Authors: Octavia Wildwood
“Yes. You’re not good at taking orders but you’
re great at giving them. You’ll make an excellent and very capable restaurateur one day, Mina. In the meantime, I need somebody like you to challenge me every so often. I don’t want to lose you. So let me have your car fixed. Please?”
What a strange turn of events. Who’d have thought I’d end the night sitting outside
of my apartment with my boss begging me to let him pay for my car repairs? But how could I say no?
The answer was simple: I couldn’t. I prided myself on being self-sufficient but not even my pride could take priority over ensuring that my son was provided for. So
as I dropped my car keys into his outstretched hand, I said the only thing that came to mind.
“Thank you.”
“Thank
you
,” Gavin replied immediately. “I thought I was going to give you a cooking lesson tonight but you ended up teaching me a thing or two. It caught me by surprise, but then you have a way of doing that. I may have to get your take on how to bring new life to a few other dishes.”
As I watched him in the moonlight and listened to him speak, that urge returned. The urge to kiss him was strong…so strong I couldn’t resist it. I couldn’t shake the feeling I was being dropped off after a fantastic fir
st date. A kiss goodnight seemed fitting.
It was hard to tell who made the first move. Maybe he kissed me. Maybe I kissed him. All I knew was our lips brushed in a sweet,
brief, unassuming kiss goodnight. It wasn’t particularly steamy or passionate, though I could feel the longing bubbling hotly beneath the surface. It was just an innocent display of mutual affection…with the lingering, whispered promise of more.
The kiss ended far too soon, leaving me
on edge and wholly unsatisfied. I could tell by the way Gavin was looking at me that he felt the same way. I swiped the back of my hand across my mouth and nodded toward my sleeping son. “I should get him inside.”
Gavin reached down to unbuckle his seatbelt. “I’ll get him.”
My hand found his in the darkness and closed around it, silently telling him to stop. “I’ve got it,” I told him firmly, leaving no room for negotiation. “Goodnight.”
Why is it that a child seems so much heavier when asleep than when awake? The muscles in my back screamed in protest as I lifted Joel from the backseat, his head nestled into the crook of my neck as I hoisted him onto my hip and made my way in
side. I knew I’d be sore in the morning.
It would have been easy to let Gavin help me. He was bigger and stronger than me. He carried Joel with such ease whereas it was becoming an increasingly difficult task for me. He’d wanted to help. But I couldn’t
allow him to come into my apartment.
I didn’t trust myself.
My desire for Gavin burned so hotly that it frightened me. I didn’t know how much longer I could be in his presence and maintain self-control. In fact, my defenses were already down – our chaste yet desperate kiss proved that. It had felt like we were two people looking to get lost in one another, but I couldn’t allow that.
If I let Gavin in, there was no telling what might happen.
I’d climbed the ranks in the competition.
The following day found me back on the stage under the hot, blinding lights. This round’s challenge was to plan, cook and present a five course meal within an
allotted time period using specific ingredients. It was a daunting task and at the end of it the contestants would be graded on a number of different categories including presentation, creativity and flavor.
T
he competition was stiff.
There were only four of us left standing and today one of us would be cut.
All of us were tense and exhausted by the time Gavin made his appearance to evaluate our efforts. In a way, it was art that we were creating…edible art. To be harshly critiqued on it was an intimidating thought for even the most stoic among us.
But when Gavin stepped out onto the stage, I immediately felt reassured.
He looked as good as ever, clean shaven and wearing a neatly pressed suit.
I, on the other hand, was a wreck. Sure, I’d been done up for television by the makeup artists, but that had been hours ago. I knew the producers of the show were
trying to play up the suspense, so I guess they wanted us contestants to look haggard and slightly pathetic. Mission accomplished, I thought to myself wryly as I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my forehead.
But when Gavin’s eyes briefly met mine, I didn’t feel hag
gard or pathetic. In fact his momentary attention seemed to reinvigorate me, breathing new energy into my aching body. I stood up straighter and brushed the flour off my apron as the host of the show talked into the camera in his absurdly cheerful Announcer Voice.
I tuned it out.
As the lights dimmed and the announcer threw to a pre-recorded interview, Gavin walked over to my work station and leaned in close. “I’d hoped to deliver your car to you this afternoon but it’s going to take a week or so for the necessary parts to come in. I’ll drive you home when we’re done here.”
“I need to pick Joel up from the sitter’s house.”
“Okay. I’ll take you.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you ready for this?” he asked me quietly, obviously referring to the competition.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied. It was tough to get a read on him. The previous night he’d been sweet and tender. Now it felt like Gavin Rothe the celebrity
chef was back. There was a guarded quality to his voice that hadn’t been there before. I didn’t like it.
“
I hope you brought your A Game,” he cautioned me. “You know I can’t give you any special treatment, right?” It was too dark to get a good look at him and his tone was such that I didn’t quite know how to take his comment.
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” I retorted immediately, insulted by the suggestion. I crossed my arms defensively. “And yes, for your information, I
did
bring my A Game. I always do.” It was true. I couldn’t afford to have an off day…not when my son’s future was dependent upon winning the competition and the money that came with it.
“Good. I hope you’re right.”
As the pre-recorded interview wrapped up and the lights came back on, Gavin strolled over to the host to say a few words. He moved like he owned the stage, and when he leaned down to talk into the microphone, the audience hung on his every word.
Love him or hate him, there was no question that Gavin Rothe was a star.
The show went on around me, but I was numb. Gavin did his job, spending considerable time evaluating the other contestants’ creations. He spoke at length with each of them, interviewing them in his characteristically abrupt and authoritative manner. At some point he did the same to me. Looking back, I had no recollection whatsoever of what he’d asked me or what I’d said. I’d been operating on autopilot.
“Mr. Rothe, do we have a decision?” the host asked some time later as drumrolls sounded in the background. The familiarity of it all jolted me back to the present. I knew this part well. It was the part I had dreams – and nightmares – about. It was the part where one of us contestants would be laid on the chopping block.
“I do,” Gavin replied, sounding as confident as ever.
He said some other things, the mandatory comments about how we’d all put in a good effort and he was proud to be our judge and mentor. The words didn’t sound like his. It was probably some contrived speech he was contractually obligated to recite, I reasoned. I’d come to learn quickly that
virtually nothing shown on television is real – least of all, so-called reality TV.
“Janessa,” Gavin said, addressing the young woman to my left. “I was impressed with your choice of menu, and your presentation was exquisite. But I think you and I both know that your crème
brûlée left something to be desired. Cooking disasters can happen to the best of us, but unfortunately this is a competition and you only have one shot at impressing me. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to send you home.”
My heart went out to the young woman whose dream had just been crushed and I was grateful that Gavin had shown some mercy
by letting her down easy. It had to hurt to be dismissed from the competition. It was a rejection I hoped I wouldn’t come to know firsthand.
But on the other hand, Janessa was young indeed – probably just barely in her twenties. Other opportunities would come her way. She was devastated now, but she’d pick herself back up and move on. I tried to focus on that thought so that I didn’t feel guilty about the huge smile that had
lit up my face.
I was safe for another round.
And as a reward for progressing to the next level, the remaining three contestants would all be receiving a monetary bonus. It wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but it would keep my bills paid for another week.
And I was that much closer to the grand prize.
By the time my stage makeup had been scrubbed off and I climbed into Gavin’s sports car, my face was starting to hurt from smiling so much. The validation felt great. I didn’t consider myself to be an optimistic person – not after the past few years of my life. In fact, I was probably the opposite. But I could practically taste victory and was it ever delicious.
Driving with Gavin felt different today. Last night we’d had chaperones,
even if they had both been sleeping. Today we were alone together. But different wasn’t necessarily a bad thing; I liked being close to him and I liked the quiet.
It was like
Gavin and I didn’t need words when we were together. I wasn’t sure I’d ever had that with anyone else. Sometimes it was nice to just sit in silence, conversing without ever uttering a single word.
“You seem happy,” he observed.
“I am!” I hesitated and then asked, “Was it hard to decide who should go today?” That wasn’t what I really wanted to know, of course. What I was actually asking was whether he’d played favorites with me despite his warning that he couldn’t.
“Not really,” he replied. “Janessa’s crème
brûlée was atrocious. The only hard part was sugar coating the rejection. I’d have liked to tell her it was the worst dessert I’ve ever tasted in my life, but I guess it’s only the music competition shows that want a villainous judge. I’m so glad to be off the stupid show with its absurd expectations.”
“Why did you sign up to be a judge if you hate it so much?” I asked, relieved that I’d retained my spot in the competition fair and square.
He shrugged. “I’m a celebrity chef. Being on TV is what I do.”
“That’s not really an answer,” I pointed out.
“Maybe it’s not the answer you wanted me to give, but it is an answer,” he insisted as he pulled out of the studio parking lot.
He was being argumentative again. Maybe that would be okay if I was passive and easily dissuaded. But that wasn’t me. If anything, when he got that way, it just made me more determined to make my point.
I tried again. “Aren’t you past the point of doing things you despise? I mean, your restaurant is wildly successful. If you’ve had enough of the TV shows and producers and contracts and scripts, then why not leave it behind? I know it’s none of my business, but everyone knows you’re rich…you must be set for life by now, no?”
“Sometimes it isn’t about the money,” Gavin pointed out. God, even when he was being irritating and vague, he was sexy. What did it say about me that I got turned on by arguing with him? Maybe he wasn’t the only one with issues!
After considering what he’d said for a moment, I relented.
“Okay, fair enough. But if it isn’t about money then what’s it about? Do you do it for the fame?” I guessed.
“Fame?” he repeated with a snort. “
No. Hell no. If you must know, it’s about spite.”
That was an answer I hadn’t been expecting. I raised an eyebrow and looked at Gavin inquisitively, but he stared straight ahead, keeping his eyes trained on the road. “I’m not sure I understand,” I told him
when he refused to meet my gaze.
“It’s better if you don’t.”
That Wednesday had been a long time coming. It was my first day off in…well to be honest, between filming the television show and working at Palate, I couldn’t even remember when I’d last had a day to myself.
On Tuesday night I let Joel stay up late
, happy to finally be able to spend time with him. We’d played games and eaten snacks and giggled well into the night. By the time I’d put him to bed he’d been completely tuckered out. Hopefully that meant he’d sleep late so that I could as well.
Mmm, could I use a day to sleep in!
As it turned out, I woke up promptly at 6 o’clock in the morning. My internal alarm clock couldn’t be shut off, it seemed. But I didn’t mind too much. It was a nice treat to be able to lie there in bed and not have to get up. Instead I could snuggle up under the blankets and let my mind wander.
So I did.
Tellingly, my thoughts immediately turned to Gavin Rothe, the infuriatingly mysterious man I couldn’t quite figure out no matter how hard I tried. Oh, did I ever want him. I’d replayed that damn kiss of ours over and over in my mind until it had taken on a life of its own. Now, I wished he was right there in bed next to me, his lips grazing mine just like they’d done in his car the other night.
Come to think of it, I could think of a few other places I’d like his lips to graze…
I had chores to do and errands to run. My apartment needed cleaning and I was getting low on groceries, but those things could wait until later. Or maybe they could wait until tomorrow. I just wanted to spend the day with Joel. He was growing up so fast and I didn’t want to miss a thing. Maybe I’d take him to the park later on.
But r
ight now I was just going to relax and keep thinking deliciously naughty thoughts about Gavin Rothe.
Or at le
ast that was the plan before my apartment’s buzzer rang.
I ignored it, thankful that Joel was a heavy sleeper. Someone
downstairs had probably just hit the wrong suite number by mistake. It was no big deal. I rolled over and pulled the blankets up over my head, fully prepared to go back to sleep.
The buzzer rang again.
Then it rang a third time.
Annoyed, I jumped out of bed and threw a robe on over the ragged
but comfy oversized college sweatshirt I couldn’t bear to get rid of. Then I stomped into the living room and picked up the phone. “What?” I barked in a half-whisper, half-growl, prepared to give whoever was down there pressing the buzzer a piece of my mind.
“
Wilhelmina Rosalyn Sinclair, that’s no way to talk!”
I was so startled I nearly dropped the phone. “…Mom?”
“Well of course it’s me. Buzz me in!”
What the hell was my mother doing in Los Angeles? I hadn’t spoken to her in a few weeks and when we did talk, it was basically just about Joel.
Her thought processes never failed to baffle me. How could she label me an immoral woman for being an unwed mother and yet absolutely adore her grandson? It made no sense…but then the bizarre ideas my mother came up with rarely did. That was probably a big part of why we’d never seen eye to eye.
Insistent knocking on my door announced her arrival.
I unlocked the deadbolt and immediately cringed as my mother barged in. She was a neat freak and I could practically see her turning her nose up in disgust as she took in my messy living room. I wasn’t
always
a bad housekeeper but I’d been so busy lately. Part of me wanted to explain myself, but I instead opted to keep my mouth shut.
It can be funny how even a headstrong, fiercely independent twenty-eight year old woman can be made to feel like a five year old when her mother comes to visit, can’t it?
“What are you doing here?” I asked. She was a long way from home.
“Your father and I watched t
hat cooking show,” she said. “You looked terrible on it, so I got on a plane as soon as I could!” She paused then and scrutinized me. “As a matter of fact, you look terrible now, too.”
“Well jeez,
thanks Mom,” I retorted sarcastically. What did she expect? Of course my hair was standing on end, I was bleary-eyed and I was dressed like a slob. Her unannounced arrival had gotten me out of bed!
“Don’t say that word.” She was probably the only person in the world who considered “jeez”
to be a curse word. She was a good person and meant well, but we’d certainly clashed over the years due to her strong religious views and my less-than-conservative lifestyle.
“
So you’re here to tell me I looked terrible on television?” I was trying to make sense of her unannounced arrival but she wasn’t giving me much to work with. “By the way,” I added, “we
all
looked terrible because we’d been on our feet all day long, running around like chickens with our heads cut off.”
“That’s my point exactly,” my mother replied. “How can you be spending time with Joel when you’
re so busy filming that show all day? I bet you hardly see him, and it’s not like you know anyone else out here in California. All your family is back in Vermont,” she said pointedly.
I took offense to that immediately. It was one thing for my mother
to nitpick about minor stuff, but I wasn’t going to stand for her criticizing my parenting. “I’ve found Joel a great, reputable sitter. He loves her and we spend time together whenever we can,” I insisted. “It’s no different than any parent who works full-time.”
She ignored the point I was trying to make. No surprise there.
She’d had an annoying habit of doing that my entire life. “When you told me you were moving to Los Angeles to go on some…cooking show, I thought you were being reckless, selfish and irresponsible.”
“Yes, I know. You didn’t exactly keep your o
pinion on the matter a secret.” She’d deeply resented that I was moving Joel so far away from her and had made a lot of noise about it. But my mother’s noise was something I’d learned to tune out a long, long time ago. It was just easier that way.
“You’re in the top three now.”
I wasn’t sure but I thought I detected pride in her voice. It was difficult to tell for sure because it wasn’t something I was used to. Making my parents proud wasn’t exactly my forte. I’d spent much of the past decade disappointing them time and time again, it seemed.
“I am.” I was surprised she’d been watching the show at all. The way she was speaking about it made it seem like she’d been following my progress rather closely.
“Do you think you can win?” she asked anxiously.
“I
have as good a chance as anyone,” I replied honestly.
She nodded. “That’s what I thought. I always knew you could cook but this…w
ell, this has been a surprise. It’s been a good surprise. I think you need to concentrate on the competition more than ever now. And your father and I really miss Joel.”
I softened a bit. I knew at her core, my mother meant well. She loved her grandson to pieces and she even loved me in her own twisted, judgmental way. “He misses you too,” I assured her. “You know I wasn’t trying to take him away from you by moving out here, right?”
She waved her hand and made a clucking sound to let me know she wasn’t interested in discussing that. “Your father has vacation time coming up at work. We’d love to spend time with Joel. Let me take him back to Vermont for a few weeks while your competition is wrapping up.”
“I don’t know, he’s still awfully young.
”
“I’ve already bought him a plane ticket,” my mother insisted. “As a matter of fact, I bought you one, too.” Trust her to put the cart before the horse. I had a suspicion the tickets weren’t roundtrip ones, either. Subtlety had never exactly been my mother’s strong point.
My first instinct was to say no. I’d never gone more than a day without seeing my son. The thought of sending him away, even just temporarily, was heart-wrenching. But on the other hand, there was no one who doted on him more than my parents. They could give him all the time and attention in the world. That was something I couldn’t do at the moment.
“Just for a
week – two tops,” I cautioned, making it perfectly clear that I had no intention whatsoever of returning to live in Vermont. My life was in California now. “As soon as I’m done with the show, I’ll come get him.”
My mother rubbed her hands together, practically jumping up and down with glee. “Ooh, this will be so fun!” she trilled, delighted that I’d agreed to her proposal. “I can
hardly wait to tell your father you said yes! He’s going to be so thrilled! We’ve made a whole list of places to take Joel on outings and games to play and crafts to do…”
She probably would have rambled on for several more sentences if it wasn’t for what I did next. But she was so surprised that she stopped talking immediately.
In fact, it might have been one of the few times in her life that my mother was rendered speechless.
I was surprised too. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d hugged
her. It had been years. We just didn’t have a hugging sort of mother-daughter relationship. But the next thing I knew, I’d wrapped my arms around her, and then I was hugging her.
“
Thank you,” I told her, genuinely meaning it. Regardless of whether she approved, she was supporting my dreams in her own way. I appreciated it more than I could tell her. More importantly, there was no question that she loved my son with all her heart. We had that much in common, anyway.
She didn’t answer
me. Instead, she just hugged me back.