by Liz Isaacson
A smile tugged against the corners of her mouth.
He closed the distance between them, his breath hot against her cheek as he asked, “So do you want to see the ring?”
Chapter Sixteen
Kurt kept the smile on his face as he went over to the passenger side of the truck. He was one breath away from falling all the way in love with May Sotheby, and if she came with a busy restaurant, he still wanted her.
At least he thought he did.
He knew he didn’t want to walk away. But standing there, listening to her say that she would choose Sotheby’s over him—over their children, at times—hadn’t been easy. In fact, his heart still felt a little twisted.
He opened the glove box and took the black box out. “So I got it cleaned,” he said. “But it’s still old, and it’s totally okay if you don’t like it. Like I said last week, this is just a placeholder. Something you could wear on a chain around your neck. That way, when you show up at the restaurant early in the morning, you can think of me.”
“I already think of you,” she whispered, her eyes trained on the box.
Kurt thought of little else besides May. He wasn’t sure what that said about him, or her, or their relationship. He cracked open the lid and enjoyed the gasp of surprise as May saw the ring for the first time.
“Kurt.” She slapped playfully at his arm. “You made it sound like the ugliest ring on the planet.” She reached for it, but he withdrew the box.
“Let me.”
“It’s beautiful.”
He dug in his pocket for the chain he’d picked up online and took the ring carefully from the box. “I guess it’s a princess cut, and the band is gold, but it’s been worn so much it’s a little tarnished, even after the cleaning.”
He threaded the ring onto the chain, and May lifted her hair so he could put the necklace on. His hands stuttered along her shoulder, and the closeness of her made his mind thick and slow.
She tucked it under her blouse, a satisfied smile on her face.
Kurt still had all that “stuff” to talk about, but he found he didn’t want to. Didn’t want to go to church either. “How up for an adventure are you?” he asked.
Her eyes narrowed. “As long as the adventure ends by four, I’m up for anything.”
He looked at his phone as he pressed the power button so the clock would show. A little over five hours. “I think we have time.” He reached for her hand, glad when she easily slipped her fingers into his.
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking we go on over to the Fredericksburg Trade Days.” He glanced down at her. “Have you been?”
“I grew up here,” she said.
“So?”
“So Trade Days is like ten minutes away. Of course I’ve been, silly.” She bumped him with her hip.
“My mother loved the antique shops,” he said as he opened her door. “She would wander through anything. Glass bottles, wagon wheels, rawhide. Didn’t matter.”
May got into the truck and gave him a fond look. “When do you think I’ll get to meet your mother?”
Kurt ran his hand along his jaw. “Oh, I don’t know.” He stepped back and closed the door before walking around the back of the truck. He should probably take May home to meet his parents and his sisters, but they didn’t have time for that today. He crammed himself on the sliver of seat May had left for him and started the truck.
“So I guess you’ve been to Antique Weekend too?”
“Beth loves it,” she said. “She’s already asked me if we can go in a couple of weeks.”
“You sound less than enthused.” He set the truck east, and since she lived on that side of town already, they arrived at the big, long barns in only a few minutes.
“It’s okay,” she said. “She wants to pick through a few select shops, so it’s not very relaxing. I usually just go find something to drink and then I’m okay.” She got a wistful look in her eye, and Kurt let her relive whatever memory she had in her mind.
“I don’t think I’ll get to go this year,” she said.
“Why not?” He paid to park and tucked his wallet in his back pocket.
“My father has been keeping me busy at the restaurant.”
Kurt gave a single nod, took her hand, and they walked toward barn zero. He didn’t have anything particular he wanted to look at. Only that he loved coming to these flea markets in Hill Country. He felt like a boy again when he did, and he found himself softening toward May.
“My mother doesn’t get out to Antique Weekend much anymore,” he said.
“No? Why’s that?”
“Well, she’s almost eighty for one. And number two, she’s got a bad hip.” But an idea swirled around in his mind, circling until he grabbed hold of it. “Maybe you could talk to your dad about taking one of the weekends off, and we’ll go pick up my mom and take her. You’d get to meet her and go to the markets.”
He tried not to infuse too much hope into his voice, but he could still hear it, lingering right beneath the syllables. “I’d have to call her. See if she’s up for it.”
May ran her fingertips along the top of a metal sign that said LIVE LOVE JUNK and nodded. “It sounds fun.” She threw a smile in his direction. “Let me talk to my father.”
Kurt brought her knuckles to his lips, and said, “Let’s go find something to eat,” which caused May to laugh.
“Now I know why you like these flea markets,” she teased.
“Can I help it if the brats are delicious?” He grinned at her, pulled her close, and prayed with every cell in his body that she could get the weekend off.
The following day, Kurt hurried into his cabin at lunchtime, flipping open his laptop as he passed it. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and downed half of it before settling in front of the computer.
The window to signup to practice in an outdoor kitchen for the Spring Jubilee cookoff had opened at ten. But Kurt had been out in the equipment shed, and May was baking at Sotheby’s.
His nerves paraded through him as he waited for the Wi-Fi to show up. When it finally did, he typed in the website May had texted him and scanned for available times. She’d also sent her schedule for the next two weeks, and Kurt glanced back and forth from the computer screen to his phone screen, trying to find a time that aligned.
He finally did. Next Wednesday at ten AM. She wasn’t slated to go into the restaurant until evening—but he’d taken on the morning shifts on the ranch. Over the course of the last week, Shane and Kurt had been talking about their schedules and ironing out who’d do what, and when.
While Austin was still injured, Dylan had fallen into the caretaker role, leaving Shane to move forward with stepping up as co-foreman. Kurt sighed and searched for another time they could practice.
There was no other time.
So he took next Wednesday at ten AM, closed the laptop, and went to talk to Shane. He had barely reached the top step when the front door of the cabin beside his opened.
“Kurt,” Shane said, stepping outside.
“How’s Austin?”
“He’s doin’ better every day.” Shane took off his hat and ran his hand through his blond hair. “It’s been hard.”
“Why don’t I bring you guys something to eat tonight?”
“I’m sure he’d like that. Dylan burnt our grilled cheese sandwiches last night.” He gave Kurt a small smile. “I usually cook in the evenings.”
A pang of guilt stole through Kurt. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know that.” But he couldn’t offer to switch positions with Shane. He really needed evenings off to see May more. “Listen, I’ll bring you dinner tonight. And next Wednesday, I’m wondering if you’d switch schedules with me so I can have the morning off.”
Shane narrowed his eyes. “What’s goin’ on next Wednesday morning?”
“It’s the only time May and I can get into one of the outdoor kitchens to practice for the cookoff. I’ll be back by one.”
/> “I don’t see why it would be a problem.” His words carried the hint of bitterness, and Kurt wanted to help him.
“Is everything okay?”
Shane pierced him with his pale blue eyes. “My brother has three broken ribs and a fractured collarbone. We all work like dogs around here for pennies. So, no, Kurt, everything is not okay.” He turned back to the house while shock traveled through Kurt. “But switching next Wednesday will be fine.” He wrenched open the door and went inside without another word.
Kurt stared at the door as it swung closed, wondering what Shane’s outburst had really been about. He had no idea, didn’t really know much about the Royal brothers or why they’d come to Grape Seed Ranch. He knew they’d been here for three years and that they were all good workers. They’d obviously come from another ranch, because Dwayne had hired them on the spot and they’d required little training to get things done right the first time. Shane especially had a way with horses that Kurt rarely saw.
He turned away from Shane’s front door and went back to his own cabin, already planning what he’d make for the brothers for dinner that night—Shane’s favorite: spaghetti and meatballs.
By the time Wednesday rolled around, Kurt finally donned an apron, ready to step into the kitchen with May. He’d spent the last several evenings watching her cook. Well, sort of. If she worked the restaurants in the evening, she ran the front of the house. Which meant he got to sit in the family’s corner booth and watch her stride around the posh restaurant in her heels. Last night, she’d worn a black pencil skirt that accentuated all of her curves, and Kurt had barely been able to lift his glass to his lips properly.
Sometimes she sat down with him for an hour and they ate dinner together. Sometimes she disappeared into the kitchen for a while, finally emerging with evidence that she’d cooked something back there on her hands or a smear of flour on her sweater.
No matter what, Kurt was glad he’d made arrangements to be able to come into town and see her more. The restaurant closed at nine, and May was almost always done by ten. So Kurt hadn’t been getting his full eight hours of sleep, and at his age, he was really feeling it. But May was worth the lost rest.
She arrived to their practice session ten minutes early, but Kurt was already there, unpacking groceries. “Hey, cowboy,” she drawled in her pretty little Texan accent.
“Miss May.” He resisted the urge to sweep her off her feet and kiss her senseless. He noticed the slight bulge of his ring under her shirt, and he couldn’t help the smile that slipped across his lips.
“So I brought everything for the appetizer, the sweet tea, and the dessert,” he said. “And you have everything for the fajitas, right?”
She hooked her thumb over her shoulder. “In the backseat, awaiting your muscles.” She graced him with a flirty smile he couldn’t wait to kiss off her mouth. Still, he stepped past her, taking the keys she dangled from her fingers.
He thought he heard her sigh as he moved past her, but he didn’t turn back. He retrieved the sacks of flank steak, peppers, onions, spices, and avocadoes and returned to the station.
Another car turned into the lot, and Kurt shaded his eyes from near-burning sun to see who it was. Jeremiah Barker pulled almost into the kitchen itself before putting his truck in park. He climbed out, a clipboard in his hand.
“Kurt Pemberton and May Sotheby?” he read from the paper.
“That’s us,” May chirped. “Hey, JJ.” She waved at him, as they’d grown up in town together.
He barely smiled, apparently his business for the Spring Jubilee cookoff so important he couldn’t say hello to someone he knew. “You have until noon, and then the kitchen needs to be clean and ready for the next pair by twelve-thirty.” He scanned the area and checked something on his list. “I just need you to sign here.” He looked from May to Kurt. “Which one of you wants to sign?”
“I’ll do it,” Kurt said, stepping forward and taking the pen from JJ.
“You guys don’t go to the same church,” he remarked.
“Nope. Teaming up in all kinds of new ways.” Kurt signed his name and handed the pen back to JJ with a smile.
JJ looked at May for a moment longer than comfortable. “Good luck with that.”
“What does that mean?” Kurt sidestepped a bit, blocking May from JJ’s view completely.
“Nothing.” JJ looked up into Kurt’s face, and he wore some defiance in his expression. “I just meant good luck with the cookoff.” He got back in his truck and put the vehicle in reverse. Kurt noticed him staring at May again, and he turned back to her.
“So let me guess.” He moved back into the kitchen. “You dated him in high school and it didn’t end well.”
She laughed, her long hair falling lower on her back as she tipped her head skyward. “I wish.”
“You wish you were dating him?”
“No, but he was the prize in high school, that was for sure.”
“So why doesn’t he like you?” Kurt unpacked her bags too, watching the clock on his phone tick closer to ten. They were the first practice slot of the morning, but he didn’t want to take more time than they’d have in the actual cookoff.
“I dated him after I got back from culinary school,” she said. “He has a love-hate relationship with me. We go to the same church, so he wants me to win. But it’s me, so he doesn’t want me to win.” She reached back and gathered her hair into a high ponytail. He watched her twist and twist it until it stayed in a messy bun on top of her head.
And that was all he could take. He stepped over to her, sweeping one hand around her waist and lifting his other to undo all the work she’d just done in her hair. “A kiss for good luck?” he asked just before touching his lips to hers.
She melted into his touch, and Kurt ran both his hands through that glorious hair as he kissed the woman he hoped to marry someday.
He broke their connection first, the way he always did. He started kissing her, and he ended it too. “All right,” he said. “Let’s cook.” He scanned her. “Did you bring an apron?”
She startled, as if she was just now remembering why she’d come to this remote corner of the parking lot at the community center. “Yes. My apron. I’ll grab it.”
Kurt chuckled as she went back to her car and returned with a purple apron he’d never seen before. “Okay, so I’m doing the tarts first. They’ll take the longest. You’re doing the steak marinade and the peach sweet tea. Then we’ll move on to soup and the main dish.” He looked up from the notes he’d typed on his phone and had memorized. They’d chatted about all of this already, but he just wanted to make sure it was all still set.
“You, tarts. Me, marinade and tea.” She clapped her hands together. “We’ve got this.”
He beamed at her, opened the clock app on his phone, started the timer, and said, “Let’s go.”
Chapter Seventeen
If there was anything May loved more than working at Sotheby’s, it was cooking with Kurt. She riddled through what that meant as she got her marinated steak in the mini fridge in the corner and returned to the long stainless steel table to start on the peach sweet tea.
With three of her six months until her father retired gone, May felt like she knew everything about the restaurant now. She knew who to contact for medical emergencies. She knew how to train new staff. She knew how to create and introduce a new menu, new drinks, and new entertainment.
“So what do you think about having live bands on the weekends?” she asked as she made peach puree in the food processor.
“At the restaurant?”
“Yeah, remember I asked you about it last night?”
“I’d, uh, fallen asleep by the time that chat came in.” He feigned a long, loud yawn. “You keep me up too late, Miss May.”
She giggled, loving the way her name sounded in his sexy, throaty drawl. “There’s a lot of local talent in town,” she said. “If Trade Days can get entertainment, we can too.”
“There’s a h
uge difference between Trade Days and Sotheby’s,” Kurt said.
“I liked the guys we saw playing a couple of weeks ago,” she said. “Johnson & Jett. They played a mean acoustic guitar.”
Kurt laughed, the sound filling the tent and flowing into the sky. May abandoned her sweet tea prep to watch him. “What’s so funny?”
“Johnson or Jett or whoever was out of tune the whole time.” He gave her a flirty look. “Remember how you’re tone deaf?”
She cocked her hip, a slip of annoyance at the reminder of her flaws tugging at her. “Well, we can’t all be blessed with perfect pitch.”
“If we decide to form a band and want to play for people, we should be, though.”
She admired his quick movements with the pie dough, the way he could multi-task while talking too. “All right,” she said. “You’re right.” She turned back to the puree and added honey and agave to it. “So maybe not Johnson & Jett.”
“Maybe not.”
They continued cooking, with Kurt calling out the time they had left at intervals along the way. In the last half-hour, May thought there’d be no way she’d be able to get everything done. Fajitas required a lot of little pieces, and they all had to be exactly right, from the fry on the homemade chips, to the chunkiness of the guacamole, to the heat level on the salsa.
Sweat trickled down her face as she rushed to get the peppers and onions seasoned and on the plate, as she flipped tortilla after tortilla.
Kurt called, “Five minutes, May. What do you need?”
“Steak needs to come off,” she said, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. She wished she had a hat to absorb her sweat the way Kurt did. “That platter there.” She indicated the silver platter she’d brought from the restaurant.
Kurt used the tongs he’d been babysitting his tortilla strips with and pulled the meat from the burner. “All right. My soup’s hot and done. I just need a few garnishes.”
“Tea’s done,” she said. “I just need to plate.”
“Start on that.” He nudged her to the side and flipped her last two tortillas. “I’ve got these, and I’ll want some cheese and cilantro on the soup too.”
