by Jackie Braun
“Uh, Finn. She looks like she could use a drink,” Kristy noted, her tone wry.
“I’ll get her one. Which would you prefer?” Joanna asked. “A beer or a glass of wine?”
“Yes.” Lara nodded, too dazed to make an actual choice.
Dimly, she was aware of Finn telling his cousin to bring a glass of merlot.
“Where’s Mom?” he then asked Kate, whose face split into a grin.
“Where do you think?”
“Come on.” He grabbed Lara’s hand. “We’re heading to the kitchen.”
Lara took a deep breath as they left the relative safety of the foyer and waded into the throng of guests. She might not know where the kitchen was located, but even without Finn to guide her, she figured she could have found it simply by following her nose. A tantalizing mix of herbs spiced the air. Garlic, rosemary and thyme were the obvious ones. Lara inhaled deeply, this time to savor the aroma rather than to quell her nerves.
“Something smells marvelous.”
He winked. “If you think it smells good, just wait till you taste it.”
They didn’t get far before someone clapped Finn on the back in greeting. Then another person pulled him in for a bear hug. Kisses were exchanged as readily as her parents used to trade thinly veiled insults.
All the while, Finn took the time to introduce Lara to each and every one of them. Never would she remember all of their names. In fact, other than his sisters and Joanna, she’d already forgotten them. There simply were too many and she was overwhelmed. The feeling had less to do with the sheer number of kin and close friends that had gathered under one roof to wish his mother a happy birthday, and more to do with camaraderie and caring on display. She’d never experienced anything remotely like this. Indeed, she’d assumed it existed only in books and movies. But it was real, tangible and beautiful in a way that made her ache.
When they reached his grandmother, the older woman pinched Finn’s cheeks with her arthritic fingers.
“And who might this pretty young woman be?” she asked before he could get out a word.
“This is Lara Dunham, Grandma.” He leaned down toward her ear and said it loudly. In a wry voice he added, “I’m surprised my sisters haven’t mentioned her.”
She waved a hand in a dismissive fashion. “They talk too fast and are always muttering half under their breath. How is an old woman supposed to hear anything they say?”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Westbrook,” Lara said.
The older woman gave her the once-over with a pair of rheumy eyes. “That remains to be seen, my dear girl. That remains to be seen.”
Lara was taken aback, but caught herself before she could laugh. And thank God, because the older woman was dead serious. She was glad for the glass of wine Finn’s cousin handed her just then.
Lara fortified herself with a sip as Finn whisked her to the kitchen, throwing out introductions in haphazard fashion as he propelled her through a pack of chattering aunts and female cousins to a woman who stood in front of the stove, patiently stirring a pot of something. The man beside her was an older version of Finn—same handsome face, if more weathered and refined.
“Finish up already, Mary,” he said. “Your guests don’t care if the gravy has a few lumps. They’re here to see you.”
“You can’t rush good gravy,” she protested with a shake of her head. Then she turned and her gaze fell on Finn. “Griffin, you made it!”
“Of course I made it. I wouldn’t miss your party, Mom. Happy birthday.”
“I expected you an hour ago.” She cocked an eyebrow after saying so. “You said you’d help with any last-minute dinner preparations.”
“I... Um.” He glanced at Lara, who felt her face catch fire. “Traffic,” he lied. “We ran into a big backup on the way over.”
The older man grinned. Neither of his parents appeared convinced, but the matter was promptly dropped.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here now. And that you brought your...friend.”
Mary said it the same way Joanna had when they’d met in Spanky’s.
“This is Lara. Lara, my parents, Mary and Donovan Westbrook.”
His mother handed the whisk to Finn so she could shake Lara’s hand. She didn’t let go afterward. Instead, she steered Lara out the back door onto the duplex’s deck, leaving her son to tend to the gravy. Her husband followed them.
“My daughters tell me you’re a chef,” she began.
“I am. Yes.”
“Finn is very gifted.”
Lara nodded.
“You know he was married before, right?”
“Mary.”
But she shushed her husband and held Lara’s gaze.
“Yes. He told me.”
“She was a chef, too.”
“Mary.”
This time she waved a hand at Donovan before continuing. “She broke his heart, stole his recipes, even the ones that came from our family, and damaged his reputation.”
Lara cleared her throat. “He told me that, too.”
“Good. His heart has mended. He’s creative enough to come up with new recipes. And his reputation... Well, he’s doing his damnedest to see that restored. As his mother, it pained me to see him put through hell. I am relieved to see his life turning around. So you will understand when I warn you that if you hurt him, I will hurt you.”
She smiled so beautifully afterward that Lara might have thought she’d heard wrong, but Finn’s father had closed his eyes and was groaning.
Finn came outside and rescued her then.
“Hey, Mom. Gravy’s ready, and the roast looks rested enough for Dad to start slicing.”
Once they were alone, he said, “So, what did my mom say to you?”
“Oh, nothing much.” Lara lifted her shoulders in a negligible shrug that belied her words when she added, “She just threatened me with bodily injury if I did anything to hurt you.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled with his laughter. “She did not.”
“Uh-huh.” To her mortification, her eyes grew moist.
“Lara? Hey, it’s okay. She didn’t really mean it.”
“Yes, she did.” But that wasn’t why Lara had started to cry. She rose on her tiptoes to give Finn a quick kiss. “You are so lucky.”
THIRTEEN
Let stand
“You’re quiet,” Finn said as they drove back to the city later that night.
“Just tired,” Lara murmured. Her head was back against the rest. Despite the car’s dim interior, she looked exhausted. She turned toward him and smiled. “I haven’t talked that much in one evening since...ever.”
“Westbrook women are an insanely chatty bunch,” he agreed.
But Finn knew it was more than that. Lara was overwhelmed. He was pretty sure he knew the reason.
“Your mother really liked your gift,” she said.
That was an understatement. Upon opening the card, Mary had laughed and then dabbed her eyes before starting to cry in earnest. Just when Finn had begun having second thoughts about giving her tap lessons, she’d stood up and executed a brief toe-heel, toe-heel slide combination on the living room’s scuffed oak planking. She hadn’t liked the gift. She’d loved it.
He let go of the steering wheel with his right hand so he could run his knuckles lightly over Lara’s cheek. “Thanks again for your insights.”
“Glad I could help.”
Finn wanted to help her, too. A germ of an idea began to form, a plan to be executed at a later date. It needed more time to gel. He tucked it away.
“Are you coming up?” she asked as they drew closer to her apartment building. “I have a bottle of that red wine you sold me on just waiting to be opened.”
His answer was t
o pull into the first available parking spot along the curb.
* * *
It was well after midnight when Finn crumpled into a heap beside her on the mattress. He felt totally sapped of his strength but, in an odd way, energized, too.
He tilted his head to the side and studied her profile in the low light. For the past couple of years, his goal had been to rebuild his reputation so that he could once again run his own restaurant. He’d come up with new recipes and a new name for the place. He’d mulled over potential marketing strategies. He’d even fiddled with ideas for front-of-the-house decor, color schemes and flow. He’d been single-minded, driven.
Now, in a remarkably short period of time, his focus had expanded to include something, or rather, someone else.
“You’re staring,” she said. Her mouth curved, though, telling him that his breach in manners hadn’t offended her.
“I can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”
It was more than her looks, though. Finn knew that. In fact, he’d reached that conclusion long before they’d left the network studio on the first day.
Destiny’s timing might suck, but it couldn’t be denied. God help him, he was falling in love.
She rolled to her side, levered up on one elbow. In the room’s dim light, her fair skin glowed almost translucently.
“It’s been a long time since I felt beautiful,” she admitted quietly. “It’s been a long time since I felt...anything, Finn.”
“I know exactly what you mean. The same here.”
Her smile turned circumspect. “If I’m beautiful now, it’s because you make me happy. So, thank you for that.”
It wasn’t gratitude he was after, but he understood what she meant. He was happy, too. Hell, he hadn’t realized how lonely and miserable he’d been until she’d come into his life.
He cupped his hand to the side of her head and rubbed his thumb across her cheek before pulling her to him for a kiss. When it ended, she was sprawled over his chest and his body had already begun to ache with need.
“Does this mean you’re ready for round two?” she asked on a throaty chuckle that he felt as much as heard.
Turned on? He was past that point. As quickly as he could, Finn rolled and changed their positions so that she was now pinned beneath him.
“You know,” he told her, as his rigid body melded to her softness, “technically, this is round three.”
* * *
He stayed the night. She hadn’t asked him to...exactly. Although the one time he’d gotten up to go to the bathroom, she’d sighed heavily in her sleep. When he’d returned to the bed afterward, she’d snuggled against his side, her body warm and welcoming and far too inviting to even consider leaving.
When he woke in the morning, he was alone in the bed. He pulled on the boxers he found on the floor and followed the familiar sound of a sharp knife meeting a cutting board’s surface. Lara was in the kitchen, standing with her back to him at the room’s small prep space. She was wearing his shirt...and nothing else, as far as his imagination was concerned.
His gaze took in the shapely line of her legs, including the delicate curve of her ankle. He’d never considered himself an ankle man, but she had a nice pair. In fact, everything about her ticked the boxes on his fantasy wish list.
“Hungry?” she asked without turning around.
Finn merely laughed at that.
“I meant for food.” She did face him now, holding a wickedly sharp knife in one hand. Some men might have found that off-putting. Not Finn, of course.
“What are you making?”
“I’m not sure, yet. I was thinking about Greek omelets. But I can go with something else if you’re not a fan of feta cheese.”
“I love feta,” he said, drawing closer to give her a proper good-morning kiss.
On the cutting board, he noticed that she’d already sliced up a green pepper and some fresh oregano.
“I’m happy to help,” he offered.
For an answer, she pulled a knife from the magnetic strip on the backsplash and handed it to him. By mutual agreement, they decided to leave out the red onion. While she whisked half a dozen eggs and a dash of milk into the perfect consistency, he diced a ripe tomato and sliced up kalamata olives.
They worked well together, talking as they went.
“What do you like the most about cooking?” she asked, as she poured the egg mixture into an omelet pan.
“Working with knives.” Finn grinned maniacally and held up the lethal-looking blade he’d been using.
“Besides the sharp implements.”
He gave that some serious thought. “I guess I like the science behind it.”
“Science?” Lara glanced over at his answer.
“Yeah. If you do A and B, then you wind up with C.”
She tilted her head to one side. “There are some variables thrown in.”
“True, but not that many. And most of them can be controlled. If you buy a quality cut of meat, add the perfect mix and amount of spices, then grill it at the right temperature for the right amount of time, you’re going to end up with a really good steak.”
She nodded. “I guess I appreciate the control aspect, too.”
“But that’s not why you love to cook,” he guessed.
“I like cooking for the same reason I like styling food. It’s creative.”
“Art on a plate.”
“Exactly.” She grinned.
“Okay, Picasso.” He pointed his knife at the ingredients on the countertop. “Show me what you got.”
* * *
They ate breakfast in her tiny living room, trading war stories from culinary school. It turned out they’d had a couple of the same instructors, albeit a few years apart. Afterward, Finn helped Lara set her kitchen to rights. It was closing in on noon when he decided to spring on her the idea that had begun to germinate the previous night.
She offered the perfect segue when she asked, “Are you getting excited about tomorrow?”
Finally, the competition was set to get under way.
Finn didn’t know how the network planned to deal with Lara’s absence. Were they simply going to move ahead with eleven chefs? Or had they reinstated a previously eliminated contestant? Regardless, the competition was to start back up bright and early Monday.
“Sure. I’m excited.”
“Nervous?”
He shook his head. “Excited,” he said again.
She winked. “You just keep telling yourself that.”
“You know, I was thinking...” He folded the dishcloth he was holding in half and looped it over the handle to the oven.
“About?”
He cleared his throat, met her eye. “About doing a little recon today.”
“Recon?”
“Yeah. Reconnaissance. You know, get the lay of the land at my future place of employment.” He offered up what he hoped was a charmingly cocky grin.
“Are you talking about going to the Chesterfield?”
“You catch on fast,” he teased.
“Why?”
“It’s been a while since I was last in there.”
“Is that the only reason?”
“No,” he admitted. “So, what do you say? Want to tag along?”
She took her time drying the chopping board. Just when he was sure that her answer would be no, she glanced up and smiled. “I should warn you. My father threatened to have me forcibly removed from the premises the last time I was in his restaurant. Are you sure you want me to come?” Her laugher was strained when she added, “For that matter, are you sure you want to be seen with me? He might hold it against you. And believe me, if anyone knows how to hold a grudge, it’s my father.”
Her points were valid, but nothing
that Finn hadn’t already considered.
“I’ll take my chances,” he told her. “So, will you come?”
“As long as you’re sure.”
“I’m positive.”
Before Finn went home to shower and change, he and Lara made plans to meet outside the Chesterfield at three o’clock. That would put them in the dining room after the Sunday brunch and lunch crowd, but well before the dinner rush.
* * *
Lara paced the sidewalk in front of the Chesterfield as she waited for Finn to arrive. He wasn’t late. She was early. And she was nervous, as evidenced by her agitated pacing and moist palms.
It was silly, really, not to mention pointless to be this keyed up. It wasn’t as if she had anything left to lose. Her father had made his feelings plain where his only child was concerned. Lara was dead to him. It didn’t get much more finite than that. Yet she couldn’t help but hope, foolish as it might be, that someday he would change his mind. She kept thinking about Finn with his big, boisterous family, and all of the love and affection that had been unabashedly on display. If she could have but a morsel of that...it would be enough.
Before they’d left his parents’ home at the end of the evening, his mother and sisters had given Finn hugs and kisses. No surprise there, since that was how they had greeted him, too. Heck, it was how practically everyone at the party had greeted him at one point or another. And they’d hugged Lara, too.
But the real surprise came when his dad wrapped his son in an embrace as they were leaving. Afterward, he’d kissed Finn’s cheek and said, “I love you.”
Three words said without a hint of embarrassment, without the least bit of reservation, without any qualification. And Finn had said them right back.
Lara couldn’t imagine her father being so open with either his feelings or his affection. Even when she was a child, he’d been stingy with both. Today, she was hoping he also would withhold his displeasure.
“Lara!” Finn called her name as he stepped from the cab.
