Deliciously Sinful

by Lilli Feisty

  Who’d have ever thought they’d see the day Nick Avalon would be standing in a forest a million miles away from civilization, secretly crossing his fingers that a tiny café he worked for would take first place in a bake-off?

  It was official. Nick had gone crazy.

  *

  Thirteen, thirteen, thirteen.

  Phoebe chanted the words silently in her own mind as she waited for the announcer to get to the dessert competition. For fuck’s sake, announce it already. Did Nick have a cigarette? She wanted a cigarette so badly she nearly started sucking on her finger. Nice coping method. You don’t smoke, remember?

  In the past, she’d been only a taster, not a contestant. So this year, she wasn’t enjoying listening to the results like usual. She just wanted to hear the winners, hear her number and her name and then go celebrate all she’d accomplished.

  As old Tom droned on, Phoebe really wasn’t surprised when she heard who the winners in the other categories were. The same people who’d been winning every year. Rick’s Fed Gunny took the award for the best macaroni-and-cheese dish. Bola Julienne took first place for the category titled “Everything but the Kitchen Sink.” Paul Carr won for the best PBR frittata. Chalice Stickler nailed the “Best Aphrodisia Salad” award (the cinnamon was, in Phoebe’s opinion, the key to her success). Jar Jelly Nelson took the prize for his tamale pie. (Phoebe had to admit it was tasty—she especially liked the addition of Aji Pinguita peppers, but she may have been biased, considering the fresh peppers had come from her very own farm.) The fabulous duo of Roam Piecing and Sunlit Jewels took the trophy for “Most Creative Mycological Casserole.”

  So then it came down to the final category. Desserts. Phoebe bit her lip and wrung her hands. Thirteen; come on, thirteen.

  She gazed up at old man Tom and held her breath.

  He coughed.

  The crowd was silent.

  He squinted through his round glasses at the piece of paper before him.

  “And the prize for best traditional brownie goes to…”

  Thirteen! She was going to win; she could feel it!

  Tom shouted into the speaker. “The winner is…number three!”

  Everything inside Phoebe froze, even as she felt sweat break out on her brow. She felt a million eyes on her, like spiders crawling up her skin. There was a minute of absolute quiet, and she thought everyone was thinking the same thing.

  She’d failed.

  She hadn’t been able to do something so simple as carry on a fucking recipe for brownies. And if she’d failed, who had beat her?

  “Number three, with Nick Avalon as chef. Nick, please step up to the podium.”

  Everyone looked around, waiting to see who had been the first person in ten years to steal first prize from Phoebe’s aunt and uncle.

  Phoebe felt a chill go up her back. No. It couldn’t be.

  No, no, no.

  Nick was walking toward the podium, a satisfied look on his face.

  Her heart stopped. How could he? How could he do this to her?

  With her heart pounding in her tightened throat, she attempted to keep her cool as he stepped up and received the trophy.

  Nick nodded a humble thank-you that would have been believable if she didn’t know what a conniving, manipulating prick he was.

  Anger boiled inside her like an untended saucepan of béchamel sauce. How dare he?

  He’d purposely gone behind her back and one-upped her. Just when she was starting to think he was a decent human being, he’d gone back to being Nick the Prick, the guy who had to be the best at everything. The guy who had been challenging her since the moment he’d walked through the door to her café.

  The guy who’d had her fooled into thinking he was good.

  Now, as he took the trophy (a porcelain sculpture of cake made by a local artist), he met her gaze. Clenching her fists, she felt ill as she saw the triumph in his eyes. And damn it to hell, she felt her own eyes well up at his betrayal.

  Gazes locked, she continued to stare him down. Slowly, she noticed the look on his face change a bit. The winning glimmer flickered, and his forehead crinkled a bit. She had no idea what any of that meant. All she knew was the pounding of her heart, her hands starting to shake, her throat growing tight.

  Leaning down to speak in the microphone, he said, “This is for the Green Leaf Café. May the legend live on.”

  But it was too little, too late.

  Betrayal. It coursed through her and landed in her stomach, swirling as if in a blender. Her entire chest thought it might collapse from sadness.

  “Pheebs, can you believe it?”

  She turned to see Jesse looking back and forth from her to Nick. “We won!”

  “What are you talking about?” Phoebe spit, and held out her number. “I was number thirteen. Not three.”

  “But the prize goes to the café, not a number.”

  “Jesse, don’t you understand?” An even greater sense of frustration coursed through her. “Nick entered to beat me. To prove he’s better. And I lost. This is our family tradition, not his. He knew how important this was to me.”

  Jesse’s gaze didn’t falter. “Nick knew how important it was to you for the café to win.”

  “And he knew how hard I’d been working.”

  “I know. But he also thought two entries were better than one.”

  Gasping, Phoebe pulled back. “You knew what he was up to?”

  Slowly, Jesse nodded. “Um, yeah. So?”

  Phoebe had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from screaming. “So? So you were in on this! Neither of you had enough faith in me to think, for just one second, that I could win this?”

  “Actually, we both thought you would win. But we both knew how important it was to you to have the café succeed, and, like I just said, we were only trying to help our chances.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “We wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “Well, you failed,” Phoebe said.

  Jesse looked shocked. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not surprised that Nick is a selfish asshole who refuses to think a woman might—just might—be better at something than him. I’m not surprised that Nick took something he knew was important to me”—she pointed at her chest—“and claimed it for himself. I’m not at all surprised that he wants credit for a family tradition that I wanted more than anything to continue.”

  Gazing at Phoebe, Jesse was silent for a few moments. “So is that what’s bothering you?”

  “What?”

  “Credit. Is that why you did this whole thing? To get the credit for it? To have your name announced?”

  “N-no.” Phoebe angrily shook her head. “Of course not.”

  “Then why did you enter? Why is winning so important to you?”

  “Because I…I wanted to make Sally and Dan proud.”

  “And don’t you think they are?”

  Phoebe was starting to think she really liked the old days when her niece was a lot less mature. “I don’t know,” she said, and tried to compose herself. “All I know is I want to rip Nick’s head off for taking this away from me.”

  “But, Phoebe, what exactly did he take?”

  “The trophy!”

  “Exactly.”

  “That trophy was meant for me—I mean the café!”

  Jesse spoke softly. “And isn’t that who won?”

  It took Phoebe a minute to answer. “No. I mean, yes, but only because Nick made sure everyone knows he’s better than I am.”

  “Phoebe, everyone already knows that. That’s why you hired him, remember?”

  It was true, but it didn’t stop the words from stinging. “That’s not the point here.”

  “Then what is the point?”

  Phoebe glanced over Jesse’s shoulder to see Nick approaching, holding the winning trophy in his hands.

  Flee. It was all too much; she couldn’t deal with any of it right now.

  But Jesse was
n’t letting up. “Phoebe. What is the point? What does it matter if it’s your name or Nick’s on that award? It’s for the café, right? And we won. You should be happy.”

  Confusion. Nick coming at her. Her niece saying things that were making her question her own motivation.

  Turning on her heel, she did something she’d never done in her life. She ran away.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Well, that was fast.” Mary held open the porch door, and Phoebe stepped inside the house. It was just as she’d always remembered it inside. It was an old Victorian that had been updated but still held its original charm. Bright light shone through large windows covered in lace curtains. Old worn carpets were placed sporadically over the original wood flooring. Framed pictures, filled with images of familiar faces, were scattered on nearly every available surface space.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Phoebe said.

  “Of course not! In fact, I was thinking it would be a lovely time for an afternoon glass of wine. What do you think?” Mary’s eyes glittered. “Care to join me on the porch?”

  “I’d like nothing more.”

  Moments later they were relaxing under an arbor covered in fragrant climbing jasmine. Mary had set two comfortable chairs in the shade and brought out a bottle of wine and two glasses. Silently, the women sat there sipping wine. Listening to the hummingbirds, the bees buzzing around the lavender, the tinkle of the wind chime when a slight breeze tickled the air.

  Suddenly Phoebe turned to Mary. “Do you think I entered the contest for selfish reasons?”

  Mary sipped her wine. “I don’t know, honey. Did you?”

  “I didn’t think so…”

  “But?”

  “I really wanted to prove something. To prove that I was capable of carrying on the legacy of the restaurant.”

  “And you think winning a cook-off proves that?”

  Phoebe sheepishly brought her wineglass to her lips. “Um…well, I kinda did.”

  “So why are you questioning yourself?”

  “Because I was so pissed when Nick won!” Phoebe lowered her voice. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

  Mary laughed. “Honey, you never have to censor yourself around me.”

  “Thanks.” Phoebe pushed a curl behind her ear. “It’s just that I wanted to win this so badly, and Nick knew that. And he entered anyway.”

  “And beat you.”

  “Yes, and beat me.” It played like a movie in her mind. She kept watching him go up to that podium and take the trophy. The trophy that should have been hers.

  “You’re so like your mother,” Mary said.

  Phoebe’s heart skipped. It always did when the subject of her mom came up. “What do you mean?”

  Mary gently smiled. “She was so independent and a perfectionist. Just like you.”

  “Thank you,” Phoebe mumbled. She didn’t know if Mary was giving her a compliment or not.

  “She’d be proud of you, dear.”

  Phoebe glanced at Mary. “I highly doubt it. I just lost the contest for the first time in over a decade!”

  “Do you really think she’d care about any of that?”

  Phoebe opened her mouth, but no words came out. Instead she took a sip of wine. Would her mother have truly cared? Would her aunt and uncle have shunned her for losing?

  Of course they wouldn’t have.

  “They’d all be proud of how hard you work, and the successes you’ve accomplished.”

  For some reason Phoebe’s eyes stung, and she simply nodded.

  “Phoebe, let me ask you this. Why does it matter who actually cooked the damn brownies?”

  “Because it’s my family recipe!”

  “But the café’s always entered them.”

  “I know, but…”

  “This has nothing to do with any brownies, Phoebe.”

  “It doesn’t?” Phoebe sipped more of the fruity red wine. As usual, Mary had selected an excellent bottle from a local winery.

  “No, it has to do with you being in control.”

  “But I am.”

  “That’s your choice. Furthermore, caring what people think about you is your choice, too.”

  “Wow. Is this Beat Up Phoebe Day?”

  “I don’t know, honey. Is it? Or is it Phoebe’s self-realization day?”

  “I only care what people think because our family has been such a big part of this community for so long.”

  “That’s respectable, Phoebe. But sometimes you have to remember that you have your own life to lead as well. And spending all your time trying to control everyone else’s isn’t going to help you at all.”

  “Why does everyone call me a control freak?” With a harrumph, Phoebe lifted the wine bottle and refilled her glass.

  “You’ve been through a lot of loss in your life, Phoebe, and survived with a smile.”

  Phoebe felt her cheeks warm. “Th-thank you.” She hadn’t been given such a nice compliment in a long time.

  “But just make sure you don’t use it as a crutch to forget about yourself. And your own wants and needs.”

  “But what about Nick? You don’t think I should be mad at him for taking the trophy away from me?”

  “I think he should have told you. But don’t just assume his intentions were all bad. At least try talking to him about it.”

  “Ha! Trying to talk to him is like trying to talk to…to…I don’t know, but it’s not easy.”

  “Who ever gave you the impression that men were good at communication?”

  “Cheers to that!” Phoebe raised her wineglass and toasted Mary.

  The next day, Phoebe needed to be at the farm. Her soul was craving the dirt and her plants. Kneeling, she felt a cold breeze raise gooseflesh on her arms and suppressed a shiver. She hoped the chilly air wasn’t an indication of frost. Although it was early June, late spring storms weren’t unheard of. So Phoebe prayed to the gods of farming that the warm weather would continue.

  Funny how one day could change so much. Yesterday the sun had been promising the warmth of summer; today she wished she’d brought a windbreaker out with her.

  And, of course, she didn’t know what to think about Nick. And the things Jesse and Mary had said. Phoebe hadn’t spoken with Nick since she’d run away from him yesterday, and she was glad she’d taken the time to think. Why did it matter if it wasn’t her own name on that stupid trophy? Why did she need the credit? The more she thought about it, the more she believed Jesse, and she wanted to trust Nick. Hadn’t she just been thinking about how far he’d come since that day he’d arrived? The more she thought about it, the more she doubted his plan had been a nefarious one.

  What if he had done it just out of the goodness of his heart? What if he had truly changed into a good person? What if the happiness she felt when she was with him could actually be something…more?

  She wanted to be less of a control freak, but when it came to her feelings for Nick, she simply couldn’t help it; she just couldn’t free-fall with Nick any longer. Not after the past day when she’d had so many revelations about herself.

  She didn’t need to be a control freak.

  She could trust other people.

  Nick had continued the cook-off legacy on behalf of the café.

  Did she mention she could trust other people?

  Just the thought made her shoulders feel lighter. The café, obviously, needed her less and less. She was delegating, and now her farming business could receive even more of her attention.

  And this was where she really wanted to be. In the dirt.

  Her plots were already showcasing their first crops. She pulled a piece of asparagus from the dirt and tossed it into an already-full basket. Every vegetable she pulled from the earth added to the sense of satisfaction settling deep within her. The sun was warm on her back; her hands were dirty. The crops were doing well.

  Perfection.

  Except for that chilly breeze. She glanced to the north. The wind was just
a bit too cold, a bit too sharp. Maybe she was being overly sensitive, but someone had told her a long time ago that she’d developed a farmer’s intuition when it came to the weather, and so Phoebe gazed at her crops and once more said a little prayer.

  All her newly found free time had allowed her to focus the majority of her attention on her organic farming business, and it seemed every day her business grew a bit more. It seemed every day she had a new customer placing an order. She would need to hire more help.

  Even now, despite the enjoyment she obtained from pulling the vegetables out of the ground, she felt the pressure of filling an order. The restaurant in Berkeley had been requesting more and more of her produce, and she needed to get a box ready for shipment by 5:00, which was only an hour away.

  “Hey, Pheebs. Need a hand?”

  She looked up to see Bear standing a few feet away. She hadn’t seen him since that night at the bar. Typically, here he was again. No warning, no notification. It was like he had a transport machine.

  “Bear. How are you?” She felt her neck turning red. Oddly, she wanted to tell him about her feelings for Nick. She wasn’t sure why, but if Bear wanted to make another advance at her, it would feel like she was betraying Nick if she didn’t say anything to Bear.

  He walked inside the garden and crouched next to her. “Good. It’s good to be home, and to see you.”

  She smiled uncertainly. “Yes, it is.”

  “You look like you could use a hand.”

  Her first instinct was to say no, but she realized she could, in fact, use a bit of help. She nodded. “That would be great. Thank you.”

  As an agricultural specialist for the Food Core, Bear didn’t need any lessons on the basics of pulling vegetables. They settled into a rhythm that was easy and efficient.

  He glanced at her. “So, how are things? Really?”

  Pulling weeds with Bear, Phoebe realized they’d always been friends more than anything. She’d idealized him into some sort of perfect man and was happy while they were engaged. But when they called it off, she really hadn’t been that upset. And now that she could compare her feelings about Nick, she realized what she’d felt during their engagement really hadn’t been love at all.

  She smiled at Bear. “Really good, actually.”