Love in the Morning (13 page)

“Chilly,” she said in a slightly shaky voice.

“Temperatures start to drop at this time of year. We should get some more snow in the next couple of weeks.”

She glanced up at him, her lips moving into a smile that looked genuine. “Wow. Real snow. I'm looking forward to it.”

He glanced down at her running shoes. “You'll probably need to pick up some winter clothes then. Those shoes aren't going to go through drifts.”

She sighed. “I need to go shopping, but there's never enough time.”

“Take some time,” he said flatly. “You can't cook if you're suffering from pneumonia.”

“I guess that's true.”

Praeger House rose up in front of them, the lights glowing golden against the darkness of the mountain night. Clark took a moment to savor the sight. His hotel. His accomplishment.
Suck it, Daniel.

Beneath his arm he felt Lizzy's shoulders tighten. Okay, they were back at the hotel. Decision time. Ask her to come to his room or not? Sex or not? Kiss or…nah, that was ridiculous. Of course, he was going to kiss her.

He moved her gently up the front steps toward the massive front doors with their twisted branch handles. They weren't original, but they fit with his idea of what the hotel should be. Mountain funk meets modern lux. Jeremiah Johnson meets Jay-Z.

Lizzy pulled gently against his arm, moving away from him. “Well…thank you. It was a nice break.”

She started to walk away from him before his numbed brain actually realized what was happening. Not only was she not coming to his room—okay, he hadn't exactly decided whether to ask her to come or not—she wasn't even going to stick around for a goodnight kiss.

No way was that going to happen.

He caught up to her just before she opened the doors, cupping her face in his hands. She blinked up at him for a moment, then closed her eyes as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Her skin was cool from the evening chill, her lips cool too. He opened his mouth against hers, rubbing his tongue along the edge of her lips until she opened for him, then plunging deep. His body immediately reminded him just what it had felt like to have Lizzy Apodaca in his arms—the heat, the sensation, the rush of desire that had almost knocked him off his feet.

Idiot. Idiot! You should have asked her to your apartment. You should have had dinner in. You should have kept her with you.

She stepped back again, slowly, gazing up at him, eyes wide and slightly dazed.

Say something, stupid
. “Maybe we…”

She stared for a moment longer, then shook her head. “I've still got that prep. And I really need to get some sleep tonight. Big day tomorrow. New menu items to test and all.”

You blew it. You totally blew it.
“Oh, okay.”

“See you tomorrow?” She gave him a tentative sort of smile.

“Definitely.” He nodded, then pulled the door open for her and watched her walk down the hall away from him.

He wasn't sure just what had happened, but he knew it wasn't good. Maybe if he started working on it now, he could figure out a way to get her back where she belonged. With him.

*****

Lizzy leaned back against the door to her room, closing her eyes.
Well, that was a disaster. Or close to it.

Nothing like freaking out every time she thought somebody recognized her or associated her with food poisoning. She'd taken an innocuous comment and turned it into a full-blown panic attack. Of course he hadn't known what she was reacting to. But now he must have a pretty good idea that something was wrong. If she were lucky, he'd think she was just a nutcase. Otherwise, he might start doing some investigating. Which would end in disaster.

The only way to go on from here was just to take everything down a notch. No more searing glances across the dining room. No more molten kisses on the steps. No more wild monkey sex in her bedroom.

She closed her eyes.
No more fun, Lizzy. Fun time's over.
And if that made her heart drop a little, made her eyes tear up, well then that was just the way things had to be.

What do you think he's going to do, Lizzy? Fire you?
Just because she'd been less than honest with him? After she'd whipped his kitchen into shape and increased his business?
Maybe not.

And yet… She thought of all the people she'd depended on who'd dropped her flat. Her suppliers. Her clients. Her entire family. So far depending on others to be understanding hadn't worked out all that well.

Better to be safe than sorry. Better to be alone, than on the road again.

Now if she could only convince Clark about the wisdom of that conclusion.

Chapter Thirteen

I'm just giving her space
was Clark's mantra over the next couple of days. He was fairly sure that Lizzy didn't want to see him, given how much he'd apparently screwed up their last date. If he gave her a few days off, she might be more inclined to overlook his fumbling. Then they could see where they went from there. He had a few destinations in mind himself.

He got an acknowledgement of their entry in the Best of the Box, confirming that the judges would be by to check out the buffet on a future, unannounced date. Finalists would be revealed at the end of the month. All the others would be listed as “also visited”. Clark figured that would be tantamount to having
Loser
scribbled across the front door.

He thought about telling Lizzy but decided against it—not just because he didn't want to talk to her at the moment, but also because if she knew the judges would be coming, it might make her nervous. And
nervous
could interfere with
delicious.

Still, he kept a watchful eye on the crowds every morning, even though he didn't actually go into the dining room to do it. He'd alerted Colleen and Betsy to be on the lookout for unusual guests. They were supposed to let him know if anybody who looked like a judge showed up, assuming they could all figure out what a judge looked like.

Three days later, Colleen leaned into his office, eyes narrow. “Got some new people in the dining room today. I don't know—could be judges.”

He pushed himself to his feet, restraining an impulse to trot over to the door and take a peek. “What did they look like?”

She shrugged. “Slacks, button-down shirts, sort of normal.”

“Where are they?”

“Dining room, like I said. I gotta get back to the desk.” Her head disappeared abruptly from the door.

Clark managed not to trot as he headed toward the dining room. He did allow himself a fairly brisk stroll, however. Betsy, ringing up customers in her usual spot behind the counter next to the door, gave him a quick nod as he headed into the dining room.

The room was packed with the usual late-morning customers, most of them hotel guests but a few from town. Three men in khakis and blue button-down shirts were working their way down the buffet line. He figured they were either judges or missionaries. Either way, he intended to keep an eye on them.

Fortunately, it was a hash day, although he wasn't sure what kind of hash Lizzy was doing at the moment. Of all the menu innovations she'd introduced, hash was the most popular. Clark himself found it addictive. He was less sure about the taco bar, but he had to admit it sold out when they featured it on weekends.

He glanced toward Lizzy at her omelet station. She didn't seem to have noticed him yet, which was just as well. He was still into the whole
give her some space
thing. Plus, he didn't want to throw her off her game.

His shoulders tensed. One of the khaki guys had wandered away from the buffet line toward Lizzy's omelet station. He stood watching her cook for a moment. Of course, Lizzy in omelet mode was always a little mesmerizing. Still, Clark had a feeling this particular observer was watching more than her fluid grace with an omelet pan. As she handed a plate to the customer at the head of the line, Khakis stepped forward and said something to her. She gave him one of her professional smiles as she answered him. He said something else and she gave him a slightly shorter smile before she shook her head. Whatever he'd said, she wasn't buying.

For a moment Khakis continued to watch Lizzy wield her omelet pan. Then he walked back to his buddy at the buffet line. Clark couldn't tell if the guy was smiling or not.

All of a sudden he sort of wished he hadn't made a point of coming out to watch the judges. What the hell had Khakis been trying to get from Lizzy? Whatever it was hadn't made him happy. Clark wondered if it was enough to get them dropped into “also visited”. Maybe he could talk the editor into removing them from the list altogether.

Nothing like having a little confidence in your chef, jerkface.

He closed his eyes, sighing. Why did this contest suddenly seem like a bad idea?

*****

Lizzy wasn't exactly surprised when she didn't see Clark for several days after their “date”. The whole thing had been pretty disastrous, even judged by her own low dating standards. Maybe he'd decided to simply cut his losses and avoid her from now on. She couldn't blame him.

She would miss him, though. She did, in fact.

She and Desi had run through the new menu items a couple of times, making adjustments as they went. All of the new main dishes seemed to be popular. The demand for scrambled eggs had dropped off a bit, but the demand for omelets had stayed constant. Desi's muffins were steadily improving, and she gave him the go-ahead to try coming up with some kind of pumpkin spice recipe for the autumn tourists.

The crowds stayed healthy, which probably reflected more the success of the hotel than the quality of her cooking. Still, she recognized a few people from the Blarney Stone among their customers who might actually have been locals rather than guests. Maybe word was getting around in a limited sort of way.

The dining room was full, and her bed was empty. Situation depressingly normal.

The omelet line stretched a little farther than usual today. She slid a bacon and mushroom creation onto a plate and passed it to the man in front of her.

“Do you have poached eggs for the hash?”

The voice came from behind her. Lizzy glanced over her shoulder at a remarkably well-dressed diner. Of course in Salt Box “well dressed” was a relative term. Khakis and a button-down shirt were almost formal wear. “Pardon?”

“Poached eggs,” he repeated. “Are there any poached eggs for the hash?”

Poached eggs? Are you freakin' kidding me?
She managed to push her lips into something that resembled a smile. “Nope, sorry. I can fry you an egg if you like, after I finish these omelets.” She nodded toward the increasing line of omelet customers.

The customer almost looked like he was pouting. His lower lip extended slightly. “No, I really had my taste buds all set for poached.”

For a moment she considered asking Desi to try poaching him one, but the possibilities for disaster were too great. She'd be willing to bet Desi had never poached an egg in his life. “Sorry,” she said again, “we just don't have them.”

The customer's pout became more pronounced, and he gave a noticeable sigh as he turned back to the buffet line. Did he actually think she might go back to the kitchen and poach him one while the omelet customers waited?
So
not going to happen.

She turned back to the next omelet customer, trying to keep from gritting her teeth. “What can I fix for you, sir?”

“How about bacon and mushroom?” He extended his plate as if he expected her to conjure one out of thin air.

She managed to keep her smile in place as she picked up her pot of melted butter. “Coming up.”

Eight omelets later she glanced up to see Clark standing at her elbow. He looked remarkably tense.

“What was that all about?” he asked in a low voice.

“What was what all about?” She handed a spinach-and-parmesan omelet to the last person in line.

“The guy with the hash. What did he want?”

The guy with the hash?
It took her a moment to remember. “Oh. He wanted a poached egg, but we don't have any. I offered to fry him one, but he said he wanted poached.”

If anything, Clark's expression became even more tense. “Do we ever have poached eggs?”

Lizzy shook her head, frowning. “There doesn't seem to be that much demand for them. Why?”

For a moment, she thought he wasn't going to answer. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “I think those three guys may be judges for Best of the Box.”

“Judges?” Her heart suddenly seemed to have turned to lead. “Well, crap.”

He shook his head, giving her a smile so false it made her teeth ache. “Don't worry about it. Maybe I'm wrong. They might be insurance salesmen or something. Besides, even if we don't do poached eggs, the rest of the buffet rocks.”

“Right.” She figured her own smile was probably a close copy of his. All their work in coming up with a new menu, getting it up and running, and still they might lose over a poached egg. She took a quick breath, trying for clarity. “I'm willing to bet no other buffet offers poached eggs either. And I did offer to fry him one.”

Clark nodded. “You did. It's probably okay.”

Two customers stepped in front of her, plates in hand. Omelet time. “I'll talk to you later.”

“Sure.” He gave her another one of those supremely phony smiles and turned away.

Great. Empty bed, crowded dining room, and fumbled contest. Lizzy felt like groaning. Instead, she grabbed a clean omelet pan and got to work.

*****

Clark told himself it didn't matter. Repeatedly. The hotel would undoubtedly final in the Best Romantic Getaway category. They always did. He was probably over-reaching to even consider finaling in another category as well. And even if they didn't place, they'd still gotten a brand-new menu out of the deal. And a brand-new chef.

He ran a hand through his hair. A brand-new chef he was sleeping with, or anyway, had slept with. Once. He sighed. He'd been sighing a lot over the last couple of days. Maybe he needed to get his shit together and stop avoiding Lizzy. Giving her space hadn't seemed to work out for him. He didn't know how well it had worked for her, but he sort of hoped she was feeling the same way he was—lonely.

It had now been two days since the guys he'd thought were judges for Best of the Box had wandered through. He'd hoped they might come back and try some of Lizzy's other breakfast dishes—the pancakes were great, and he was getting used to the tacos, although he still wasn't exactly sold. Even the creamed gravy on biscuits had had a lot of takers. He'd tried one himself, and he had to admit it was tasty. Of course he could also feel his arteries clogging as he chewed.

And her omelets continued to be celestial. He knew she'd suggested shutting down the omelet line at one point since it was labor intensive, but he considered it labor well spent. Who knew how many guys were showing up every morning just to watch Lizzy flip omelets out of pans?

Of course the idea of all those male eyes fastened on his chef made him feel sort of grumpy himself, but he knew he needed to get over it. If he wasn't going to stake a claim, it stood to reason somebody else would.

He wondered if he was actually ready to stake a claim himself. He knew he should have an answer to that question, but he didn't.

He spent the rest of the day in a lousy mood. Even though he knew he was right about Lizzy being a free agent, that didn't mean he had to like it much. Around four, when he was up to his elbows in a proposal for a new set of winter packages, he got a call.

He checked the number.
Crap.

“Hi, Lauren,” he said, trying for the right amount of nonchalance. “What's up?”

“Hi.” Lauren didn't sound any more enthusiastic than he did. “I just wanted to pass on some good news.”

He frowned, trying to remember if he had anything pending with the resort. He didn't think so. “What good news is that?”

“Praeger House finaled in two categories for Best of the Box—romantic getaways and breakfast buffet. Congratulations.” For someone passing along great news, she sounded pretty unimpressed herself.

Clark didn't care. The good news itself made up for any snottiness on Lauren's part. “That's great. How did you find out?”

“The resort association is running the competition this year. We'll be sponsoring the big Taste of the Box after the finalists are announced. We're doing it in conjunction with that
Lovely Ladies
reality show.”

“Oh, well, thanks for telling me.” He wondered if there was anything else he should say. How did you talk to somebody you used to have sex with after you'd dropped each other like a pair of hot potatoes?

“There's some promo attached to this—pictures and a short description for the magazine. I'll set up a time for the photographer to come around sometime this week.”

“Okay, great.” He felt like he was repeating himself, but he didn't have much else to say.

“Talk to you later, then. Congrats.” Her disconnect snapped in his ear.

Clearly, Lauren wasn't delighted to be the one who had to deal with him. But he didn't give a rat's ass.

He pushed up from his desk, heading for the door. He'd make a general announcement to the staff, but he wanted to tell Lizzy first.

He paused for a moment. Was this really the way he wanted to tell her? Pass on the news in the kitchen with Desi, Marco, Betsy and who the hell knew who else hanging around? An announcement like this deserved special treatment. And it might be the perfect opportunity to make up for all his idiocy over the past week.

He turned up the hall toward his apartment. Might as well get a few things ready first. Assuming, of course, Lizzy was amenable to a little celebration in honor of their success.

Or a lot of celebration. He was really hoping for a lot himself.

*****

Lizzy sent Desi home early after he'd mixed up all the muffins for the next day. His pumpkin spice still wasn't quite right, but it was in the neighborhood. She bundled the last of the reserved muffins in plastic wrap and prepared to put them in the refrigerator case. And then she'd have to check over the leftovers in the refrigerator for her dinner. She was a little tired of hash, but it beat scrambled eggs.

She leaned into the sale case and started loading muffins onto one of the shelves. Christine, who ran the gift store, peered at her from behind her cash register. “What flavor this time?”