by Kait Nolan
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Kennedy asked.
Athena didn’t answer immediately. Her face went grimmer and grimmer as she read, lines carving deep around her mouth. “I knew there was something off with him, with his questions.”
Logan squeezed her leg again, reminding her they were there. “What is going on?”
She sucked in a breath and read, “‘Athena’s Fall From Olympus: The Unmaking of a Culinary Goddess.’ His name was Nigel, not Nelson. Nigel Hitchens. He’s a food critic from Chicago, and he went undercover in my cooking class because he wondered what I’d been up to since I disappeared from the foodie scene in Chicago—oh because it’s rumored I knew Michelin was yanking the star from Olympus and manufactured that whole outburst with Jayson to give everyone something else to talk about. He has opinions about what I taught, none of them flattering. And now, having seen the small town I come from, he understands that I could never have withstood the rigors of big city life and hopes I’ll be very happy back in my greasy spoon, serving others who share my limited palate.”
Logan’s own temper, usually mild, ignited. How could this son of a bitch say any of those things? She was brilliant in the kitchen. And so the hell what if she was cooking something other than the over-priced, under-portioned pretentious stuff that most everyday people hadn’t ever even heard of? That didn’t make her food any less amazing, didn’t make her any less. The desire to do something hit him like a freight train and the knowledge that there was nothing to do left him feeling impotent and frustrated. He understood better now some of what lay beneath Athena’s anger issues.
Xander broke the ensuing silence. “What an asshole.”
Athena inhaled another ragged breath, then another. Her hands curled to fists on the table, the skin on her knuckles going white. Her shoulders shook. Logan wanted to wrap an arm around her, to draw her in, but he suspected that would make her explode. Or break.
“I’m sorry.” Ari’s voice was small, miserable.
“None of this is your fault, honey,” Kennedy assured her.
That needed to come from Athena to matter. But she was too far gone, spiraling through the rage and pain that had been banked these past weeks. The sight of it, the knowledge of it, cut Logan deep. He hated to see her hurting, hated that he could do nothing to make it better. But he could do damage control and keep the impending explosion from hurting anyone else.
“We’re going for a walk,” Logan announced.
Athena lifted her head, eyes sharp as a blade. “What?”
“You need a minute. We’re going for a walk.” Maybe he could talk her down, use his clinical skills to de-escalate the situation. Except, no, he couldn’t sound like that’s what he was doing. She’d balk at that. He’d figure it out on the way. “C’mon.”
Without a word, she slid off the bench and stalked toward the back door.
Logan cast one last glance at everybody. “We’ll be back. It’ll be okay.” Then he followed.
By tacit agreement, they took the trail down toward Opal Springs. Neither of them would be swimming tonight, but it was far enough away for privacy. He didn’t touch her on the walk, wasn’t sure how she’d take it. And he was busy trying to figure out how he was going to handle this without coming across like the therapist he still was.
At the water’s edge, she whirled on him. “That petty, pissant, jackass insulted me, insulted Crystal, insulted everybody in this town. And he has the fucking nerve to discuss my life?”
Conscious that voicing his own fury over the situation would only fuel hers, he kept his tone calm. “Do you want to scream? Here’s as good a place as any.”
She let out a growl and began to pace. “This is a disaster.”
He had to cut off that line of thinking before she spiraled out of control. She needed a reality check. “It’s not. It sucks and it’s hurtful, but in the end, he doesn’t matter.”
She hissed out a breath. “How can you say that?”
“He’s one man.”
“That article is going to be read by my peers. By everybody in the foodie world in Chicago. It’ll go beyond that because it’s going to stir up the circus again and that’s only just started to die down.”
And damn the man for setting her back when she’d only just really begun to get past the whole thing. “He’s not going to ruin you. That’s not in his power.”
“He can turn public opinion. And that influences my prospects.”
Her prospects? The only prospects any of this would influence were those that weren’t here. Was she honestly still thinking of leaving? After everything between them?
No. He shut the thought down with brutal swiftness. This was just her knee-jerk response. She hadn’t really thought it through. And yet that her instinctive reaction involved her leaving had him wondering if they weren’t as stable as he’d thought. Putting a lid on his own panic, he strove to remind her that she was past all this.
“In the world you left. The world you admittedly despise. Why would you want to go back to that? Why would you give a shit about what people like him think? They don’t understand you.”
“Because I want redemption, damn it. I want a chance to prove myself again.” Her voice cracked, her shoulders slumped. This time it was the tears underneath the rage that spilled out, and Logan wanted to beat the critic all over again.
He drew her in, holding tight as she let go of the control she held so dear, dropped the mask, and let him see the pain.
Of course she wanted redemption. He could understand her need for that. Why it was still important to her. Maybe he should’ve seen this coming. No matter that part of her had wanted out to begin with, she’d been forced out of that world by someone else. Another person taking her control.
When she’d cried herself out and quieted, he pressed a kiss to her hair. “You will prove yourself. Your way. But not in Chicago. Because you’ve found things here that are more valuable than whatever you left behind.”
She sniffed. “I don’t want it to be about the money. But Logan, that’s a financial reality for me. I have to find something that can support me, support my dad. The clock’s ticking on that. And the more shit like this happens, the less likely I am to be able to do that.”
The weight of that responsibility had to be staggering, yet her determination to do right by her father never wavered. Her steadfastness just made him love her more, but he hated the stress it added to an already difficult situation.
He brushed at her tears with his thumb. “You have no idea how much it kills me not to have all the answers. To not even have any more good suggestions. I want to be able to fix this for you, and I can’t. But I have faith that if you just hang on, just wait things out, the right thing is going to work itself out.”
“Faith has never been my strong suit.”
“Then I’ve got enough for us both.”
When she sighed, all the fight seemed to drain out of her. “That’ll have to be enough for now.” Brushing a kiss against his cheek, she stepped away, already pulling herself back together. “We should get back. I need to apologize to Ari.”
Taking her hand, Logan let her lead him back up the trail to the house.
He felt hollowed out from the whole exchange and a helluva lot less confident of where they stood than he had a half hour ago. He wanted to wrap her up and take her home so he could comfort them both, make love to her until she remembered all the reasons why staying was the only acceptable option. But, like everything else, it looked like that would have to wait.
Chapter 12
In the wake of Nigel Hitchens’ article, Athena kept a low profile, spending most of her time at the inn or the farm. She kept expecting somebody else to pop out of the woodwork to interrupt her life, set her back again. Though, she’d ultimately handled the whole critic situation with more resilience than she’d have managed without Logan to lean on. He’d been right. She didn’t really want to be a part of the haute cuisine world anymore. She hated the needle
ss pretension and the automatic assumption of classism that went along with it. Cooking for real people, normal people had given her more pleasure than she’d expected. Since she’d taken over the breakfast service at the inn, it had become something of a personal challenge to elevate humble ingredients to something more, something memorable. The end result had delighted guests and generated some good reviews for the inn. She’d contributed little enough to the family business since they’d started it last year, so it felt good to manage that much.
And yet that little voice calling her a failure, a nobody, still lingered in the back of her mind. She’d meant every word of what she’d said to Logan that night. That desperate desire for redemption ate up huge chunks of her days and dark hours of the night. She loved that he had faith that she’d figure out how to do that without capitulating and playing the game she’d been navigating for more years than she wanted to remember. She just wished she had that kind of confidence in herself.
“How’s that béchamel coming, kiddo?”
“Nearly done,” Ari reported.
Athena peered over her shoulder and made a few mental estimations on how much time she had, then began filling the crepes for their last guest of the morning. Some fresh bacon from the farm, crisped and crumbled with a nice melty brie and some apricot preserves. She folded and plated the crepes and held them out for Ari to ladle sauce over.
“Just a touch more than a drizzle. We don’t want to drown them. Good. Now toss on some of those scallions you chopped earlier.”
“These smell awesome.”
“I’ll plate up some for us while you take these out to our guest. Once we’re done cleaning up, I’ll take you on out to the farm.”
“Awesome!” Ari slipped off her apron and scooped up the plate, taking it through the swinging door and on into the dining room.
Athena made up a second set of crepes for each of them, finishing the dishes off with Ari’s béchamel—it was a damned fine effort—then perching on one of the barstools at the counter to cut in. She closed her eyes, savoring each distinct flavor on her tongue. The sweet of the preserves perfectly balanced the salt from the bacon, and the whole thing was mellowed out by the brie. The subtle afternotes of scallion and creamy béchamel were just enough to leave a hint of interest that made her want more. This. This was lovely. Simple and unexpected. She’d have to add this one to the recipe development file she’d started.
Ari hadn’t come back by the time she finished her crepe. Athena figured she was either chatting up the guest, as she often did being the consummate innkeepers’ daughter, or she’d headed upstairs to change. Popping the remaining crepe into the oven on warm, she began the cleanup. Some people hated dishes. Certainly, she’d been through a stretch where she had. But washing up, putting things to rights, had become its own form of moving meditation. At least so long as it wasn’t in the middle of service. It was mindless and easy and gave her time to think.
No matter what horrible stuff had driven her back to Tennessee, had kept her here, Athena couldn’t regret it. Logan had been right about that, too. She had found something more valuable than what she’d left behind. She’d found her love of food again. Reconnected with the joy of cooking. And in all truth, she couldn’t have done that anywhere else. She had a feeling Logan was very much at the center of that. He was another of those valuable things she’d found. Alone in the kitchen, she could admit to herself that her reluctance to put herself out there, to figure out the next big thing, was as much to do with him as with fear of having her fall from grace in the foodie community confirmed.
Ari swung back through the door.
“Your crepe is in the oven.”
The girl’s hands were knit together and she wouldn’t quite meet Athena’s eyes.
“What is it?”
“The guest would like to talk to you.”
Athena tensed but kept her tone even. “Is there a problem with the food?”
The big, dark eyes darted up, hopeful. “I don’t think so. He’s really excited.” Then her gaze skittered away again.
Cursing herself for giving Ari any reason to worry about backlash from her, Athena squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll go see what he wants.”
She left her apron on, most comfortable with at least some of the armor of her trade. And it was armor. She strode into the dining room braced for battle, wondering who’d snuck into her quiet world now.
“I’m Chef Reynolds. You wanted to see me?”
The guy was all smiles, white teeth flashing in a tanned, curiously unlined face, though she pegged his age as older than he actually looked. Botox probably. Or maybe a face lift. He had California written all over him. That didn’t put her at ease.
Mr. California held out a hand. “I’m Brock Archer. I just had to meet the chef behind these fantastic crepes.”
Accepting his enthusiastic handshake, she relaxed just a fraction. “I’m glad you enjoyed them, Mr. Archer.”
“Sit for a minute. And please, call me Brock.”
She didn’t want to sit. She wanted to go back to her kitchen, but no matter what kind of a douchecanoe Jayson had been, he hadn’t been wrong about being nice to the customers. So she slid into the chair across from him.
Brock beamed. “I ate at Olympus the year it opened. Absolutely life-altering. You are a seriously talented woman, Chef Reynolds. I was delighted to find out you were still here.”
Her back went up again. What was she supposed to say to that? Apparently nothing because he leaned back in his chair and continued.
“I’m just gonna be a little nosy and ask: What is it you plan to do next? Are you opening a restaurant here? Will your family be expanding the inn?”
Ah, here was the trap. Was he a critic? He didn’t have the vibe and seemed far too full of praise to fit that mold. So what was his angle? Realizing she had to give some kind of response, she hedged, “I’m still evaluating my options.”
“Excellent! Then let me offer you another one. I’ve already been on the phone with my colleagues in L.A. and they’re completely on board.”
“On board with what?”
“We want to offer you a show.”
Athena blinked, sure she hadn’t heard him right. “Excuse me?”
“We want to put you on SizzleTV.”
SizzleTV. One of the big competitors to the Food Network and Cooking Channel. Their hallmark was cooking competitions, showing the best of the best sweating it out, Thunderdome-style.
“As a competitor?”
“No—although that could be absolutely awesome and would be a good way to introduce you—” He whipped out his phone and typed something into it. “No, we want to offer you your own show.”
“My own show,” she repeated. Was she being punked? Was there a camera crew out in the hall waiting for the Gotcha! moment?
“Yes! We think you’d be fabulous. We want you to fly out to L.A.—our expense—to shoot a pilot episode. If the powers that be like it—and we have no doubt that they will—you will be the next SizzleTV star.”
Athena’s brain felt like congealed polenta. “I’m sorry, I know I’m a little slow here, but…you want to put me on TV?”
“We do.” He rambled on about timing and production schedules and a lot of details Athena didn’t catch.
She’d never even considered television. In truth, she had no idea whether she’d be any good at it. She wasn’t what anyone could call congenial. But the idea of her own show, of something that could finally, truly focus on the food—food that would, hopefully, be stuff normal people would want to and be able to cook—that was exactly what she was looking for.
“What do you say?”
She’d wanted a new direction, some way to use her skills and earn back her reputation. Logan had said to think of something outside the box. This definitely fit the bill.
Mom, what was it you used to say? When one door closes, somebody opens a window?
Sucking in a breath, Athena offered Brock a tentative sm
ile. “I guess I’m going to Los Angeles.”
The sight of Athena’s little car coming down the drive pulled Logan in from the fields. Bo and Peep streaked across the field in front of the ATV, black and white blurs through the green. They were already dancing around the front of the car as he parked by the house. Athena and Ari climbed out.
“Well, there are my two favorite girls.” He sensed the tension between them before the words even made it out of his mouth. “Y’all want some tea or lemonade?” Maybe if he got them inside, he could get to the bottom of whatever that was and diffuse the situation.
Ari glanced from Athena to him, a frown tugging the corners of her mouth. “I’m gonna head on to the stable.”
Well, all right then.
The taciturn routine wasn’t like her. Worry draped over her like a wet blanket, squelching her usual bubbly nature. Did that mean there was something he needed to worry about too or was this some lingering awkwardness between her and Athena from the incident on game night?
If Athena registered Ari’s mood, she gave no indication. Striding over, she rose to her tiptoes, pressing her mouth to his in a smacking kiss. “Hey, handsome. Got a little time? I want to talk to you about something.”
With another glance at her niece’s retreating back, he nodded. “I can make some.”
Grateful for a break from the rising heat of the day, he led her back to the kitchen.
“Do I want to know what all that was about?”
Athena shrugged. “Moody teenager is moody.”
“Did y’all have a falling out?”
“Not exactly. That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about. Let’s get something to drink, and I’ll tell you about it.”
While he poured a couple glasses of lemonade, she grabbed dog biscuits from the jar on the counter—biscuits she’d baked herself—and put Bo and Peep through their paces. Sit. Stay. Shake. Lay down. Roll over. At the end of it, the pair of them gobbled up the biscuits and pressed against her legs in adoration.
“Okay, okay. I love y’all, too. Let me sit.”
