Page 9 of Sweet Rivals

I turned to look at her while she looked at my vacationer with wide-eyed wonder. Of course, he was a stupid Wallace, chef superstar and darling wonder cook.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, with a winning smile. No wonder he had been so effortlessly charming. He was hugely famous and rich. Everyone kissed his ass. He probably had none of the overthinking that affected normal people—or at least normal people with anxiety like I had. Still, it was hard to reconcile the semi-charming if slightly creepy guy I had met on the boardwalk with the image I had in my mind of the asshole Wallaces.

“Jenna! Mr. Wallace is a VIP. Why don’t you get him some lobster toast points and a lobster roll?”

“Oh, no ma’am, I appreciate that, but I’m just taking a walk at the moment. I’ll be back for Cape Shore’s most famous lobster roll though,” he said, and my mom beamed.

“Maybe Jenna could show you around a bit?” Mom said, and I stared at her with wide eyes, communicating my utter disbelief that she would push me onto this man. She knew perfectly well how I felt about corporate takeovers. Up until yesterday, I thought she felt the same way. It didn’t make sense that now she wanted to orchestrate a “tour.”

Chapter Eight

“I’m pretty sure he can find his way around. Besides, these lobster claws won’t break down themselves,” I said, gesturing to the pile in front of me.

“Steve will take over,” she said with a smile wider than I’d ever seen. I looked between Mom and Jared, not trying to hide my disdain.

“Um, I’m pretty sure Mr. Wallace would like to enjoy the Food Fest solo,” I said.

“I wouldn’t mind a tour guide,” he said, leaving me without a clue how to respond. Of course, my unhealthy brain chalked it up his eagerness to either politeness or some sort of plotting.

“Okay,” I said slowly. “Give me a minute to clean up.” I glared at my mom as I turned and walked out the back of the booth, but she ignored me, already picking up a conversation with Jared Wallace.

Inside the restaurant, I pulled off my gloves and scrubbed my hands under scalding water before taking off my apron and jacket. I pulled my long, brown hair out of the bun and tossed it around until it laid mostly flat with a cute beachy wave. I fixed my mascara before assessing myself in the mirror. I would have put in more effort if I had known this was where the night was headed. But it would have to do.

I hurried back out to find Jared laughing effortlessly at something my mom said. She looked happier than she did in the wedding pictures with my father, which only made my rage burn brighter. The audacity of this man to show up to the Food Fest and effortlessly charm everyone. I didn’t trust him even a little. There was no way a guy from the Wallace family was just enjoying the atmosphere.

I stood to the side of the booth, not sure if I should interrupt or not. Jared saw me and turned his thousand-watt smile in my direction causing a brief short circuit before I remembered that I hated him.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yep,” I said. He held out his elbow like some strange Victorian gentleman. “Alright, I guess we are doing this,” I said as I put my arm through his, but I made sure my face let everyone around us know exactly what I thought it all. The action brought me incredible close. My shoulder brushed against his bicep, and my hip pressed against his. The heat from our unexpected contract moved through my body, ending with my cheeks that were definitely bright red.

“Where to first?” he asked.

“You know, I have no idea. I’ve never actually had an opportunity to walk through Food Fest. I’ve always been working,” I said.

“I guess I should be the tour guide then.”

“Have you been to the Food Fest before?” I asked. We walked slowly, aimlessly following the flow of the crowd.

“Of course,” he said. “See, over there is the convention of the Hawaiian shirt dads.” He pointed to a cluster of middle-aged men who were, in fact, all wearing brightly colored Hawaiian shirts.

I snorted a surprised laugh despite myself. This guy was a walking contradiction that I couldn’t make heads or tails of. Definitely not what I expected from a rich and famous guy, but the night was young, and he was practiced at charming everyone he came across.

“Over there are the wanna-be influencers.” He pointed to a group of teens taking selfies.

“You must really like the Cape Shore Food Fest if you know it this well,” I said.

“Yep,” he said. We walked arm in arm through the crowded cobblestone streets to the accompaniment of the cover band singing “Don’t Stop Believing” that caused various groups of people to break out into a sing along. The warm air swirled around us, and for a moment, I felt like I had been transported into some alternate life. Some fantasy storyline filled with glittering lights, warm summer nights, and a steamy romance.

“Is the rest of your family here?” I asked.

“I hope not,” he said with a lift of his eyebrows as he quirked his lips up in a half-grin.

“Do you answer anything with a straightforward answer?”

His eyebrows furrowed momentarily. “Well, I would answer no, but that would be straightforward and make me a liar. Kind of a conundrum.”

I shook my head. I wasn’t sure if his affable attitude was charming or infuriating. He certainly wasn't anything like the guys I had ever met before. I had a tendency to find men like me: serious, driven, responsible.

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