Page 26 of Quarterback Sneak

“So she’s already lost everything before and now she’s found a new family in Aaron.

She gave him a curt nod. “Beth needs someone to baby and Aaron is it. The frustrating part is I have to support her. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t’?”

“Sometimes there’s nothing you can do but be there for her.” His mother had nearly given up everything for Patrick until she almost lost custody of Sam. The prospect of losing her son had motivated her to cleanup her act. Patrick hadn’t cared enough about Sam to try.

Chapter Eleven

The Seasoned Chef magazine crew commandeered a section of Vicenzo’s second story dining room for the upcoming photo shoot and critics’ review video segment. It was early, barely 8:00am and the pressure was getting to Ivy. She pulled back the cold drawer on the line and checked the product for the umpteenth time to verify that she had enough prepped to make a dish for the photographer and for the critic to sample.

Beth had outdone herself on the pasta and the ravioli for the appetizer was light and perfectly formed. Ivy swallowed a rush of guilt at her adverse response to Beth’s announcement. In her defense, marriage and Aaron didn’t add up in her mind. He was a leach and used Beth but it wasn’t her call to make.

She opened the dessert case and gauged the perfectly set crème brulees. It saddened her that Aaron wasn’t the man Beth wanted him to be, no matter how much she wished otherwise. Removing the cellophane cover, she lifted a ramekin and smelled the rich scent before placing it back on the sheet pan. When Beth came in for her shift in an hour, she’d make an effort to be supportive no matter her own displeasure over the whole affair.

Ivy gripped the sides of the pan and as she tried to maneuver it out of the case, she bumped the upper shelf with her shoulder. The contents slid to the back of the case and a container of Maraschino cherries tipped. The red, syrupy juice sloshed over the side and drenched the desserts below. Her pulse kicked into overdrive, tears pressing at the back of her eyes.

“Good morning.” Sam entered the kitchen with a cheerful smile.

His presence derailed the inevitable panic attack and she shot into action before the tears fell in earnest. She rushed around the kitchen and grabbed the ingredients to remake the dessert. Frustration and disbelief burned a path across her chest, making it tight. “It was until I spilled cherry juice everywhere. Now it’s less than three hours until the critic’s review and even if I make a new batch and cool it in an ice bath, there’s no guarantee it’ll set properly. This can’t be happening.”

She slammed the pan onto the stove, her fingers shaking.

Sam wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his check against hers. “It’s all right, you can do this.”

“Chef, we need you out in the dining room for hair and makeup,” the production assistant said, poking her head over the line, eyes wide as she looked from Ivy to Sam.

“Now?” Ivy fought a wave of dread. How was she ever going to finish dessert? She’d rather have her picture look like shit than have her food less than perfect. “My staff isn’t here yet and I have to—”

“I’m sorry. We need to keep on schedule if you want everything broken down by lunch,” the chipper assistant said, disappearing once more.

“Not a problem.” Sam nudged Ivy aside with his hip. “I’ll start this, you go.”

“Don’t you have a meeting this morning?” she asked, torn between guilt and obligation.

He tapped his finger on the plastic butcher board. “Now what kind of a boyfriend would I be if I abandoned you in a moment of crisis?”

“A pretty crappy one, I suppose.” She retrieved a three by five-index card with the recipe on it and handed it to him. Allowing her fingers to slide along his firm bicep, she squeezed. “Have you ever made crème brulee before?”

Holding up the card, he raised a brow in challenge. “I’m sure I can follow a simple recipe.”

“Chef,” the assistant reminded, head bent as she texted on her phone.

“Break a leg,” Sam said.

Ivy cast one last look at Sam before she pushed through the double doors to the pass-through. Once out of the kitchen, she plucked the jade pendant from beneath her chef’s coat. She wasn’t the superstitious type. But what was the harm in wearing the piece for luck? Just in case.

She skirted the round bistro tables with their vintage red-checkered tablecloths and climbed the stairs to the upper level. Unlike the first floor, the second story hummed with activity. Spotlights were arranged in a semi-circle, a long, planked table was staged and ready for the food. The photographer, an intense man with a snowy white beard, directed two younger men who scrambled about, adjusting the lighting.

Ivy extended her hand to the producer, Alice Carlson. During her time on 3Square, she’d developed a friendly rapport with Alice. She’d been looking forward to working with her again. She was professional and had made Ivy feel comfortable and confident, a plus.

“Chef Ivy, it’s nice to see you again. Please, sit,” Alice said, her unusual blue eyes bright.

“It’s nice to see you again as well. Is everything on track?” Ivy asked, trying to act cool and nonchalant while inside she had a million questions she wanted to ask.

“The article is done and I’ll send off a copy to your agent for final approval. Unless, of course, you have some news you would like to share?” She raised one arched brow, a knowing smile curling her lips.

Ivy’s palms moistened and a flash of heat crept up her neck. She knew. Alice knew about Sam. Of course she did. The production assistant saw them together. Breathe. She straightened her spine and tried to gather her wits. Sam had warned her that this would happen. The problem was, Ivy wasn’t prepared to answer any questions about their relationship because she wasn’t sure where it was headed. “No, I’m good.”

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