Authors: Rachel Spangler
“So . . . ” The young reporter drew out the word as she glanced around the restaurant. “I thought the fryboi would be joining us.”
“She will, in her own time,” Quinn said, settling into one of the mismatched wooden chairs the space was filled with, each one reclaimed from some defunct business in Buffalo. She rested her hands on one of many long, butcher-block top tables. Just like the chairs, no two tables were the same length. They didn't have a single matching set of anything in the entire dining area. Each piece was unique, each one had its own history, and each one symbolized the hope of a resurgence, a second, third, or fourth chance. She would have gladly told the young writer from
Spree
about their choices in décor if she'd stop looking furtively toward every corner of the room for Hal, as if she might be hiding somewhere just out of view.
“I've interviewed her before,” the woman said, her green eyes still searching.
“I know.” She also knew the implications she'd made while writing, the ones that suggested she'd like to taste more of Hal than could be served on a public menu. “It was actually your cover story on her last summer that pushed me to contact her in the first place.”
“Oh?” That seemed to get her attention. “We got a lot of positive feedback on the piece.”
“I bet you did.” Quinn smiled slowly. “But I'm also willing to bet this will be a very different kind of interview.”
“Because she won't be joining us?”
“No, she will. But you get me first. A gatekeeper, if you will. It's my job to lay the foundation before anyone bothers the chef in her sanctuary. I've learned the hard way that she doesn't handle it well
when people infringe on her freedom to work the way she wants to.” She fought a shudder and a surge of heat at the memories of the way they'd pushed each other on their first night in this particular venue. She still got a thrill every time she walked past the big stainless steel prep table in the kitchen.
No.
That space had to be protected.
She wouldn't let any reporter cross those same lines, even if she did trust Hal not to react the same way she had that night. “I am sure you can understand, especially since tonight is our grand opening, which of course is why you're here.”
“Right.” The reporter grudgingly took the hint and opened up the case to her tablet. “And you're an investor in this project?”
“I'm co-owner. Hal and I have an equal stake. We're partners. In every sense of the word.”
The reporter glanced up from the document she'd been typing on. “Every sense of the word?”
“Every,” Quinn emphasized.
She nodded so slowly her tightly cropped pixie cut barely moved. “Okay then. I guess I should ask about menus and specials.”
“You could,” Quinn said, trying not to let her grin move into the realm of the obnoxious. “But it seems like you're wondering about something else.”
“How did you get her out of the truck?”
She suspected that wasn't exactly the question burning the young writer's mind, but close enough. “To be honest with you, I'm still not completely sure. I've always known a good thing when I saw one, but Hal took a little longer to see our true potential. She can be very stubborn.”
“Me?” Hal asked, pushing through the swinging door from the kitchen. “Ms. Banning, this is why I cannot trust you to do all the interviews.”
“We clearly delineated our roles for the grand opening, Chef Orion. I don't tell you how to do your job, you trust me to do mine.”
“What if I can't stand to be away from you so much after six months of constant cohabitation?”
Six months, Quinn marveled. The worst of a Buffalo winter had nearly passed them by, and she'd yet to feel so much as a chill. Now with spring still more than a month away, she couldn't imagine a better time, or a better way, to talk about the promise of new life than with Hal by her side.
“Constant cohabitation?” the reporter practically squeaked out.
“Well, maybe not constant.” Hal slid into the seat next to Quinn and rested her arm along the back of Quinn's chair. The possessiveness of her posture caused Quinn's body temperature to rise a few degrees. “But between all the meetings with the bank, and the realtors, and the health inspectorsâ”
“Don't forget the produce wholesalers and the wait staff,” Quinn cut in.
“And the late nights finalizing menus, and the test runs, and the dress rehearsalsâ”
“Wow,” the reporter said dryly. “When do you have time to sleep?”
“Sleep?” they both asked in unison, then laughed.
“We work together all day,” Quinn finally said. “You'd think we'd be sick of each other by the time we get home.”
“Or at least ready to crash,” Hal added.
“But we're both still so excited about what we're doing, about what we're buildingâ”
“About who we are becoming,” Hal amended, squeezing her shoulder gently. “That we're too, um . . . keyed up for sleep.”
Too keyed up for sleep. What a polite way of saying the urge to rip each other's clothes off at the end of the day had yet to wane, especially now that Ian had moved in with Sully and Hal had taken up permanent residence at Quinn's house. Apparently there comes a time in any romantic relationship where one simply doesn't want to share space with one's siblings, and she and Ian had each reached that stage in their respective relationships almost simultaneously.
“Sounds exhausting,” the reporter said.
“In the best possible way,” Quinn agreed, with more suggestiveness than she meant to let slip through, then quickly returned to her business voice. “When you're working on a project you believe in, with someone you believe in, it's hard to focus on what you're giving up.”
“But there must be downsides,” the reported pushed. “If I remember correctly, Ms. Banning, you left a very successful and stable career in banking, and Hal left an almost rock star following in her food truck, to start a restaurant. You both left a lot. Aren't there times you worry about tying yourself to this . . . project so completely?”
“Sure, there are moments of doubt,” Quinn admitted as she moved a hand onto Hal's thigh. “As I mentioned, the chef has a stubborn streak.”
“As does my business partner,” Hal said. “And she's pushy at times.”
“And Hal's impulsive.”
“While Quinn can be a little anal-retentive.”
“And she”âQuinn worked her hand a little higher along the inseam of Hal's jeansâ“can be jealous at times.”
Hal's leg twitched under the pressure of Quinn's fingers. “But Quinn can be just as possessive as the next woman, so she gets it.”
The reporter sighed heavily. “So you two really prove the old adage that opposites attract?”
“No,” Hal said. “We're not opposites. Not really. We're two sides of the same coin.”
“And we do more than attract,” Quinn said. “We complement. We accentuate.”
“We bring out the best in each other, and this restaurant is going to show that combo to Buffalo. We're going to attract the old and the new, hippies and hipsters, factory workers and free range farmers, we want to bring them all to our tables.”
“Yes, if it's one thing Hal and I can always agree on, it's that people, places, and even ideas that initially seem discordant often end up working the best together.”
To her credit, the reporter had now taken a break from making googly eyes at Hal and shooting daggers at Quinn to actively take notes. “Is that why you named the restaurant after your new signature sandwich?”
“Actually,” Quinn said with a smile, “the restaurant isn't named after the sandwich. Or I guess it is, but only after we named the sandwich after us.”
The reporter looked up, turning from Hal to Quinn, and then quickly back at her tablet as if to try and hide her eye roll.
“It's okay,” Hal said as if she felt bad for the woman. “Even we had our doubts. Not about the nameâwe were set on that from the very beginning. But we couldn't decide if we really wanted to be
that couple
.”
“That couple?”
“You know, the ones who are so obnoxiously in love that they'd name their restaurant Perfect Pairing and then tell everyone it was an allusion to their relationship,” Quinn said.
“Yeah,” the reporter said drolly, “I wouldn't have pegged either of you for that type.”
“Neither would either of us last summer,” Hal admitted. “Which is ultimately why we did it. We're not the people we were last year. We're better.”
“And when we open tonight, we're going to show Buffalo that we're all better together.”
“That's the goal, anyway,” Hal said, then kissed Quinn quickly on the temple.
“No, it's more than a goal,” Quinn said with a smile and a sense of peace she'd become increasingly familiar with. “That's perfection.”
Rachel Spangler never set out to be an award-winning author. She was just so poor and easily bored during her college years that she had to come up with creative ways to entertain herself, and her first novel,
Learning Curve
, was born out of one such attempt. She was sincerely surprised when it was accepted for publication and even more shocked when it won the Golden Crown Literary Award for Debut Author. She also won a Goldie for her second novel,
Trails Merge
. Since writing is more fun than a real job and so much cheaper than therapy, Rachel continued to type away, leading to the publication of
The Long Way Home, LoveLife, Spanish Heart, Does She Love You, Timeless, Heart Of The Game
, and
Perfect Pairing
. She plans to continue writing as long as anyone anywhere will keep reading.
Rachel and her wife Susan are raising their young son in western New York, where during the winter they make the most of the lake effect snow on local ski slopes. In the summer, they love to travel and watch their beloved St. Louis Cardinals. Regardless of the season, she always makes time for a good romance, whether she's reading it, writing it, or living it.
For more information visit Rachel on
Facebook
or online at
www.rachelspangler.com
.
At its heart this book, like all my others, is about love, but it's also about food and Buffalo and taking chances. It's about how where we come from shapes who we are and how who we've been doesn't have to define who we will be. These themes have been particularly poignant for me lately. My work, the stories we tell, and the people I've met along the way make up a huge part of who I am. The connections within our community are a tremendous blessing, but it makes times of transitions in my job particularly daunting. The last year has brought a good deal of change: a new job, new adventures, and a new publisher. While I've had my share of doubt, fears, and second-guessing along the way, I can honestly say that I've never been more proud to call myself a lesbian romance novelist. So many people have shown me so much love and support through this time of transition, and I'd like to take some time to thank a few of them here.
First, I'd like to thank the staff at Bold Strokes Books. I'm eternally grateful to Radclyffe, Stacia Seaman, Shelly Thrasher, Ruth Sternglantz, Connie Ward, and so many others. They gave me my start and taught me virtually everything I know about what it means to be a published author. I would not be half the writer I am today without their influence. I'm especially proud of the relationships I continue to share with many BSB authors. They've always been willing to share their wisdom and insights, and while
my publishing situation has changed, I'm thankful our friendships have not.
On the other side of the publishing transition, the Bywater Books team has been welcoming beyond my wildest dreams. Kelly Smith was my friend long before she was my editor and yet never pressured me to be someone or do anything that wasn't one hundred percent right for me and my family. I'm happy to say working with her as an editor turned out to be equally balanced, fair, and fun. To Salem West, getting to know you and work together has been one of the highlights of my year. I can't think of a steadier hand to have at the helm of the business end of my career. Likewise, one of the true joys of my jump to Bywater has been working with Marianne K. Martin. I've long admired her as an author, but it's a joy to find the woman behind her books to be smart, compassionate, and a genuinely caring human being. Finally, Ann McMan is not only fun and funny, she also gave me one of the best gifts any writer can ask for in sharing her tremendous talent for cover design. She perfectly captured the essence of Quinn and Hal's journey.
Amid all the changes, a few things have remained delightfully constant. I once again turned first to longtime beta readers Toni Whitaker and Barb Dallinger. They acted as my sounding board and helped me stay the course I've set for writing character-driven romances, and they didn't let me down. One of the conditions of my transition was that I wouldn't publish anything without the editorial input of Lynda Sandoval. Thankfully she agreed to continue working with me over at Bywater. Aside from being a sparkly yoga unicorn, she is also one of my most trusted confidants, an amazing sounding board, and one hell of a good friend. As always, I'm a better writer and a better person for having her around.
The research for this particular book was especially involved and also fun. Every sandwich used in this story
had to be created from scratch, then tested, adjusted, and tested some more. I couldn't have had that without help. Diane Gaidry was always up for food truck hunting. From Elmwood to Larkin, we ran down all the big names in Buffalo. So many of my friends and fellow writers offered up their time, talents, and taste buds trying to help me achieve perfection. Thank you to Elaine Mulligan Lynch, Lee Lynch, Nell Stark, Trinity Tam, Nikki Little, Kate Little, Marianne K. Martin, Georgia Beers, and Melissa Brayden. Thank you as well to Yolanda Wallace, whose novel,
A Month Of Sundays
, offered me a lot of lesbian chef inspiration. I also need to offer special gratitude to Will Banks, who, aside from being an awesome Big Papi, is also a great chef. He helped take my idea for the
Heard of Buffalo?
from the storyboard to grilled cheese masterpiece.
Jackson Spangler was my best food trucking buddy, despite the fact that he always chose pizza over the wide array of more melty options. Jackie, I always love having you beside me, no matter how big or small the adventure. And to Susie, my everything, I can't even begin to convey my gratitude for the love and support you've shown me over the last fourteen plus years. I know you've borne the brunt of my indecision, my impulsiveness, and my endless stream of consciousness discussions about my writing and my future plans. I don't know how you continue to summon so much enthusiasm for one more grilled cheese, or one more plot twist, or one more life change, but you do, and I'm in awe of you. No matter what else happens in my life, I can handle it because I have you by my side, come what may.
Finally, nothing I've said or done would be possible, or even meaningful, without the love and guidance of God.
Soli Deo Gloria
.