by Olivia Miles
Winning that contest wouldn’t just set him up for the new restaurant; teaming up with Anna would force her to spend time with him, interact with him, hell, even speak with him. It might be just the chance he needed to make things right between them. But would she go along with it? Even now, when she was struggling, she was still resisting his help. She was stubborn, but she’d have to be a fool to turn down an opportunity like this.
Mark paused at the corner of Second Avenue and looked across to the charred storefront of the Fireside Café. If he tried hard enough he could almost see the old sign—Tavern on Main—and the red awning above the door. The owner just before Anna had removed it. Mark must have been eleven at the time, maybe twelve, and when he rode his bike through town and saw that it was missing, it was like a punch straight to the gut, a bitter, unbearable reminder that it wasn’t his father’s restaurant anymore, and that it never would be again, that his father really wasn’t coming home. Bill Hastings had left that place just like he’d left his wife and two sons. Without a look back. Not once in all these years.
He hated that the realization still hurt. Now, twenty years later.
Fireside had been an appropriate choice of name, Mark thought grimly, letting his gaze skim the now boarded-up windows and door. He wasn’t sure what had possessed Anna to take over the space to begin with, knowing the connection it had to his family. Even though he was grateful for the rent money his mom collected, a part of him wanted the place to stay empty. It was his dad’s place, no one else’s. If he couldn’t make it work, why should anyone else think they could?
The police tape was gone, but a makeshift fence had been erected to keep people away from the structure. His mother had told him they’d start rebuilding soon, beginning with the kitchen, and he supposed Anna might have survived this setback if she didn’t have the bookstore to think about. Even without a kitchen at the Annex, the loan on that expansion must have been hefty. Half of the prize money would certainly go a long way for her, too.
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and turned toward the town square. The Briar Creek farmers market kicked off its season today, and already crowds had gathered on the green. Mark wandered over to an artisan cheese stand and sampled sharp, salty cheddar from a local dairy farm and creamy herbed goat cheese. He wove his way through the various stands, stopping to load his bag with fresh produce, then spotted Anna across the green.
Her back was to him, but he’d recognize that long, honey blond hair anywhere. And that rear. Telling himself it was just attraction, nothing more, he lingered on her curves a while longer, enjoying the way her jeans defined every contour of her hips and thighs. She was laughing as she carefully placed a bundle of greens into her straw bag, and Mark grinned. It was good to see her like that. Carefree. Happy. It was the way he liked to remember her.
Mark watched as she roamed to the next stand, the crowds making it hard for him to keep her in his line of vision. He pulled in a sigh and narrowed his gaze. He had a decision to make, and time wasn’t on his side. The contest was just over two weeks away, and there was only one match for him when it came to heating up that kitchen. It might take some convincing, but he would bet that Anna had just as much motivation to enter and win as he did. They needed each other, whether she liked it or not. Time to remind her of that.
He gripped his bags and put one foot in front of the other, taking long strides until he caught up with her. “Hello there.”
He grinned as she turned to face him, ignoring the fact that the pleasant smile that curved her mouth fell when she locked his gaze. She hesitated, finally breaking his stare, and glanced to the left, as if for escape.
“I see old Mr. Beckett talked you into the ever delicious asparagus,” he said affably.
She managed something of a grin, and then quickly checked herself. “I thought I’d make an asparagus tart with Gruyère.”
Mark liked hearing her talk like this. Back in culinary school, it was one of their favorite pastimes; he could sit and listen to her brainstorm ideas for new recipes, watching her eyes come alive while she spoke, and he’d chase her into a test kitchen, or the cramped little space in the back of her student apartment, and they’d cook, for hours, talking about food, about life, sometimes not talking at all…
“How about you?” she asked, tipping her head into his bag to discover a bundle of asparagus. “Ah, and here I thought you had gotten away clean. I’ll buy it off you if you want.”
It was the first gesture she’d made to him in years, aside from returning Scout, of course, but that was sort of obligatory. They locked eyes for a beat, and he finally said, “No, that’s okay. I have some plans of my own.”
“Oh?”
His gut stirred at the way her lips pursed to form that single syllable. “Yeah, I thought I’d roast it, maybe toss in a few capers and a soy balsamic reduction.” Not that he’d offer that up as a special at the diner—he could just hear Arnie Schultz grumbling now. Lately, he saved his real time in the kitchen for personal use, like some secret guilty pleasure.
“Interesting.” Anna turned to inspect a bucket of eggs. She plucked one from the top and considered it before setting it back. “Although I shouldn’t be surprised. You were always coming up with great menu ideas for—” She stopped herself and looked away.
They’d never settled on a name for their place, and in a way, he was glad they hadn’t. The plan had never been finalized. It didn’t have a true identity.
In theory, that should make it easier to forget.
He tried not to think about all it entailed, all the hours of planning that had gone into their big, shared plans. From the success she’d had with Fireside Café, he hadn’t considered that she ever thought about their other ideas. Now, seeing the downward curve of her mouth, he started wondering if he had been wrong about that, too.
Mark swallowed hard. “My mom tells me they’re finishing the demolition today,” he said, eager to change the subject.
“Hopefully the rebuilding will start soon after. I’d love to be back in business before the height of summer,” Anna added. He followed her to the next stand, where she selected two pints of wild strawberries.
“Things going well with the bookstore?” he asked casually. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, falling into step beside her, daring to glance at her sidelong.
His heart zinged at her simple beauty. Her creamy complexion was free of makeup, and her cheeks and lips were stained with a natural blush. Her turquoise eyes were rimmed with black lashes that fluttered when she blinked or dropped her gaze, just as she did now. He’d hit a nerve.
Just as quickly, she jutted her chin. That proud, stoic profile he’d come to recognize—and resent—replacing the softer side, the Anna he’d once known. The Anna he’d loved.
He gritted his teeth. Better not to think about that anymore. He’d made his decisions. Made them for the best.
More and more, though, he struggled to convince himself of that.
“Oh, fine, just fine. It’s really working out just as we’d hoped,” she said, referring of course to Grace, whose idea it had been all along to expand the original bookstore in an effort to revive it and generate more business. So far it did seem to be working, but Mark questioned how much could be earned off pastries, coffees, and the occasional gourmet sandwich. Fireside was one thing—that place was booming. A new place, however… Those start-up costs couldn’t be cheap.
The loss of their father hadn’t been easy for any of the Madison girls, and their mother, Kathleen, had only just started to pick herself up again with the help of Grace’s return. The bookstore renovation kept the sisters bonded and their father’s memory alive. He’d stopped in a few times, despite Anna’s chilly greeting, and he’d seen the work they’d put into the place. It was impressive—cozy and inviting and still true to the original. It would be a shame to let it go now.
“Well,” Mark said, stopping at the base of the white gazebo where several people had stopped to gather o
n its steps for an impromptu lunch of fresh bread, cheese, and fruit. “I was hoping to find Frank. Have you seen him around here?”
Anna’s brow furrowed with suspicion. “Frank Piccolino?” When he nodded, her tone turned wary. “Why?”
He gave a small shrug, not bothering to mask his grin. He was enjoying this far too much to try to deny it, and she was responding to him just as he had hoped. He knew women—how to read them, how to woo them—and of all the girls who had flitted in and out of his life, Anna was the one he knew best. A few doubts, a hint of a possible missed opportunity, and a few little reminders about her current financial state should be just the trick. “Oh, I just wanted to talk to him about a business venture.”
Her brow pinched tighter. “I thought you didn’t like Frank.”
“People can change.” His pulse kicked up a notch as their eyes met and a flicker of awareness passed through her blue irises. He wasn’t talking about Frank, and she knew it.
She blinked, breaking the spell. “I tend to think most people are who they are. At the end of the day, you just fall back on old behaviors.”
He locked her eyes. “I’d like to think it’s never too late.”
Her lips pinched tight for one telling second and she pulled in a breath, huffing, “Well, I haven’t seen Frank. Perhaps you should try him at the restaurant in a few hours.”
He had no intention of doing any such thing, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Nah, I’ll just give him a call. What I have to discuss can’t exactly wait.”
She tried to look casual as they wandered to the next stand, but she chewed on her bottom lip—something she only did when she was working through something. “You thinking of joining forces with the competition?” Her low laugh sounded forced.
“Something like that.” He moved his eyes over her inquisitive face. Here it went. “I was actually looking for a teammate for the Sugar Maple Culinary Competition.”
She groaned. “Not you, too.” She shook her head, her pretty lips pursing. “Rosemary mentioned it to me the other day.”
Mark stopped walking. So she already knew about it then. Just what was his aunt up to?
He shrugged it off. He’d deal with that later. “It sounds like fun, doesn’t it? And the prize…” He let out a long whistle.
Anna stalked to the next stand, and he quickened his pace to keep up with her. “The prize money is definitely appealing, but I don’t plan on entering.”
Somehow he found this hard to believe. “I would think you’d be eager to compete, especially now with everything that’s happened.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “The timing is bad. I can’t possibly focus on something like a contest when I have a hundred other things to deal with right now.” Her tone was brusque, but she couldn’t meet his eye.
“Here I thought you’d be stiff competition. Maybe I stand a fighting chance after all. People sure do like Frank’s cooking…”
“Well, good luck with that. I worked for Frank Piccolino the summer after my freshman year if you recall, and he’s a control freak and an egomaniac. Besides, you can cook circles around him.”
True, all true, which was why Mark would never even consider teaming up with the man. The few times he’d deigned to eat at Piccolino’s out of social obligation, he’d seen Frank, red-faced and ill-tempered, shouting out commands as his staff scurried around him, heads bent.
Time to soften the approach. “Well, I don’t really see any other options if I want to enter.”
Her hand hesitated above a bunch of kale. Recovering quickly, she ran her tongue over her bottom lip and said firmly, “Nope, it’s probably your only option.”
“Although I suppose he could already be entered with his sous chef,” Mark mused, watching Anna carefully as he casually shelled out cash for a brick of aged Gruyère.
“Perhaps,” Anna said airily. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, revealing the perfect slope of her neck. “You won’t know until you ask.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” He took a step backward, immensely enjoying the bewildered expression that fell over her pretty face. “I should probably get going. Lots to do today. People to see…”
Her lips parted for one telling second before pinching tight again. “Good luck,” she said.
“Thanks.” Mark grinned. Something told him he wasn’t going to need it.
By this time tomorrow, he’d have a partner for the contest. But it sure as hell wouldn’t be Frank Piccolino.
CHAPTER
10
Okay, so fifty thousand dollars was a lot of money. And yes, it was enough to pay off the loan she’d taken for the Annex, more or less. But was it enough to make her work side by side with Mark, for hours on end, for the next two and a half weeks?
No. You couldn’t put a price on that kind of temptation. Or destruction. She’d rather work with that inflated head Frank Piccolino, barking out orders at the pass, red-faced and puffy in his starched apron, than team up with Mark. The thought had occurred to her… but then she might end up competing against Mark, and if she was being honest with herself, she wasn’t sure she could beat him. Mark was talented. Too talented to be whisking pancake batter seven days a week. Sharon had taken over the diner out of necessity, not passion. Anna never could understand why her son clung to Hastings instead of doing all the things he’d set out to do.
Was Mark really entering the contest with Frank Piccolino? Anna frowned. It didn’t matter. Not in the least. She wasn’t going to enter—with or against Mark was beside the point. She had a restaurant to rebuild, staff to worry about, and a loan hanging over her head. As much as the prize money could solve her problems, it would create a dozen more if she sacrificed her current problems for a fictional one.
Anna blew a loose strand of hair from her forehead and finished scooping dough onto a cookie sheet. The egg timer on the counter rang, letting her know it was time to remove the lemon and blueberry tea cake. Anna grabbed a potholder from the butcher block that centered her island, managing to knock the canister of flour to the floor in the process. Fine white powder dusted the hardwood, and Anna resisted the urge to burst into tears right then and there. The entire kitchen looked like it had exploded. Her limited counter space was covered in mixing bowls and sugar canisters, and the small kitchen table was lined with the cooling racks. She’d run out of space and had to set a few on chairs, and now, in her rush to get the tea cake from the oven before her effort was wasted, she tripped on a chair leg, sending a dozen double chocolate chunk cookies scattering across the floor.
Anna flung open the oven. Sure enough, the surface of the bread was tinged and dark. Overbaked.
She set the pan on the stovetop, beside the stacks of other baking pans that weren’t filling her small sink, and contemplated it. She could glaze the top, but it wouldn’t matter. She’d messed up; she’d have to redo it. If there was one thing she’d decided early into running Fireside, it was that presenting the highest quality food every day was the best way to stay successful.
She couldn’t let herself down. Or her customers.
Or her family.
The doorbell rang and Anna jumped. She checked her watch—Shoot. She’d told Kara to stop by at eight and it was already five after. She was running late, and she still had to clean up, load the car, and stop by the Annex before they met with Sharon.
“Sorry,” she said, flinging open the door. “I lost track of time.” Any suspicions she had that she looked as frazzled as she felt were confirmed by her friend’s expression.
“Don’t worry about it.” Kara hesitantly entered the front hall. “Do you need any help?”
Anna mentally went through her to-do list. “Would you mind popping the oatmeal cookies into the oven and setting the timer for twelve minutes? I need to take a quick shower.”
She noticed Kara’s eyes widen as she stared past her into the kitchen.
“Never mind the mess,” Anna said quickly. “I’ll tak
e care of it all later.”
A pristine kitchen was top priority at Fireside, and she could only imagine what the current condition of her counters and floors said about her state of mind. She flinched as she stood back and followed her friend’s gaze to the open canisters of sugar, the half-peeled sticks of butter, and the carton of eggs filled with empty shells. The flour bag was still resting on its side. At least ten baking sheets were stuck in the sink or set on top of sticky mixing bowls. It was a mess. A complete disaster. Just like her life.
“You know I would have been happy to come over and help you with all this,” Kara said. She walked into the kitchen and popped the cookies into the oven. After setting the timer, she pulled a broom and dustpan from the closet and began sweeping the flour.
Anna paused in the doorway, not sure how to reply. “With everything that’s happened, it didn’t seem fair. You work for Fireside. All this is for the Annex.”
Kara stopped sweeping. “Anna. You’re my friend. That’s what friends do. It’s not about me being your employee.”
Anna gave a small smile. “Thanks, Kara.”
She ducked into the bathroom, feeling guilty. Usually a hot shower made everything feel a little brighter, but as she came back into the kitchen in a fresh T-shirt and a cotton skirt, she felt just as grim. Even the sight of the much improved kitchen did little to perk her up. If anything, it made matters worse.
Kara was her friend, but she was also her employee. And she couldn’t pay her a dime. How could she break that news to her? She’d paid everyone through the month, but she couldn’t do anything to keep them on beyond that, much as she wished she could.
“I feel bad that we haven’t talked much this week,” Anna said as they finished loading the last of the bags into the car. She slipped into her seat and fastened her seat belt.
