by LuAnn McLane
Jessica turned at Madison’s shout and was brought out of her musings. She mustered a smile and tried not to appear too tired, even though she was, as Aunt Myra would say, plumb tuckered out. Her heart kicked it up a notch when she witnessed the look on Madison’s face. “Sweetie, is there something wrong?”
“Well . . .” Madison pressed her lips together and nodded slowly. “We seem to have a disgruntled customer.”
“Oh no! Really?”
“Yes.” Madison continued to nod.
“Was it the food?” Jessica asked with a frown, and then pulled her daughter out into the hallway, away from the heat and the kitchen clatter. Plus, everyone had worked so hard tonight, she didn’t want to bring the crew down.
Madison tucked a blond curl behind her ear. “Actually, it was the service.”
“Seriously?” Jessica angled her head in disbelief. She leaned back against the exposed brick wall and sighed. “So what did you do?”
“Offered free dessert.”
“Always a pleaser. Good job, Madison,” Jessica said, and then pushed away from the wall. “So did it work?”
“Well, I believe so, but he wanted the person in charge to deliver it personally.”
“Me?” Jessica splayed a hand on her chest and groaned. “Oh, honey. I’m so tired! Can’t Bella do it? She’s a charmer when she wants to be.”
“He only wanted you. You know, I mean, the owner.”
“Where’s Aunt Myra?”
“She was helping Bella handle the crowd, but when things slowed down, she was making goo-goo eyes at Owen, who stopped in for dinner. They hightailed it out of here about an hour ago.”
“Well, damn!” Jessica felt anger flare up like the flame on a gas stove turned on high. “You know, just once I’d like to drag a disgruntled jackass back here by his ear and shove him into this inferno of a kitchen. I’d like him to see the work and effort that goes into preparing the perfect meal over and over again. Then maybe he’d shut his big mouth! Oh, and the service? Nobody works harder than a good waiter! And our staff is fucking fantastic!”
Madison’s eyes widened.
“Sorry about the language,” she muttered darkly, but for once she really wasn’t. She folded her arms across her chest and narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I would like to take an entire pie out there and shove it in his face! Bet he’d be disgruntled then!”
Madison winced. “Um, maybe you’d better not do that. Really.”
“Oh, you know I’m just venting. Okay, my rant is . . . Hey, wait.” Jessica looked at Madison closely. “Why do I suddenly smell something fishy?”
Madison raised her shoulders slightly. “Um, maybe it’s the halibut? That was excellent, by the way. The sauce—”
“Ma-di-son!”
“What?” Madison lifted her palms upward. “Hey, you’d better sashay out there with that dessert. I believe he requested, um, your Kentucky Nut Pie.”
“Let me guess. With extra bourbon-laced whipped cream?” Jessica asked in a knowing tone.
“Maybe . . . Oh, that sounds good. I think I’ll go rustle up a slice for Jason. He should be home soon.”
“You’re meddling again, aren’t you?”
“No . . . okay, maybe.”
“There is never a maybe with you.”
“Okay, yes,” Madison admitted, and bestowed Jessica with her best don’t-be-mad-at-me smile.
Jessica uncrossed her arms and put her fists on her hips. “I don’t know whether I should be pissed or relieved.”
“I totally vote for relieved.”
“Madison, you didn’t have to fabricate this. Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”
“Yeah, right! You wouldn’t have left the kitchen if I had said that Ty wanted to hang out for a while. Now, would you?”
“No!”
“See!”
“That doesn’t make it right!”
Madison put her hands on Jessica’s shoulders. “I didn’t really make it up,” she defended. “Ty McKenna is a customer and he was disgruntled . . . in a manner of speaking.”
“You are stretching the truth like a rubber band.”
“Who cares?” Madison dropped her hands. “You’ve been out here with me and the restaurant is running just fine! You work too hard. Take a little time to enjoy the view!”
Jessica snorted.
“Okay, that was reaching. Sounds better when Barbara Walters says it.”
“You seriously watch The View?”
“Sometimes, until they annoy me by talking over one another.” She waved her hand in the air. “That’s not the point. You work too much.”
“It’s the nature of this business. Restaurants have a very high failure rate, Madison.”
“Mom . . .”
“And so do relationships,” she muttered, and then put a hand over her mouth.
“Too late. You said it out loud. The truth comes out. You’re still afraid.”
Jessica felt emotion well up in her throat.
“Mom, look. It’s okay to be guarded, but not jaded. Believe me, I get it. But it’s not okay not to give this a shot. The only failure is in not trying.”
“Hey.” Jessica gave her a small smile. “When did you become the mother and I become the kid?”
“I’m repeating what you taught me not only through words but through action. Now go take Ty his dessert. He’s waiting out on the patio.”
“Okay.” Jessica rolled her eyes. “Kentucky Nut Pie with extra bourbon whipped cream.”
Madison chuckled softly.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Jessica tapped her foot.
“Kentucky Nut Pie was the first dessert that popped into my head. He didn’t even ask for it. All he wants is you. But I find it so sweet, if you’ll pardon the pun, that you knew his obvious favorite.”
“Madison, the man eats here all the time.”
“So do a lot of people, and I bet you don’t know their favorite desserts. As a matter of fact, you used to only have it here on Derby weekend, but I seem to recall that you suddenly decided to keep it on the menu.”
“I have a lot of Kentucky favorites on the menu.” She put her index finger to her pinky and started ticking them off. “Kentucky Hot Brown, Kentucky Bourbon Balls, Dead Heat Kentucky Burgoo . . .”
“Yeah, the new menu! You kept the Derby Pie for Ty McKenna. Fess up!”
“Okay, busted. So what? He’s a loyal customer. Just like you and martini Mondays at Sully’s.”
“Mom! Stop arguing and get your butt out there, with or without the Derby Pie!”
“I’m a mess!”
“Take your chef’s whites off, slap on some lipstick, and get on out there before he dips out. Although I’m sure he knew this was going to take some doing. For pity’s sake, you are enough to wear a person out, Mom. I swear!” She made shooing motions with her fingers. “Go! And don’t bother with dessert! The man wants some sugar from you!”
“Ma-di-son! You are the only one who would say something like that to your mother.”
“You say my name like that a lot, you know. I’m going to call you Jess-i-ca!”
“Okay, I’m going,” Jessica promised, but then turned away so that Madison couldn’t see the sudden emotion that her innocent comment caused. She hurried across the hallway and into her office, quickly closing the door. She put a hand over her mouth and willed herself not to sob. Jessica had suddenly remembered that her mother would do the same thing and break her name into syllables whenever she would pop off. When her father had been gone on some business trip or whatever, she and her mother would relax and enjoy each other. Back then, Jessica’s humor had been much like Madison’s whenever her father wasn’t around.
She shook her head. The sudden memory of her mother had taken her by surprise. It hurt to this day that her mother had chosen not to be a part of her life.
“Damn it!” Jessica remembered her conversation with Ty and whispered, “I will no longer let the mistakes of others rule my life!
” She sniffed, but then stiffened her spine while fumbling with the buttons on her chef’s jacket. When she finally got it off, she tossed it aside, tugged off her checkered pants, and quickly located her black leggings and soft pink tunic. It wasn’t fancy, but would have to do. After touching up her lipstick, she hurried into the kitchen and slid a slice of pie into a to-go box and added a generous dollop of her famous bourbon-laced whipped cream. After inhaling a deep breath, she headed out the back entrance and around the corner to the patio.
Jessica smiled. She was on a mission, and Mr. Triple Treat wasn’t going to know what hit him.
13
Mission Accomplished!
Ty reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out his cell phone for the fifth time. It was pushing ten o’clock. He had been waiting for Jessica for more than twenty minutes. Madison’s little scheme hadn’t worked.
Jessica wasn’t coming.
With a long sigh, he glanced over to where light spilled from the French doors, hoping once again to see Jessica emerge. “Well, damn,” he muttered. Despite his disappointment, he had to admire the surroundings. Even in the muted light, Ty could see that Jason had laid a lovely oval, brick-paved patio, and Owen had done a fantastic job with the landscaping. Green ivy spilled over the top of tall terra-cotta planters filled with a plethora of colorful spring flowers. The soothing sound of gurgling water stemmed from a fountain in the far corner of the patio, and strategically placed trees would eventually add shade and privacy to the outdoor space. The bronzed, wrought-iron furniture had a rustic edge, but the mosaic tabletops added a touch of elegance that was a perfect feel for Wine and Diner.
Jessica had told Ty of her future plans for live music and an expanded patio that would include a gazebo for Madison, who wanted an outdoor wedding. With a shake of his head, Ty wondered if Jessica realized how well he had gotten to know her over the past year, despite her attempts to keep him at arm’s length. And after making love to her, she meant even more to him. He chuckled softly, but it suddenly scared him that he might never be able to break down her walls and have her come to him without reservation.
And he wanted nothing less.
Ty glanced over at the table where he had lit two candles. The bottle of Elk Creek merlot and two wineglasses appeared as lonely as he felt. “Well . . .” Ty muttered, and then scrubbed a hand down his face. He suddenly felt a bit of a fool, standing out here, hoping Jessica would join him. And he shouldn’t have to resort to playing games while trying to get the woman he cared about to spend time with him. He reminded himself that he was supposed to be patient and to take it slow, but all at once he became frustrated and decided that he should simply leave.
And then he saw her.
While she walked slowly toward him, the light of the windows behind her cast a golden glow. The cool evening breeze molded her billowy blouse to her body, making Ty inhale sharply. He knew he was staring, but could not even begin to tear his gaze from her face.
“Good evening, Ty.” Her sultry voice was a warm contrast to the cool night and felt like a physical caress. When she was standing directly in front of him, Ty tried to think of something clever to say, but when he caught a whiff of her perfume, words failed him. Instead, a pathetic little moan came out of his mouth and he had to disguise it with a cough. Her eyes widened slightly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he managed to articulate. “Something caught in my throat.”
“Oh.” There was something different in the way she gazed up at him. He felt confidence oozing from her and an underlying sense of determination, and when Ty searched her amber eyes for that all-too-familiar flash of fear, his heart thudded.
It was gone.
What he did see was a woman who knew what she wanted and was going for it. And it was damned sexy.
“Well, now . . .” Jessica angled her head slightly, allowing her sleek ponytail to slip over her shoulder. Ty dearly wanted to wrap the silky hair around his fist and pull her head back for a long, hot kiss. “I was told I had a disgruntled customer. Might that be you?”
“Yes,” he replied in a husky tone filled with the need to kiss her. But he wanted to play this out and hopefully drive her crazy. He gestured toward the table where candles flickered and danced off the delicate wineglasses. “Would you mind sitting down and discussing my grievances over a nice glass of merlot?”
“Not at all,” she replied, and sat down on the cushioned love seat. “Oh, and by the way, I brought you dessert as an apology for your . . . dissatisfaction.”
Ty sat down next to her and then leaned over to open the small box. “Ah, Derby Pie?”
She nodded
“My favorite.” Did she remember that?
“Well, actually, it’s my version of the original classic served at the Kentucky Derby. I use pecans instead of walnuts.”
“I think it’s great to give classic recipes your own personal touch. You excel at that, you know.”
“I always have to tinker with a recipe. Besides, we couldn’t call it Derby Pie on the menu.”
“Really?”
“Yes, the original was created by George Kern at the Melrose Inn in Prospect, Kentucky, and the Kern family holds the copyright. There have been several lawsuits over the use of the name Derby Pie through the years, including one against Nestlé when they put a Derby Pie recipe on the back of a bag of chocolate chips.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all. The Kern family is serious about guarding the secret Derby Pie recipe.” She leaned in closer. “Only a few of the Kern family know it, and one kitchen cook.” She held up her index finger with a grin. “I think it would be the coolest thing to create something so amazing that it was a closely guarded secret and kept in a safe.”
“Well, the Derby—I mean the Kentucky Nut Pie—that you make is to die for, and I can’t imagine one better. It really is my personal favorite.”
She gave him a steady look. “I know. I kept it on the menu just for you.”
Ty was touched by her admission. She was allowing him to know that she had been taking note over the past months as well and wasn’t afraid to put it out there. “Thank you, Jessica,” he said, and they both knew he wasn’t only referring to the pie. “I’m beginning to really like this habit of you bringing me dessert.” He wiggled his eyebrows and then swiped his finger in the whipped cream before sucking the cool sweetness off his finger. “Wow, that is amazingly good. Just the right amount of bourbon,” he said, letting her know that her cooking was an art and not hit-or-miss. Nothing at Wine and Diner was simply slapped together, and he admired her dedication and talent.
“I aim to please,” she answered in a low, seductive voice that made him feel warm despite the evening breeze. She handed him a fork. “Go ahead. Take a bite. I’ll pour the wine. Would you like a glass?”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Ty tried for a casual tone but failed miserably. And he was grateful for her offer to pour, because when he pushed his fork into the crunchy pecans, he noticed that his hands were trembling slightly. Wow, Ty thought to himself. He had played baseball in front of thousands in crushingly stressful situations and his hands had been as steady as a rock. And yet just sitting next to Jessica, with the anticipation of what was to come, had him shaking like a rookie taking his first at bat in the major leagues.
The flaky crust hit his tongue, followed by a blast of rich, dark chocolate. The soft, buttery center of the pie rolled over his tongue and he savored the texture and flavor. He pointed his fork at the pie. “What I like about this pie is that the semisweet chocolate and bite of bourbon keep it from being too cloyingly sweet.”
Jessica handed him a glass of wine. “I agree. And I prefer pecans over walnuts, although I might try mixing in both.”
Ty gave her a shake of his head. “Don’t change a thing. This pie is perfect as it is. And you make a tender, flaky crust. My mom was a good cook, but piecrusts always gave her fits. What’s the secret?”
“Keeping everything
chilled and not overworking the dough, or the texture will be tough. Precise measurements are so important for a perfect crust. Oh, and add just enough water, or it will get too sticky and not be nearly as flaky. . . .” She trailed off and sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “Sorry! More than you wanted to know.” She leaned back against the cushion and shook her head. “I get carried away talking about food.”
“What?” Ty reached over and touched her arm. “First of all, I asked you. And you know me better than that. I could listen to you talk about food all night long. Jessica, to me, eating is one of life’s pleasures, and you enhance that experience for me.”
“You have a good palate. That’s for sure, and . . .” She pressed her lips together.
“Don’t”—Ty shook his head and softly pleaded—“hold anything back from me. Jessica, please finish your thought.”
“I love that about you . . . your appreciation of fine food and the work that goes into making it that way,” she said, but instead of meeting his gaze, she took a sip of her wine and glanced away.
Ty’s heart pounded and he wanted to pull her in for a hug, but he refrained. She was a strong-willed woman and needed to open up on her own terms, and he would let her. So even though he sensed she wanted to say more, instead of prompting her further, Ty decided it was time to kick back and have a good time. “Day-um, this Derby Pie—um, I mean Kentucky Nut Pie—is a party in my mouth.”
Jessica giggled, making her appear younger, carefree. “So you’re no longer a disgruntled customer?”
“Not anymore.”
“Yeah, right.” Jessica reached over and pinched off a piece of the piecrust. “I am going to get Madison back when she least expects it,” she said before popping the pastry into her mouth.
“Hey, I am a customer and I was disgruntled.”
“Sure you were.” Jessica scoffed. “About what?”
“Not getting a glimpse of you all night long.”
“Oh, come on.” She took another sip of her wine and then sighed.
Ty felt his heart plummet and he placed his wineglass and pie on the table. “What will it take?”
