.

Phoebe loved the community, the free way of thinking, the simple things that made the locals happy. Trees and clean air and a fresh river. Being surrounded by the very people she’d grown up with. While she understood why people like Bear felt stifled here, Phoebe was the opposite. Sure, she’d enjoyed her time living in Berkeley. She’d taken advantage of the sophisticated culture, the cafés, the art, and the parties. But she’d always known she’d come back to Redbolt. She’d always known she wanted to spend her life here. Home.

It took awhile to make her way to the dessert section. She’d been so busy with the café and her farm that she hadn’t seen a lot of her friends for some time. She’d forgotten how nice it was to actually socialize away from the Green Leaf, and she took her time chatting as she wandered toward her destination.

“Are those what I think they are?”

Phoebe turned to see Mary, her aunt Sally’s best friend. The woman was aging gracefully, and her hair was only lightly streaked with gray. She wore it in a long braid that fell halfway down her back. She wore no makeup, but her smile was gorgeous. Her outfit consisted of a flowery summer dress and flip-flops.

Phoebe said, “Mary, so nice to see you.”

Mary leaned forward to give Phoebe a hug. “I’m sorry, but I’m not a good hugger right now,” Phoebe said with a smile as she glanced down at the tray of brownies in her hands.

“That’s okay, honey.” Carefully, Mary wrapped her arms around Phoebe’s shoulders and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then she stepped back. “How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Good. And I apologize. I’ve been meaning to call you, but things have been so crazy lately.”

“Oh, you don’t need to apologize to me, honey. I completely understand. I know all too well how hard your aunt worked at that café.”

Phoebe felt a twinge of guilt. She really hadn’t been working as hard at the café as she probably should have been. But Nick had given her more and more reason to delegate additional responsibilities. And Jesse was blossoming under Nick’s supervision, which made Phoebe happy but also a little disappointed in herself.

She’d started to wonder why Jesse’s newfound confidence seemed to be emerging under the influence of Sherry and Nick. Why hadn’t Phoebe been able to do that for her niece?

Either way, with Nick and Jesse working as a team, Phoebe had more time to work on her first love. The farm.

So now, talking to Mary, Phoebe just shrugged. “Yes. The café definitely takes up a lot of time.”

“I completely understand. Whenever you have a second, just stop by, and we’ll catch up over coffee.”

“I promise, I will.” And Phoebe meant it. Mary was practically family, and Phoebe needed to be better about keeping in touch. Because at the end of the day, family was all anyone had.

Plus, Mary’s garden had always been an inspiration to Phoebe. Sitting on the flagstone patio, surrounded by climbing roses, butterfly bushes, and lavender—it was impossible not to feel peaceful and tranquil. “I promise to stop by this week,” Phoebe said, genuinely looking forward to it. When had she lost contact with anyone not related to work?

“But you never answered my question.” Mary pointed a finger at the brownies Phoebe was carrying. “Are those what I think they are?”

Phoebe smiled. “What do you think they are?”

“Sally’s brownies?” Mary said, and Phoebe didn’t miss the flash of incredulity that flashed through the woman’s sharp green eyes.

“They are.” But now a bit of Phoebe’s confidence had gone down. Was it really that ludicrous that she’d give this a try?

“Well, I’m glad you’re carrying on the tradition.”

“I didn’t want the tradition to die just because…” Phoebe trailed off. Normally that expression would have been benign, but Phoebe had foot-in-mouth disease.

But Mary touched her shoulder gently. “I’m glad you made them. Your aunt would be proud of you.”

Phoebe shifted in her sandals. Would she be proud? What if Phoebe was wrong and the brownies were horrible? What if her taste buds were off from eating so many mistakes? What if she lost?

Mary’s grip on Phoebe’s shoulder tightened as she repeated, “Sally would be proud of you.”

Mary didn’t say it, but Phoebe knew what she meant.
Even if you don’t win.

It was a nice sentiment, but Phoebe didn’t care. She didn’t take on challenges if she didn’t think she could win. Furthermore, these brownies represented a lot more than continuing a recipe. She wanted to prove to herself that she had succeeded in carrying on the legacy of the Green Leaf. The café was a staple of the area, and the region a claim to fame, no matter how small. The café meant something.

Now, if she won, everyone would know that she wasn’t going to let her community down.

“Okay,” Phoebe said after taking a deep breath. “I better get these entered.”

“Yes, off you go. And good luck.”

“Thanks.”
I think I might need it.

“What are you doing here?” As Phoebe arrived at the table packed with luscious desserts, she narrowed her gaze on something even more mouthwatering. Nick Avalon.

“Why are you surprised?”

She placed her precious brownies on a clear spot on the table and grabbed an entry form. She leaned down to fill out the form but glanced up. “I don’t know. It’s just that this is all so local and probably seems very bumpkin to you. I would think you’d avoid it at all costs.”

“You’re right.” He nodded a hello at one of their regular diners. “But how could I miss this chance to see the big cook-off everyone’s been talking about for so long? Plus, I have nothing better to do.”

She gave him a wary smile before turning back to fill out the entry form. He was lying. He was beginning to like it here. She could tell. His skin looked healthier, he actually smiled sometimes, and she’d noticed his tobacco use and tequila consumption had decreased dramatically. He had even stopped complaining about the music she chose for the restaurant. In fact, a couple of times she’d actually caught him humming the tune.

Sure, there were still moments when she wanted to smack him in the head with a frying pan, but those were becoming fewer and farther between every day. With a start, she realized that she’d gotten to the point where she actually looked forward to seeing him.

Bear had left after only five days of being home. Of course. He’d said he was here to stay, but less than a week had passed and he’d been called away to help the emergency crew during the aftermath of a hurricane in Bolivia. And at the end of the day, if Phoebe did get in a relationship (and that was a big if), she wanted someone who enjoyed the community as she did. She wanted someone who wanted to enjoy the small moments of life with her.

Like now. In the park, surrounded by her community at an event she’d been attending as long as she could remember. She’d never been happier.

And even more strange? She was having these thoughts while standing next to a man who seemed to embody all the things she didn’t like.

But something had changed. She watched him make small talk with Oscar, who owned the hemp clothing store on Main Street. Nick’s stance was relaxed, his feet spread solidly apart, and his arms crossed over his chest. Oscar said something, and Nick laughed. A laugh that was sincere and that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. A laugh that was hearty and manly. A laugh that made her heart skip a beat.

These moments. This was what she wanted.

Pushing the thought away, she turned in her form and got a number for the brownies she’d entered. Number thirteen was a lucky number. That was a good sign, right? Right.

O
ut of the corner of his eye, Nick watched Phoebe. In her flowery dress, with her long curly hair spilling over her shoulders and her impish smile, he thought she looked like a fairy nymph.

Her dress was a bit low-cut, though. He didn’t mind, not at all. He loved the way the V-cut gave him a glimpse of her phenomenal cleavage. However, he wasn’t at all comfortable with the way he’d caught several male attendees catching a glimpse. Wasn’t it a bit chilly? Perhaps he should get her a sweater.

You fool.
It wasn’t chilly at all. In fact, the sun and clear blue sky were creating the perfect weather to enjoy a day at the park. It was so warm, in fact, that a large portion of the crowd had taken advantage of the coolness of the river. No, Phoebe didn’t need a sweater.

He just wanted her to cover herself up.

What is wrong with you?
Why did he care if a bunch of perverts were ogling Phoebe’s breasts? When he’d paraded hot little starlets around the trendiest clubs in L.A., he’d loved seeing the girl he was with get attention. In his old life, women were like cars. Nothing more than status symbols.

What do you mean, back in your old life?

Leaning against a tree and sipping from a plastic cup of beer, Nick reminded himself that where he’d been less than six months ago hadn’t been his old life.
It is my life
, he told himself. As in present tense.

So what had him thinking like this? Why did he feel so possessive over a woman he didn’t really like?

Ah, but there was the rub. He did like her. He liked her independence, her natural beauty, her wit, her drive to succeed.

Her body.

In fact, he liked her body so much, he didn’t want to share it with anyone. Ever. The very thought of someone else smelling her neck, rubbing their hands across her nipples, tasting the special flavor of her pussy—the very idea actually made his stomach turn.

He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

This place was getting to him. Now, as he watched people talk and laugh and eat from plates piled so high with food they could have fed small countries, he couldn’t help but get a little twitchy. Because he wasn’t used to it. He wasn’t used to this feeling, and it made his nerves jerk.

He took another large swig from his cup of beer.

It didn’t feel right. This…thing. This feeling of—
holy shit
—being content.

He liked chaos. He liked unpredictability. He liked the madness of the kitchens he’d worked in. That’s where he felt safe and secure.

Right?

So why was he so…happy? Everything here was exactly the opposite of what he’d based his life around. Every day was predictable. For the most part, people were inevitably friendly. No one yelled in the kitchen at the Green Leaf. Well, no one except him, that was. And occasionally Phoebe, but he was beginning to find her outbursts endearing. The thought of all those things should make him uncomfortable. So why didn’t it?

Why would he rather be here, right now? Surrounded by nature and hippies and home cooking. He should be shuddering at the very idea. Yet, there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

He sipped at his beer and said hello to yet another person attending the cook-off. Since when did he know so many of the locals? And why did they treat him like he was one of them? Like he was welcome? Nick was an outcast; he didn’t belong here.

And he knew they still made fun of his Hummer behind his back.

Bumpkins.

But the idea of everybody around him being nothing more than new age, old-fashioned, unsophisticated rednecks just didn’t ring true anymore.

And the fact that he didn’t care for Phoebe didn’t ring true either.

She was beautiful. As she brushed aside a lock of that wild hair, his chest tightened with want. He wanted to hear her voice, to listen to what she had to say. He wanted to touch every curve of her body, from the curve of her shoulder to the dip of her waist. He wanted to wake up next to her in the morning.

Emotions churned inside his gut, fighting with each other. He’d worked so hard to achieve the life he’d led back in L.A. He’d worked so fucking hard, and he’d had everything he’d ever dreamed of.

And yet, right here, right now, it all seemed so empty. Right here, right now, he had all he needed.

Except Phoebe in his arms.

You’re getting daft, old boy. Daft.

Nick downed the rest of his beer just as an old man stepped onto a podium and leaned down to talk into a speaker that must have been circa 1970.

“Attention, please,” the old man croaked out. Then he went on about how he’d been announcing the winner of the Redbolt cook-off for umpteen years, and he was honored to be announcing the winners and blah, blah, blah. Nick tuned the voice out.

Okay, so maybe some things about this place still bored the crap out of Nick.

Except when they got to the dessert category. He stood up straight, his eyes on Phoebe. He saw her brow furrow in worry, and he wanted nothing more than to go hold her tight. He knew this was important to her. He knew that if the Green Leaf didn’t take first place, she’d see it as some kind of failure on her part. Which, he thought, was ridiculous. But he understood that everyone had their own ideas about success, and this was hers, so he was behind her one hundred percent.

He clenched his fists behind his back and leaned against the tree. What he didn’t want anyone to know was that he was crossing his fingers for the Green Leaf Café.

Who’d have ever thought they’d see the day Nick Avalon would be standing in a forest a million miles away from civilization, secretly crossing his fingers that a tiny café he worked for would take first place in a bake-off?

It was official. Nick had gone crazy.

Thirteen, thirteen, thirteen.

Phoebe chanted the words silently in her own mind as she waited for the announcer to get to the dessert competition.
For fuck’s sake, announce it already.
Did Nick have a cigarette? She wanted a cigarette so badly she nearly started sucking on her finger. Nice coping method.
You don’t smoke, remember?

In the past, she’d been only a taster, not a contestant. So this year, she wasn’t enjoying listening to the results like usual. She just wanted to hear the winners, hear her number and her name and then go celebrate all she’d accomplished.

As old Tom droned on, Phoebe really wasn’t surprised when she heard who the winners in the other categories were. The same people who’d been winning every year. Rick’s Fed Gunny took the award for the best macaroni-and-cheese dish. Bola Julienne took first place for the category titled “Everything but the Kitchen Sink.” Paul Carr won for the best PBR frittata. Chalice Stickler nailed the “Best Aphrodisia Salad” award (the cinnamon was, in Phoebe’s opinion, the key to her success). Jar Jelly Nelson took the prize for his tamale pie. (Phoebe had to admit it was tasty—she especially liked the addition of Aji Pinguita peppers, but she may have been biased, considering the fresh peppers had come from her very own farm.) The fabulous duo of Roam Piecing and Sunlit Jewels took the trophy for “Most Creative Mycological Casserole.”

So then it came down to the final category. Desserts. Phoebe bit her lip and wrung her hands.
Thirteen; come on, thirteen.

She gazed up at old man Tom and held her breath.

He coughed.

The crowd was silent.

He squinted through his round glasses at the piece of paper before him.

“And the prize for best traditional brownie goes to…”

Thirteen!
She was going to win; she could feel it!

Tom shouted into the speaker. “The winner is…number
three
!”

Everything inside Phoebe froze, even as she felt sweat break out on her brow. She felt a million eyes on her, like spiders crawling up her skin. There was a minute of absolute quiet, and she thought everyone was thinking the same thing.

She’d failed.

She hadn’t been able to do something so simple as carry on a fucking recipe for brownies. And if she’d failed, who had beat her?

“Number three, with Nick Avalon as chef. Nick, please step up to the podium.”

Everyone looked around, waiting to see who had been the first person in ten years to steal first prize from Phoebe’s aunt and uncle.

Phoebe felt a chill go up her back. No. It couldn’t be.

No, no, no.

Nick was walking toward the podium, a satisfied look on his face.

Her heart stopped. How could he? How could he do this to her?

With her heart pounding in her tightened throat, she attempted to keep her cool as he stepped up and received the trophy.

Nick nodded a humble thank-you that would have been believable if she didn’t know what a conniving, manipulating prick he was.

Anger boiled inside her like an untended saucepan of béchamel sauce. How dare he?

He’d purposely gone behind her back and one-upped her. Just when she was starting to think he was a decent human being, he’d gone back to being Nick the Prick, the guy who had to be the best at everything. The guy who had been challenging her since the moment he’d walked through the door to her café.

The guy who’d had her fooled into thinking he was good.

Now, as he took the trophy (a porcelain sculpture of cake made by a local artist), he met her gaze. Clenching her fists, she felt ill as she saw the triumph in his eyes. And damn it to hell, she felt her own eyes well up at his betrayal.

Gazes locked, she continued to stare him down. Slowly, she noticed the look on his face change a bit. The winning glimmer flickered, and his forehead crinkled a bit. She had no idea what any of that meant. All she knew was the pounding of her heart, her hands starting to shake, her throat growing tight.

Leaning down to speak in the microphone, he said, “This is for the Green Leaf Café. May the legend live on.”

But it was too little, too late.

Betrayal. It coursed through her and landed in her stomach, swirling as if in a blender. Her entire chest thought it might collapse from sadness.

“Pheebs, can you believe it?”

She turned to see Jesse looking back and forth from her to Nick. “We won!”

“What are you talking about?” Phoebe spit, and held out her number. “I was number thirteen. Not three.”

“But the prize goes to the café, not a number.”

“Jesse, don’t you understand?” An even greater sense of frustration coursed through her. “Nick entered to beat me. To prove he’s better. And I lost. This is
our
family tradition, not his. He knew how important this was to me.”

Jesse’s gaze didn’t falter. “Nick knew how important it was to you for the café to win.”

“And he knew how hard I’d been working.”

“I know. But he also thought two entries were better than one.”

Gasping, Phoebe pulled back. “You knew what he was up to?”

Slowly, Jesse nodded. “Um, yeah. So?”

Phoebe had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from screaming. “So? So you were in on this! Neither of you had enough faith in me to think, for just one second, that I could win this?”

“Actually, we both thought you would win. But we both knew how important it was to you to have the café succeed, and, like I just said, we were only trying to help our chances.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well, you failed,” Phoebe said.

Jesse looked shocked. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not surprised that Nick is a selfish asshole who refuses to think a woman might—just might—be better at something than him. I’m not surprised that Nick took something he knew was important to
me
”—she pointed at her chest—“and claimed it for himself. I’m not at all surprised that he wants credit for a family tradition that I wanted more than anything to continue.”

Gazing at Phoebe, Jesse was silent for a few moments. “So is that what’s bothering you?”

“What?”

“Credit. Is that why you did this whole thing? To get the credit for it? To have your name announced?”

“N-no.” Phoebe angrily shook her head. “Of course not.”

“Then why did you enter? Why is winning so important to you?”

“Because I…I wanted to make Sally and Dan proud.”

“And don’t you think they are?”

Phoebe was starting to think she really liked the old days when her niece was a lot less mature. “I don’t know,” she said, and tried to compose herself. “All I know is I want to rip Nick’s head off for taking this away from me.”

“But, Phoebe, what exactly did he take?”

“The trophy!”

“Exactly.”

“That trophy was meant for me—I mean the café!”

Jesse spoke softly. “And isn’t that who won?”

It took Phoebe a minute to answer. “No. I mean, yes, but only because Nick made sure everyone knows he’s better than I am.”

“Phoebe, everyone already knows that. That’s why you hired him, remember?”

It was true, but it didn’t stop the words from stinging. “That’s not the point here.”

“Then what is the point?”

Phoebe glanced over Jesse’s shoulder to see Nick approaching, holding the winning trophy in his hands.

Flee. It was all too much; she couldn’t deal with any of it right now.

But Jesse wasn’t letting up. “Phoebe. What is the point? What does it matter if it’s your name or Nick’s on that award? It’s for the café, right? And we won. You should be happy.”

Confusion. Nick coming at her. Her niece saying things that were making her question her own motivation.

Turning on her heel, she did something she’d never done in her life. She ran away.