Page 18 of Whisking It All

“And you need her—”

“I’ll be fine on my own,” Jamie ground out, avoiding Ethan’s eyes.

“Cheryl is unavailable for the foreseeable future and, I love you, man, but your bread pudding is not going to wow the foodie tourists who come to the festival every year,” Ethan said.

Tessa snorted. Typical that a chef of Jamie’s caliber would rely on bread pudding to fill out his dessert menu. For a moment, she imagined what it would be like to teach him to make real pastries and plated desserts worthy of being on his menu. To watch the triumph on his face the first time he made a perfect macaron, or the muscles bunch in his forearms as he kneaded dough for fresh bread. To lick frosting off his fingertips…

Enough.

Ethan continued. “I don’t know what bug crawled up your ass and died today, but I have to get back to the vineyard, and I need to know you can handle working with my kid without behaving like an asshole over garnishes.”

“Edible glitter is not a garnish,” Jamie said, sounding like a sullen teenager.

“Enough about the edible glitter! The last chef I worked for didn’t have a problem with it,” Tessa said. “Marisa Sinclair. Maybe you’ve heard of her?”

She cocked her head with a mock quizzical lock on her face, but the way Jamie’s nostrils flared and his jaw clenched told her all she needed to know. He’d heard of her former boss alright, though there weren’t many people in the food industry who weren’t familiar with the James Beard Award-winning chef. She just hoped he hadn’t also heard that Marisa had unceremoniously fired Tessa a few weeks ago for that very same viral Instagram post, complaining that it didn’t fit the Marisa Sinclair brand, by which she meant it wasn’t about Marisa Sinclair and therefore wasn’t allowed.

Ethan turned to Jamie and said, “I know how important this festival is to you, and I wouldn’t have invited her to be a part of this if she wasn’t the best at what she does. If you don’t trust her yet, can you at least trust me?”

Jamie blew out a breath and nodded. Finally, he looked up and met Tessa’s eyes. It took a conscious effort not to shrink in the face of the anger simmering in his gaze. He drew a long breath in and out through his nose, schooling his features into something that more approximated indifference. Somehow the indifference stung more than the anger.

“Cheryl is a solid baker, but her recipes are nowhere near as original or exciting as what you just put together,” he said, nodding towards his empty bowl.

She glowed under his praise. As if you’ve never received a compliment from a hot guy in a chef’s coat before—get it together, Tess.

“But I have one question,” he continued.

“Shoot,” she said.

“What’s in it for you?”

“Jame—” her father started.

“No, I want to know. You’re already opening a pop up during the holidays. Taking on the festival, too, is a lot.”

“It sounds like Cheryl was going to do both,” Tessa replied, bracing for a fight.

Jamie continued on like he hadn’t heard her. “It’s long hours, thankless work. Ethan and I—and our friends—are doing it because we love this town. This is our home.”

“It’s her home too,” Ethan protested.

Jamie didn’t take her eyes off her. “But you’re only here for a few months before you cash out, so I want to know why you’re interested in the extra work?”

“I’m not afraid of hard work,” Tessa said, glancing between her father and Jamie and ignoring the way Jamie’s stern voice sent heat curling low in her belly.

“Jamie? Can someone give me a hand?” A woman’s voice rang out from the back office.

Jamie started to stand, but Ethan held up a hand, getting to his feet. “I’ll go help Anabel. You two get to know each other.” Then, to Jamie, in his most no-nonsense dad voice, “And be nice.”

Before either of them could protest, Ethan had disappeared down a dark hallway.

As soon as they were alone, Jamie got to his feet, crowding her space and hissing, “Did you know who I was?” She scrambled to her feet so he wasn’t towering over her quite so much. “That night—did you know?” he demanded.

“No! No more than you knew who I was.”

“This is a fucking disaster,” he growled, prowling away from her and tearing at his hair, little specks of glitter falling from the strands. He circled back, coming at her fast until they were toe to toe. “Your dad can never know.”

“Jesus, of course not! Do you really think I’m dying to tell my father that we—” She stopped herself mid-sentence, forcing herself to take a deep breath and meet his furious gaze. “No one needs to know.”

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