Page 45 of 40 and (No Longer) Fighting It
Obvious to whom? But there was no time to pursue that thought. “That bitch.”
“I recall using that word as well, right before I called her. Or maybe it was while I called her. Not that it did any good.”
Yeah, she hadn’t figured it would.
“Lincoln, I have to go out there. I won’t let her win. People around here who know me, they’ll stand up for me”—at least she prayed they would—“but my food needs to speak for itself, and I need to be there when people are tasting it.”
Being targeted would suck, yes, but she couldn’t think about that now. Couldn’t give an inch. It was her future at stake, and she’d be damned if she was going to lose it without a fight.
Lincoln stared down at her for a long moment, worry darkening his eyes. Finally his grip on her arms softened into a caress. “Okay, Claire. Okay. I don’t have to like it, and I can’t guarantee I’ll be civil if some pain-in-the-ass reporter speaks to you the wrong way, but…okay.”
She took his hands. “We can do this together, Lincoln.”
He smiled, and she swore for a second there she saw something more than mere “like” flicker in his eyes. “Together. Let’s go.”
“Onward and upward.”To Narnia and the north,as CS Lewis once said. She tucked that courage into her pocket and followed Lincoln out to face their guests.
Twenty
JD had barred Shel Blanchard from the ceremony. The minute she showed up on the grounds, he had her escorted right back off, partly because she’d taken a swipe at JD’s baby, and partly because none of them wanted a murder caught on camera before they’d even broken ground. And Linc had been sorely tempted. If she were here now, listening to the questions her story had kicked up, and smirking at him from the crowd, he would probably have his fingers around her throat. As it was, he was about ready to tear the face off a couple of reporters who simply would not leave things alone.
Claire sat next to him on the low dais, accepting questions from reporters while their guests feasted on her food. He wanted so badly to reach over and grasp the hand in her lap, the one with white knuckles and bloodless skin because she was gripping her hands together so hard. But he didn’t, not because he thought she’d reject him but because he didn’t want to add fuel to this already shitshow of a fire.
They were hurting her, and it was killing him.
A young reporter from a regional California magazine Linc had worked with several times during his charity events raised his hand. Linc braced himself, waiting for the worst.
“Are you aware of the fan club discussions happening already online? How do you feel about those, Chef Young?”
“I don’t live my life based on what’s posted online,” Linc responded, doing his best not to bark at the man and not really succeeding. “Next question.”
But the reporter wasn’t done. “How do you feel, Chef Taylor, about the comparisons?”
“Between our styles? Chef Young isn’t a pastry expert.”
“No, not your food.”
“What, then?” Claire’s voice sounded weary.
“The comparisons between Chef Young’s normal…type and, well, yourself.”
“What’s my type?” Linc’s voice was no more than a growl at this point.
The reporter had the wisdom to begin to sweat. “Driven. Corporate. Intellectual. Like your—”
Linc shot from his chair, only his grip on the edge of the table keeping him in place. “Are you talking about my late wife?” His high-powered lawyer of a wife. No, Claire was nothing like her on the outside, but on the inside they were both tough when they needed to be, and sweet when he’d held them in his arms. Still, that people would be making that comparison… “Are you seriously bringing that up?”
The man had the grace to look uncomfortable. As Lincoln glared down at him, Claire stood from her chair. “If you’ll excuse me,” she murmured before turning and leaving the dais.
The reporters called a few questions behind her, but JD stood, cutting them off. “I think we’ll stop there,” he said, using his best CEO voice. A couple of the reporters blanched at his tone. “We hope you’ll feel free to contact us with any further questionsregarding the resort,but we’re finished for now.”
Linc didn’t wait for the crowd to disperse, simply stood and turned away. He stopped when he came to JD, standing with his back to the crowd. “I’m sorry for this mess,” he said quietly.
JD gripped his shoulder, sympathy in his eyes. “You didn’t make it a mess. They did. We’ll get through it.”
Would they? Instead of voicing the question, he gave JD a nod and charged across the yard toward the mansion, following in Claire’s footsteps. As he went, he noticed the townspeople enjoying Claire’s food, smiles on their faces, happy conversations going on everywhere. The reporters might be looking for a sensation, but the people who knew Claire… Yes, they knew her, all right. They knew all this gossip wasn’t important. What was important was who they knew Claire to be, and what she loved to do—create food no one could get enough of. And that’s what she’d done here if the joy on their faces was anything to go by.
Claire wasn’t downstairs. He noted that Lily was working with Sadie and Layla to keep things moving, keep the food stocked. He silently reminded himself to give Lily a big hug later, but right now Claire needed him more than he needed to thank Lily. So he went up the stairs and prayed Claire was in his room when he got there.
