Page 39 of Sweet Rivals

“Sounds like Jared,” he said. “I think there are two possible outcomes here. One, Jared’s impulsivity and lack of business savvy get the best of him and the bakery crashes and burns. Two, he manages to get this thing off the ground. In either case, I just want to help. I don’t want you caught in the crosshairs of all this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if either one of those options is great for you. You are young and just starting out in your career. I would hate for whatever fuck-ups are in Jared’s future to mar your resume,” he said.

“But if he gets it off the ground, that wouldn’t hurt my reputation,” I said.

Joel laughed. “It would if it was a disorganized, poorly run, shit show.”

Before I could respond, the appetizers were placed in front of us. They smelled delicious, and after I had the first bite, I could admit that I was happy he had ordered them.

“Where do you want to go after this?” Joel asked.

“After dinner?” I asked.

Joel laughed again. It didn’t feel like he was making fun of me, but instead like he was genuinely tickled by the things that came out of my mouth.

“After the bakery, after Cape Shores,” he said.

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling like my answer of nothing wasn’t good enough.

“Do you think you will stick with cooking?”

“It’s all I know,” I said, ducking my head to sip my drink so I wouldn’t have to meet his eyes.

“Maybe you need to travel the world,” he said. “What’s your favorite kind of food?”

I blinked at the unexpected turn of the conversation. “My favorite food?” I asked. “That should probably be an easier answer than it is.”

Joel laughed. “It’s the hardest question in the world for a chef. All the options.”

“I guess my favorite is cupcakes?”

“Then you should go to France! Get the best cupcakes you’ve ever tasted,” he said.

“With all my money,” I said.

“I’ll take you. When all this nonsense with the bakery is done, I will take you to France to taste the best cupcakes the world has to offer.”

I couldn’t help but smile. It was all so absurd.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” I said.

“You better,” he said.

“So what’s your favorite food?”

“Evil,” he said with a wink. “I can’t possibly answer that.”

“Oh, I see how it is. You make me answer the hard questions and then bail when it’s your turn,” I said.

“Alright, I guess my favorite food is foie gras.”

“Fancy.” I couldn’t tell if it was a pretentious answer or if that was just how cultured people viewed the world.

“Ever had it?”

“No.”

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