“I know, right? But ever since Shelby’s come home and I’ve seen firsthand what a gifted chef she is, I’ve been thinking she and Mom have something in common.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, they’ve got a major thing in common.”
Mark canted his head, as though trying to put two and two together. “Too bad you’re going to work, because this conversation sounds like it needs a beer and Grandda’s pub.”
“Or a psychiatrist. I know. A lot has been going through my mind lately.” He wouldn’t bore his brother with what percentage had to do with Shelby. The amount might shock him.
“And what’s Shelby got to do with Mom?”
“Both of them, in their own way, are artists who’re trapped in this small town.”
“Mom’s never seemed unhappy about it.”
“Not obviously.” He took a drink of Laurel’s minted lemonade, surprised how good it always tasted. “Do you remember Grandda ever saying something about how Mom had to make a choice between pursuing her art or continuing on with the hotel and family duties?” Had he been eavesdropping on a personal conversation between his mother and grandfather as a boy? The memory was only clear on the gist of the conversation, not the circumstances under which it occurred or the details as to whether Grandda made the ultimatum or Mom had told him her decision.
“Can’t say I do.”
“I remember her getting very quiet for a few weeks around that time. Don’t you remember something like that?”
Mark shook his head, though looking like he was doing a quick mental scan through his childhood.
“Maybe Daniel will remember.” Being the oldest brother, Daniel had four years on Conor, and the difference between an eight-year-old boy and a preteen was gigantic. “Even though I was just a kid, I got the distinct impression she would have liked to have seen if her beautiful ocean paintings were good enough for an art exhibit or something.”
“Man, you had deep thoughts when you were a kid. The only heavy thought I remember thinking when I was eight was about frogs and how if I held them too long they peed in my hands.”
“Deep.” Conor couldn’t help laughing at the absurd memory his brother had come up with. Mark shrugged. “But seriously, you never got the impression Mom wasn’t happy?”
“I hate to admit I probably wouldn’t have noticed unless she’d cried all the time or fought with Dad.”
And that had never happened.
“What’s this got to do with Shelby?”
“You see how talented she is, right? She had a career that could’ve gone somewhere back in New York, but she got pregnant. Now she’s had to come home and work at our hotel.”
“So that’s why you’re setting up this anniversary dinner?” Mark used air quotes around anniversary dinner.
“Of course. How else can we get a food critic for the Central Coast Ledger to consider a review of our chef?”
“Are you happy she’s back or trying to find her a job somewhere else?”
“Well, if you put it that way, I’m not sure.” Maybe because of his fears about his mother at such an early age, he’d always wanted the best for Shelby and her dreams of becoming a famous chef. He’d always encouraged her to go for it. “It’s just that now, in her own way, Shelby is trying to prove herself as good enough to compete with the finest chefs in big cities. You’ve noticed her menus.”
“Of course I have. She’s doing exactly what I asked her to do when I hired her. And you asking her to cook for your boss, whose wife happens to be a food critic, is to help Shelby make a name for herself?”
“She’s worked so hard and deserves it. Don’t you think?”
“Of course, but we just got a dynamite chef for our hotel and I’d hate to have some power restaurant steal her from us. This was supposed to be about improving our business.”
He would hate to see that, too, but she was a mom now and had to think about her and Benjamin’s future. Staying in Sandpiper Beach, living with her mother, would keep her locked away.
“And doesn’t growing up in a small town sound better for her boy than a big city?”
“You’ve got a point there.” So the bigger question turned out to be, was he trying to help her career merely for the sake of her future, or was it to get her out of his life again? Because it was still painful to want more with her again. He glanced at his watch. “Oh, hey, I’m gonna be late if I don’t get rolling.”
“Yeah, shouldn’t be late when you need to ask your boss for a date.”
“If all goes well, The Drumcliffe Restaurant will be so busy you’ll have to hire extra staff.” Or they could lose their chef to a bigger, better opportunity. There went that rock in the pit of his stomach again.
“Wouldn’t be a bad thing, would it.”
To lose Shelby? “Huh? Oh, needing extra staff? Nope. Then Mom and Dad could retire knowing they’d left the place in your good hands.”
They shared a complicated handshake they’d done since they were kids, meant as a family-styled goodbye.
Mark walked him to the door. “I never realized how close to Mom you are.”
“I’m the baby, right? Didn’t you and Daniel used to call me Momma’s boy all the time?”
“Until you grew taller than both of us by the time you were thirteen and we knew when to keep our mouths shut.”
The brothers parted with light laughter, but Conor wasn’t anywhere through making comparisons between Shelby and his mother and their unspoken discontent. He’d call Daniel on his dinner break.
“One last question,” Mark called from the doorway.
Lost in his thoughts, Conor turned halfway to his car.
“Why does Mom always look so happy, then?”
Conor shrugged—did his mother look happy or was that a mask she wore to hide her disappointments—and continued walking to his car. Maybe Mark thought she was happy because every person saw what they wanted—or needed—to see?
*
Once Shelby got the word the special anniversary dinner was a go, surprisingly from Mark first, not Conor—whom she hadn’t seen since their sexy kiss—she dug through her ingredients lists. Of course she’d stick to seafood being as they were in a beach city, but something told her to go untraditional. Lobster and pork bellies! Yes, that would be the twist.
Now she was excited.
But to be safe, since she didn’t know the couple celebrating their anniversary, she’d give a second choice of good old traditional filet mignon.
She’d kick things off with a bang, maybe something with shrimp.
She’d also give two choices for dessert, pie or cake.
With her head spinning with ideas, it was possible she’d change the menu ten times before the actual meal next Monday.
The main thing was she didn’t want to take too many risks or get too fancy for a couple celebrating their anniversary in a rough stage of their marriage. When it came to cooking, safe was far from her middle name, but for the sake of not embarrassing Conor, or The Drumcliffe, she wouldn’t take any unnecessary risks.
“How are your plans coming?” Maureen Delaney entered the kitchen, evidently straight from her afternoon painting. She wore an old light denim shirt splattered with colors from her palette, and gray yoga pants. She’d also forgotten to take off her large brimmed straw hat, which was obviously for protecting her redhead complexion.
“Great.” Shelby was still on a roll with ideas. “You know what I’d love?”
Maureen waited expectantly, brows lifted.
“If you and Mr. Delaney, Mark, Laurel and Conor also participated in this meal. As I serve our guests, you can all eat here in the kitchen, having our own little party. What do you think?”
“Won’t that be a lot more work for you?”
“Not really. I don’t know how to prepare small, so there’ll be plenty for everyone to try. As it stands, I’m making a dual menu in case one or the other doesn’t like lobster.”
“Lobster? Oh, I’m in. Yes, count all of u
s in. We can be your cheering section for your big night.”
Her big night? “It’s just an anniversary celebration, right?”
“Oh, right,” Maureen said as if she’d messed up and needed to cover up quick.
But cover up about what?
Maureen’s phone rang. “Sorry.” She quickly dug it out of her big pocket and answered as if relieved to drop the conversation. “Now? How long? Oh, my goodness. Let me get Sean and we’ll be right over.” She hung up with wide, excited eyes. “Keela’s in labor! Has been all morning. Daniel needs me to bring Anna to Laurel’s after school, then we’ll head over to the hospital.” She rushed toward the door, not giving Shelby a chance to react.
But react she did. Memories of her solitary labor and delivery in New York contrasted with Keela’s. A deep sense of sadness washed over her. What must it be like to have an entire family’s support? Did Keela know how lucky she was?
Later that night, Shelby needed more booze for the night’s special—grilled chicken marinated in tequila. The dish had gone over so well, she had to make more. Everyone was busy in the kitchen, and when she called Brian asking him to bring some over from the pub, he’d told her he was swamped and didn’t have any help.
Didn’t Padraig pitch in on busy nights, or would he be keeping vigil at the hospital with the others?
She rushed through the front restaurant doors, across the lobby toward the pub, but skidded to a stop. Conor was behind the registration/checkin desk.
“What are you doing here?”
“Keela’s having the baby, so I’m covering for Mom.”
“Do you know what you’re doing?”
He screwed up his face. “Of course. I grew up around this place.”
Right. Made sense.
A male guest approached the desk, looking annoyed, so she scuttled on.
“The room card key you just gave me didn’t work,” she overheard. Amused, she turned to watch the fallout.
“Oh, sorry. Let me fix that.” Conor retrieved the card with a pleasant professional expression, and re-magnetized it, then handed it back. Shelby chuckled under her breath over his feigned insult when she’d asked him ten seconds ago if he knew what he was doing.
He could be so darn adorable sometimes.
*
After hearing Keela had delivered a healthy baby boy and they’d named him Keiran, Shelby had texted Conor and made an appointment for him to sample her planned menu. Friday midmorning she met him at the hotel kitchen door.
Since it was a weekday and her mother was teaching, and she’d normally be home with Benjamin, she’d asked Maureen if she’d watch him for an hour so there wouldn’t be any distractions. Maureen was happy to do so, and also thrilled to show no less than fifty pictures of her new grandson on her phone.
“Hey,” he said, seeming a little distant, typical of their one-step-forward, two-steps-back reunion.
She’d stick to the business of feeding people and keep their personal hot mess on hold for today. Or at least that was the plan. “Bring your appetite?”
“Of course.” He smiled and she relaxed some.
“Good. Hold on a second,” she said. “Let me put this on you.” She held a long scarf, doubled it, then prepared to apply it as his blindfold.
“Looks interesting.” From his heated mischievous gaze, she secretly wished she was leading him into a bedroom, but stomped on that thought immediately. Too late, the skin on her chest sprang with goose bumps that spread like wildfire to her breasts, and damn, she’d worn a thin top.
“Bend down so I can tie this,” she said, trying desperately to sound all business, knowing he’d noticed the state of her nipples.
With what could only be described as a titillated expression, he cooperated. She took his hand and elbow and led him to the restaurant kitchen island where she’d laid out her final menu.
“Something smells great.”
After changing her mind a dozen times, she’d stuck with most of her original ideas, but wanted Conor’s final say.
She guided him to a chair and helped him sit. The hair on his arms rose from her touch. Suddenly the blindfolded taste test seemed far too intimate. Regardless, she allowed herself to ogle his jeans-clad long legs and tight butt, his gorgeous arms and broad chest thanks to the navy blue T-shirt stretched snug and tucked in. He smelled great, too. How had she ever thought Laurent could compare to Conor?
She took a sip of ice water from the counter to clear her mind, and offered him room temperature water to clear his palate. She also noticed he smiled, like he was enjoying everything.
First she offered a tiny spoonful of two different dressings for the salad. He agreed with her first choice so champagne vinaigrette it would be. She gave him a taste of lemon sorbet to wipe out the acidic taste to prepare him for the appetizers.
Next, she gave him a small bite of the sweet potato puff with chorizo. He liked it. A lot. Which made her smile. After a shot glass of whole milk, she handed him a seafood stuffed mushroom.
“Which do you like better?”
“The mushroom is good, but I like the subtle kick of the chorizo in the sweet potato better.”
“Great. Thanks.” After some lemon sorbet, she gave him a shrimp-and-mint spring roll, the whole thing since it was small. Part of the draw with that particular appetizer was how it looked in the nearly clear noodle wrapping, but Conor would only experience the taste.
“Wow, that’s good. Got any more?”
“I don’t want to fill you up too soon, but when we’re done you can eat all you want.”
“Understandable.”
“So that’s a yes on the spring roll?”
“Absolutely.”
After giving him a plain water cracker, they moved on to the lobster dish. First, she served a bite of the lobster and noodles.
“Oh, my God, that’s great.”
Smiling, she handed him another shot of milk, then a bite of the caramelized pork belly.
“What is this? Wow, I like it.”
“It’s pork belly, to contrast with the lobster.”
“They’re in the same dish?”
“Yes.”
“Genius.”
She lightly slapped his deltoid, in disbelief, but her heart reeled with excitement.
“I’m serious.”
The man never ceased to praise her, and right now she felt like she could conquer the world, not only Sandpiper Beach. Grinning until her cheeks hurt, she gave him another plain water cracker to erase the fatty taste. In all her training, she’d never enjoyed a taste test as much as this. “I’m skipping serving the meat because it’s pretty traditional and you’ve already had my style of steak. But what do you think of this as a side starch.”
She gave him a spoonful of fingerling potatoes, parsnips, carrots and brussels sprout, roasted and seasoned with sea salt, thyme and rosemary. Literally holding her breath for his reaction.
“Good.”
Only good? “Instead of a traditional baked potato, sour cream and chives?”
“Absolutely. That tasted healthy and should be a compliment to the steak.” His hands rubbed his thighs, as though he was totally getting into his role as a food critic.
“You’re beginning to sound like a professional.” That got a smile out of him, and she admitted that below that blindfold, his smile was sexy as hell.
Not wanting him to know how he turned her on, she modulated her voice. “Okay, well, that should be it for the appetizers and main course.”
“That’s all? Then feed me more lobster. Or at least a spring roll. My mouth is watering.”
He wanted her to feed him. She let her mind wander to the sensual foods she’d like to feed him, if she ever had the chance to seduce him. The best way to a man’s libido was always through his mouth. Then she made a mistake. After he swallowed his second bite of lobster, noodles, miso and white soy sauce, with just enough heat to wake up the taste buds, she was overcome with a sudden desire to share the heat.
So, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. What had come over her?
Him. All of him. That was what had come over her. Being too close. Wanting what she couldn’t have. And who could resist a gorgeous blindfolded guy?
She tasted her cooking on his lips, and was relieved when he didn’t fight her kissing him. He sat with his hands on his knees, acting like this was a new way to clear the palate between courses. It took all her self-restraint to keep from crawling onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck. Instead, she kept the kiss chaste, but full of yearning as she ended it, and a promise for more.
“Can I take the blindfold off now?” he whispered, making her skin prickle again. She basked in the feel of those tingles, wishing things were different between them.
If he took off the blindfold, she wouldn’t be able to hide her warm cheeks and the desire simmering inside. Let him see. “Yes,” she whispered back.
He pulled off the scarf and studied her, a serious expression in his eyes, making no effort to touch her. If she could only read his mind. Had she blown it, getting so carried away?
“Everything was perfect,” he said in a low, sexy rumble.
“I want it to be perfect for—” so wrapped up in their moment, heat centering between her thighs, she almost messed up and said, “for you,” but caught the words just in time “—your boss and his wife.”
“It will be. Trust me.” Instead of reaching for her to continue the kiss, like she’d hoped, he stood and grabbed another spring roll.
“What about the desserts?” Disappointed, she wanted to keep him near, make love to him through her food.
“My mom would be the best taste tester for those.” He’d clicked out of the simmering moments before. All business now.
“Okay.” She’d blown it by kissing him. “I’m sorry if I—”
“Nope. Don’t apologize. Everything was perfect. It’s just I’ve got to go.” His no-nonsense tone changed the atmosphere from sensual to tense.
She worried her mouth, wetting her lips, then biting the lower one. “Okay. So everything’s good, then?”
“Perfect,” he said, glancing from her head to her toes, then back to her face, making her wish she’d worn something sexier than leggings with an extra-long tank top.
Reunited with the Sheriff Page 10
