Page 2 of 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It
“Absolutely not.” Total truth. She’d wanted to expand her bakery for years now, not just physically but pushing more into her art, adding more upscale pastries that the customer base here in her small hometown simply didn’t have an interest in and often couldn’t afford. The chance to add a second store in the upcoming Black Wolf Resort and feature her pastry skills in their top-notch restaurant would allow her to do exactly that. “I’m ready.”
“For the expansion or to go to Lily’s?” Erin teased. She finished the final swallow of her tea on the walk over to the sink, than added the glass to the top rack of the dishwasher. “And we’re not going until you tell me what’s up.”
“Wasn’t it you just nagging me about being late?”
Erin shrugged, a smile teasing her mouth. “Being late will just draw more attention when we finally do arrive.”
Claire blanched.
Erin arched a brow. “I knew it was something about this barbecue that was getting to you. You’ve been like a cat on a hot tin roof since Lily started discussing it. What’s going on?” Moving closer, she gripped Claire’s bare arm softly, frowning down at her. “You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
She did know. The problem was, she wasn’t sure spilling her guts would help. But she also knew that look in Erin’s eyes; it meant she wasn’t getting out of here without some kind of explanation.
Erin leaned back against the sink, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’re not intimidated by having a high-profile chef here, are you? Because you shouldn’t be. He might be fromNew York City”—Erin gave those three words the quirky cowboy accent from the Old El Paso commercials Claire remembered from the ’90s, making her snort—“but that doesn’t mean he’s better than you.”
Lincoln did have more talent than she did, at least as a chef; she had enough self-awareness to acknowledge that. Heck, he had more talent than 95 percent of the food experts in the world. Lincoln Young hadn’t gotten where he was in the culinary world on looks and charm alone, although he had plenty of that to go along with his genius. When it came to pastry, though, that was a whole other deal. Creating desserts people melted over was her passion, and though pastry chefs like the ones she’d studied under during her time at the Institute of Culinary Education in New York City might top her, no way could Lincoln Young ever beat her in a pastry stand-off. She knew that from personal experience.
Not that she’d tell Erin that.
“No, he doesn’t intimidate me,” Claire assured her. Not a total lie. He didn’t intimidate her on a professional level, but on a personal one? She refused to think about that. “Lincoln will oversee the restaurant”—at least at first, since he had a Michelin-starred restaurant and a celebrity-chef career to manage elsewhere—“and that would make him somewhat my boss, but no, I don’t think he can fault me where my food is concerned.”
Erin began gathering bowls and pans onto the small cart she’d brought to carry everything. “Good, because he shouldn’t. I know I’m no expert, but I’ve never tasted anything better than your food, Claire.”
Erin had never been out of the South, so she’d never experienced the wonders of the New York food scene, but her friend’s words touched her heart. “Thank you, Erin.”
Her phone buzzed in her skirt pocket, and Claire fished it out. Her heart took a nosedive as she read the text.
Dinner is almost on the table and everyone is here. Where are you?
“Is that Lily?” Erin asked as she finished transferring the last of the food.
“No such luck.” Following behind her friend as she steered the cart toward the back door, Claire typed rapidly in response:Mama, I told you tonight is Lily and JD’s engagement party. I won’t be at family dinner tonight.
Her mother’s response had her lips tightening before she thumbed her phone off and slid it back into her pocket.
A knowing look sparked in Erin’s eyes. “Mom giving you a hard time again?”
It would be funny if it wasn’t so painful. “Missing family dinner for time with my heathen friends?” Her eye roll shouted exactly what she thought of that label. No, her mother hadn’t said it exactly that way, but Claire read the subtext just fine. “Why would she give me a hard time about that?”
Erin snorted. “We’re more fun anyway.”
Her friend wasn’t wrong. Most family dinners were spent with her mother fawning over Claire’s brothers’ children and giving Claire disapproving looks anytime she discussed her business. According to her family, her place in the world was barefoot and pregnant while her husband “provided” for her and the brood of children she was obligated to provide in turn.
Yeah, she’d tried that route. To say it hadn’t worked out was the understatement of the century.
She moved around Erin and the cart to open the door, doing her best to ignore the ache behind her breastbone. “Y’all are definitely more fun,” she threw over her shoulder. “And you have alcohol.”
“You know it!” Erin pushed her load onto the stair landing, then waited for Claire to lock up.
Her friend’s response lightened Claire’s mood. She usually limited herself to two drinks at any gathering—she was definitely a lightweight when it came to alcohol—but she might have the first one quick when they got to Lily’s. Anything to ease the nerves that resumed with a vengeance as they maneuvered the cart down to the car and began to load the food into the back seat of Erin’s truck. She had little choice but to move forward if she wanted the opportunity at Black Wolf Resort, and that meant facing Lincoln Young head-on.
Who knew? Maybe she’d get lucky and their time together so long ago would be lost amid the excitement and demands of the jet-setting life he’d lived for the last nine years. Surely he’d forgotten one shy little pastry-chef intern by now.
Lincoln Young probably wouldn’t even recognize her.
But as they began the short drive over to Lily’s house, she knew the likelihood of that happening was nil. She’d never been that lucky.
Two
