The Flirtation Game: Castle Ridge Small Town Romance

by Allie Burton

  “What about the reviewer? Don’t you want to peek?” Her higher-pitch expressed her interest in watching the reviewer eat.

  “I’ll drop by his table after he gets a chance to sample everything.”

  The staff returned to their stations, wiping down any mess and refreshing the mise en place. The mood in the kitchen was more relaxed and friendly. He’d only known these people for a few days, and yet he liked them and counted them as friends. Friends who’d hate him once they learned about the reality show and its concept.

  Michael moved beside Isabel, who was changing her spoon water. “Ready?”

  “Ready for what?”

  “To meet the reviewer.”

  She tilted back in fear. “I’m not the head chef.”

  “You could be.” He had no doubts about her abilities. “You had a major part in the preparation, and the reviewer should meet you.”

  For her future. When he left Castle Ridge he didn’t want people to think the restaurant would go downhill. He wanted to build her reputation. If he could save it first.

  The skin behind her blush paled. “All right.”

  He put his hand out, indicating she should lead the way. Walking behind her, he itched to place his hand on her lower back. To touch her and make a connection. Except they were at work, and cameras were watching. He had to always remember the cameras.

  Pushing past the pass, they entered the dining room and let their eyes adjust to the dimmed lighting. The coolness of the room refreshed. The muted scents of the restaurant blended in artistry. In the kitchen, the smells were strong, coming directly from the source. Here he could breathe in and let the food tantalize and tempt.

  The diners appeared to be enjoying their meals. Talking, laughing, and eating.

  A glow enveloped Michael in warmth. This was the reason for his career choice, and somehow, he’d lost sight of that.

  The reviewer furiously scribbled into a black notebook, and he hoped it was good things. “Hello. I’m Michael Marstrand, head chef at The Heights. And this is Isabel O’Donnell, my sous chef.”

  The reviewer snapped his notebook closed. His trimmed brown mustache had a crumb stuck. “Nice to meet both of you.”

  “I hope you enjoyed the meal.” His calm voice didn’t relay his nerves. “Ms. O’Donnell prepared the monkfish.”

  She stiffened beside him, not expecting the recognition.

  “Best part of the meal.” The reviewer’s praise had Michael’s spirits flying. She deserved accolades.

  “Thank you.” She gushed. “I’m glad you enjoyed the meal.”

  He could tell she was excited with the praise and he was glad he put her in the spotlight. “I wanted to stop by and say hello. I don’t want to interrupt the enjoyment of your meal.”

  “Not at all. If you have a moment, Chef.” The reviewer indicated the empty chair across from him. “I’d love to talk to you about what brought you to Castle Ridge.”

  His stomach simmered. Did the reviewer know about his troubles in Los Angeles, or the reality show? He noticed Parker moving toward them. Michael wasn’t sure what to tell the reviewer, because he didn’t want the owner to hear about his situation in L.A.

  “Sure.” He took a seat.

  Parker flashed a concerned smile before whispering to Isabel. “One of the diners wants to talk to the chef.”

  “I’ll go.” She offered.

  Pretending to ignore their conversation, Michael nodded at the reviewer.

  “This way.” Parker led her to a booth where Jorge and an unknown woman sat.

  The simmering in Michael’s stomach changed to a roil. He wanted to go after Isabel, yet needed to focus on the reviewer’s questions. Spotting a temporary camera lens in between potted plants in the booth, he knew whatever she heard wouldn’t be good.

  The situation had to be a setup for the reality show. Jorge meant to cause trouble.

  * * *

  Isabel couldn’t suppress the bubbles of happiness. The reviewer had liked the fish, and Michael had heard the reviewer’s praise. She floated to the booth Parker pointed out.

  The two-top table had a man and a woman sitting opposite each other. The man’s hair was half black and half blond. A good portion of the plate was empty. A good sign. Jewels sparked around the woman’s neck and on her fingers. She had only picked at a salad.

  “Hello.” She used her most pleasant, professional voice. The one Chef Françoise had called the pleasing-voice. “I’m Isabel O’Donnell. You wanted to speak to the chef?”

  “I thought you said the chef was the famous Michael Marstrand.” The woman’s screechy whine hurt Isabel’s ears.

  “I’m sure this woman has an explanation.” The man patted the woman’s hand.

  “Michael is the head chef. I’m the sous chef.” Her happy bubbles popped. “What can I help you with?”

  “I wanted to meet Chef Michael.” By the woman’s tone, if she wasn’t an adult, she’d probably be throwing a tantrum. All flailing arms and stomping feet.

  Who’d told her she was a star and the center of attention?

  “Sweetheart, we will.” The man appeased her with a soft tone, and a caress to her hand.

  He obviously granted the woman her every wish. Isabel saw nothing wrong with being treated right, but this woman appeared to take advantage.

  “Chef Michael is busy right now. Is there something I can help you with? Or something I can tell him?” She’d expected another compliment and had skipped over on clouds. Now, her cloud burst.

  “No.” The woman glared.

  “So there’s not any kind of problem or dissatisfaction with the meal? You only wanted to meet Chef Michael?”

  “Oh, no.” The man held up the couple’s intertwined hands. A large diamond sparkled from the woman’s left ring finger. “We’re going to get married at the Lodge and we were checking out the food service.”

  Food service? The man spoke as if eating in a cafeteria. Not at a soon-to-be five-star restaurant. She held in the retort, not wanting to make a customer unhappy. “Congratulations.”

  What she meant was condolences.

  “We should at least get a bottle of Champagne.” The woman bobbed her head in a superior way.

  They could order and pay for whatever they wanted. There’d be no complimentary Champagne. “I’ll send your waiter over.”

  The man pitched toward her. His black eyes glinted with mischief. “What’s it like working with the famous Chef Marstrand?”

  Did the man know Michael, or know something about his reputation? She peered at him sitting with the reviewer. “Fine.”

  “Does he act self-important?” The leading question set her nerves on edge.

  “No. Chef Michael is a great addition to the staff.”

  “You were the sous chef with the last chef.” The man angled his head. His sly and curious expression alluded to additional knowledge. “Didn’t you expect to take over?”

  The question stabbed with a direct hit. Pinching the edge of the sous chef’s coat, she tried to keep her face clear of emotion. “We both have our strengths. I’m excited to be learning under Chef Michael.”

  “Under him.” The woman’s bubbly giggles annoyed. “I’ve seen him on television. I’d love to be under Michael Marstrand.”

  A flash of green seared from the inside. How dare she talk about him in that way? The woman didn’t even know him. She pinched the coat tighter. “I’m learning from him.”

  “With a body like his, he can tutor me anytime.” The woman’s eyebrows wiggled in a seductive fashion.

  Isabel glanced between the woman showing off her cleavage and the man who belonged in Hollywood. While the woman showed interest in another man in front of her fiancé, the man showed no interest at all. As if he didn’t care about his future bride. Very strange.

  “I really need to get back to the kitchen. Can I help you with anything else?”

  The man’s slight smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Tell Chef Michael we’re excit
ed about working with him, and you, to plan our wedding.” The man’s voice went hard.

  Why did the statement sound like a threat?

  Chapter Eleven

  The pureeing in Michael’s midsection increased with each step closer to the front porch of his childhood home on Sunday. It was an automatic reaction, the same reaction he’d had whenever he knew he’d be seeing his father. Except his father was gone. Dead. He rapped on the door. The door was a different color. A brilliant red instead of the demure blue. Danielle was putting her own personality on the house their father had left to her. A good thing.

  He pulled back to take in the cabin-like exterior of the house. Some happy memories flew through his mind. Playing board games as a family, watching skiing championships on TV, helping his mother cook dinner. The memories soured and pain pulsed in his head. His mother had instilled the love of cooking, and his father had tried to beat it out.

  Closing his eyes, he fought the pressure behind the lids. His mother had given him the gift of creating food for people to love. She’d died right before high school graduation. Way too soon. His father had hated the reminders of his wife, had hated his son choosing cooking over skiing, or any other manly profession, had hated his only son.

  His father had hidden his hatred well. A few snide remarks, a slap on the cheek. Danielle never realized the extent of the emotional and psychological abuse, even though she’d noticed tension between the two men. She’d thought of their father as a hero. Michael decided there was no reason to enlighten her. Danielle still needed to live at home when he’d left for college.

  During Michael’s few and brief visits, he’d stayed at the lodge, not wanting to live under the same roof as his father. Since his dad had died, he’d only returned once for the funeral. This time, Danielle had offered his old bedroom during his stay. He’d used the excuse that he didn’t want to intrude with Luke living there.

  And Michael didn’t want the memories.

  Or his sister’s scrutiny. He didn’t want Danielle picking up on his distress about the contract and the reality TV show. He couldn’t share his problems, not according to his contract.

  Bri flung the door open and ran into his arms. “Uncle Michael, you’re finally here.”

  Her joyful expression and enthusiasm pulled the guilt tighter in his chest. He’d been in town for less than a month, and hadn’t stopped by the house yet. Bri and Danielle had visited him at the lodge. They’d had dinner and he’d given them a tour of the kitchen, but they hadn’t spent a lot of time together. He’d been busy working on the remodel and trying to get out of his contract. Besides, he’d be leaving soon. His heart constricted. Why get used to something you couldn’t always have?

  Now, that didn’t look like it was going to happen. He was in Castle Ridge for the duration.

  “Hey, Bri.” He tugged on her ponytail, as if she was a small girl and not a teenager. He’d missed the pigtail days. “How’s school this semester?”

  She scrunched her face. “Wish I was still on winter vacation.”

  “Me, too.” He wanted to be on permanent vacation. Out of the gossip spotlight. “How’s ski team?”

  “Awesome. Luke…I mean, Dad is showing us some great moves.” She took Michael’s hand and tugged him inside.

  He was happy she was getting to know her father. “Luke’s the best.”

  The ugly brown curtains in the family room were gone, replaced by cheerful flowered drapes. Danielle had bought a new sofa, loveseat, and chair. She’d rearranged the furniture to make it more homey. Scented candles filtered through the cooking smells. Michael appreciated she’d made a home for her and her expanding family.

  “Hello.” Danielle came from the kitchen and hugged him. He let himself lean into her, enjoying the comfort. Comfort she gave freely and he’d missed. She tilted back and scolded him with a scowl. “So glad you finally had time to have Sunday dinner with your only sister.”

  Her condemning, knock-out punch went straight to his gut. He struggled to breathe. He’d been an absent brother and uncle. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook too easily. When he was living in Los Angeles, they’d talked weekly on the phone, sometimes more. She used him as a sounding board, and kept him up to date on Bri’s activities. He’d video chatted with Bri. He’d kept in contact, but he hadn’t been there. Been close.

  “You’ve seen me at the lodge.” Guilt made his tone more harsh than intended. “And I’ve been busy.”

  “We heard.” Luke followed Danielle out of the kitchen. He screwed up his eyes and held out his hand. He used his head to point in the direction of the kitchen.

  Isabel slouched languidly in the hallway. Michael’s body jolted, sending a spike of adrenaline through his system. Adrenaline caused by desire and fear. How much had she told them?

  Her reddish-gold locks flowed freely, curling at the ends, so different than the tight bun she wore at work. A tight sweater showed her curves. No baggy chef’s coat today. Leggings and outlandish high-heeled boots completed her outfit.

  And almost did him in.

  Her hesitant smile told him she didn’t know how he’d react. “Hope you don’t mind I crashed your family party.”

  Lust raced ahead of fear in his bloodstream, winning the contest. He wanted their bodies crashing against each other. Keeping their relationship on a firm business-only setting would be difficult.

  “You’re not crashing. You’re my best friend and part of this family.” Danielle’s expression hardened, turning to glare at him, expecting a protest.

  He needed to remember that. Any attraction toward Isabel had to be squashed. He wouldn’t be around long, and if his sister suspected he hurt her best friend, he’d be in even more trouble. But how was he going to stay immune from her charms when they were constantly together?

  “You disappeared quickly after work last night, Isabel.” He ignored the jealousy splashing through his veins. It was none of his business what she did after hours. “Hot date?”

  It might not be his business, yet he wanted to know.

  She angled her head. Her glance wove around him, analyzing his question. “It’s been a long week.”

  Which wasn’t really an answer and piqued his curiosity. “It was.”

  He kept his gaze glued to her, wanting and fearing she’d elaborate. Except he didn’t want to hear the gory details. She glared back in a battle of wills. Danielle and Luke stayed silent, enjoying their non-verbal skirmish.

  “I’m going to my room to do homework.” Bri broke the tension. “Call me when it’s time for dinner.”

  Michael wished he could hide in the bedroom with her. Isabel kept staring as if trying to figure him out. Danielle glanced between the two of them, tying them together.

  No, no, no.

  “Beer?” Luke headed for the kitchen returning with a couple of cold bottles.

  Michael lifted the beer to his mouth and took a long drink. One of his reasons for agreeing to come to dinner was to talk to Luke about Vivienne. He wanted to confirm she was good at her job and he could trust her with handling his issues and secrets.

  With Isabel here, that wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t learn about his mistakes.

  “Isabel, another beer?” Luke held another bottle out.

  “Sure.” Taking the bottle, she sat on the couch.

  Holding his own beer, Luke sat on the chair. Danielle set a plate of appetizers on the table, and sat on his lap. Their happiness glowed on their faces, and Michael could see they shared a deep bond. Even in high school the bond had been pronounced.

  Michael had hated what he’d thought Luke had done to his sister. Once they’d gotten back together, Michael had learned the entire truth. Both of them should’ve tried harder to communicate, but they’d been teenagers. His sister and niece would be well-loved in the future.

  “Have a seat.” Danielle indicated a spot on the couch.

  Next to Isabel.

  His gaze darted around the room searching for another o
ption. Unless he wanted to sit at the kitchen table, he didn’t have much choice. Feeling trapped, he perched on the edge at the farthest spot possible.

  Danielle leaned forward, sizing them up. “How is it working together?”

  “Fine.” Both he and Isabel said at the same time.

  He didn’t need her mirroring him. It brought too many fantasy images to mind.

  “You two don’t often agree.” His sister raised a suspicious eyebrow. “You used to annoy each other in high school.”

  He shifted on the couch. Contemplated both women. “We’ve grown up.”

  “Too bad.” Luke’s smile widened, understanding the line of questioning. “You two were always fun to watch when the sparks flew.”

  “Sparks?” Isabel stiffened beside him. “There weren’t any sparks.”

  Is that what she thought? Because one look from her and he’d catch on fire. He’d always hated how she flirted with every guy in high school. How she dated all of his classmates, except him.

  And the kiss they’d shared New Year’s Eve and again in the kitchen had made him combust internally. He found it hard to concentrate when they worked beside each other, always close, sometimes touching. Passion fought with resentment in his veins, rushing back and forth and making him dizzy. Was she saying she didn’t have the same reaction?

  Red flags of color highlighted her high cheekbones. She continued to hold her body in one position. Her long legs were crossed, showcasing the way the boots hugged her calves. Her downcast eyes gave away no secrets.

  He wanted to pry her secrets out. To peel each layer and discover the real Isabel. He clenched the beer bottle, letting the cold glass cool his frustration. Since high school he’d been curious about her. The fascination should’ve appeased over the years.

  “I need to check on dinner. Luke can you help?” Danielle got off of his lap and tugged him to his feet.

  “Let me help.” Michael started to stand, needing to put space between him and Isabel.

  “Oh, no.” His sister pulled Luke toward the kitchen. “Luke owes me.” The two of them moved into the kitchen and closed the shutters above the counter separating the two rooms.