by Marina Adair
Lexi wanted to scream that Abby was wrong, that she had left St. Helena behind and married Jeffery because they were soul mates and that’s what people in love do for each other. But soul mates didn’t divorce. And Jeffery had never once considered staying in the Bay Area for school. In fact, every move or decision in their relationship had been the one that had most benefited Jeffery.
Tears burned at her throat. She’d had so many people float in and out of her life as a child that she’d thought there was something wrong with her. That she was missing whatever it was that other little girls, whose mommies and daddies never left, had that made them lovable. Even as an adult, she’d tried to convince herself she wasn’t lacking some kind of crucial trait, and that she was enough. So she’d dedicated herself to Jeffery. Then he left.
Lexi covered her face with her hands. “Oh God, you’re right,” she sniffled through her fingers. “I’m a total pushover. Just like my mom. A man shows the slightest bit of interest and I drop everything to please him—even my family. What kind of person does that?”
“A person who doesn’t want to give up on someone because she knows what it feels like to be walked away from,” Abby said, licking the top off one of Pricilla’s passion-fruit-and-pineapple petits fours. “Don’t give up, Lex. Don’t let him win.”
Abby leaned in and dropped her voice. “Do you remember that time we went skinny-dipping?”
Lexi did remember. It had been a few months after Abby’s parents died. “Jeffery was so mad when he found out. He never believed me when I told him that I didn’t really want to do it.”
“I knew you didn’t. You’re way too uptight for that.” Abby ignored Lexi’s protest and continued, “But I did. And you knew it. You also knew that the only way I would ever get in a car again after the accident was if it meant doing something wild and irresponsible. So you stole your grandmother’s car, picked me up, and we went skinny-dipping in the lake.”
Lexi gave a chuckle. “I kept my underwear on, and we broke into Mr. Patterson’s pool because you couldn’t wait to get to the lake. Thank God he didn’t report us.”
“He lived on Lake Drive, and if you hadn’t been laughing so hard he would have never caught us.” Abby went serious. “The point is, we did it together. I got over my fear of cars, and you did something crazy, like grand larceny and showing some skin in public, a totally unvaledictorian thing to do.”
Lexi shifted in her seat, mushed a piece of icing with her fingertip, and waited for Abby to go on.
Abby sat back, arms folded, a cocky smile curving at her lips.
“Wait?” Lexi said, wiping at her tears. “That’s your big plan: go skinny-dipping?”
Abby nodded. “Our plan is to go big. Together. We go forward with the new kitchen. And by we, I mean that I will handle most of the remodel while you cater your way to a full grand opening. By next year you’ll have a bistro, a new menu, customers, and Jeffery doesn’t win.”
Abby looked at her expectantly. What she’d outlined was not only plausible, it was brilliant.
“Think about it, Lex. You get the chance to reinvent yourself. Your life, your cooking, your career, everything would get a clean slate. You can be Alexis Moreau instead of Lexi Balldinger.”
Lexi had been Mrs. Balldinger for so long, she was afraid that Alexis Moreau no longer existed. Or worse, what if she didn’t recognize her? But the idea of rediscovering that girl who loved to laugh and cook and had dreams, big dreams, was less terrifying than living the rest of her life as a failed Balldinger.
“All right, I’m in. I’ll go big”—Lexi threw air quotes around the last two words—“if you agree to file for divorce.”
“What?”
“If I have to spend the next six months alternating between dating and cater—” She shivered, unable to finish the sentence. “If I have to win, so do you, and that means flipping Richard the finger and taking your life back.”
Her friend’s face went completely white.
She placed a comforting hand on Abby’s shoulder. “I’m sorry that the bank account in the Caymans turned out to be a dead end. I know how badly you needed this to be over so you could move on. And I get it, divorce by publication would mean that you would have to put an ad in the local paper stating what a bastard he is and that he walked out, but at least you could finally start over. Maybe even go out on a date.”
“A date?” Abby snorted. “He’d better not scare easily.”
A big part of the reason Abby had fallen for Richard was that he was the first guy her brothers didn’t threaten, maim, or scare away.
“Fine.” She flapped her hand nonchalantly. “You find me a man who can handle the DeLuca four, and I’ll go on that date.”
It was a lie, and they both knew it. Abby wasn’t only a Roman Catholic, she was also a DeLuca, which meant that she, just like her brothers, took their vows seriously. Oh, the DeLuca men didn’t live like monks in any sense of the word, but the moment they found the one, it would be forever. Of that, Lexi was certain. Just like she was certain that until the divorce was official, Abby would conduct herself like a married woman.
“I’m serious, Abs. We both go big, and we both win our lives back. Together.”
Abby shrugged noncommittally.
Lexi picked up two chocolate éclairs, one for each of them. “Swear on the éclair.”
“What are we, in middle school?”
Lexi, eyes never leaving her friend’s, kissed both éclairs before offering them up.
“Fine.” Abby finally leaned in, kissing both pastries before grabbing one and cramming the entire thing in her mouth. “I’ll call Hard-Hammer Tanner tomorrow.” She forced the words through a half cup of cream filling and chocolate glaze. Lexi froze, éclair halfway in her mouth. “To set a new start date for Monday. Jeez, just because I’ll soon be divorced doesn’t mean I’m going to start dating. And if I did, it would not be with a guy like him.”
Lexi was too busy licking her fingers to point out that every time her friend mentioned Hard-Hammer Tanner she got agitated—and really pissed.
CHAPTER 6
Marc was in his office, staring out the window and wondering how he’d managed to get himself in the middle of this fucked-up situation. His celebrity judge, Bo Brock, wasn’t returning his calls, Natasha was still trying to nail him down—catering job or otherwise—and Abby was finally divorcing the jerkwad. A great step for his sister but terrible timing for him, since her full-page “Have You Seen This Dick?” announcement, complete with a picture of Richard, ran concurrently with his Summer Wine Showdown ad.
Now he had to deal with the fact that his best friend was suing his sexy new neighbor because Jeff had made promises he shouldn’t have. And if Jeff didn’t deliver on those promises, Marc’s brothers were going to rip him a new one, because it would cost everyone involved a ton of cash.
“Do you really need her recipes?” Marc asked, angling his chair so that he would be forced to stare at his computer rather than watching the window, hoping to see a construction crew hard at work, or catch a glimpse of Lexi in her apartment cooking in something other than pj’s, anything to reassure him that she was okay.
“Christ, Marc, how many times do I have to explain this?” Jeff’s voice came through the speaker on the phone. “They aren’t her recipes. They belong to the restaurant, always have, and I own the restaurant. She got the house. I got the restaurant.”
They’d been arguing about this on and off for days. Ever since Marc had gotten up the balls to call his friend.
“Yeah, well, this is a small town, and people here don’t give a rat’s ass what some New York judge said or about a house she no longer lives in.”
There was a tense pause. Marc closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. He hated fighting with—well, anyone. It was easier to just stay detached.
“How is she doing?” Jeff asked, and for the first time in an hour his old friend was on the phone. Jeff wasn’t a bad guy; he was just always so foc
used on newer and shinier things that he had a hard time noticing other people’s shoes, let alone walking in them. “I’ve tried calling her, checking in, but she doesn’t seem receptive to me right now.”
Marc knew the feeling. And telling Jeff about how devastated Lexi had been felt like a betrayal, but he had to tell his friend something to make him see what this was doing to her. “She’s stopped construction.”
Jeff was quiet for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, confused. “I don’t understand. That’s all she ever talked about. Hell, there were a couple times over the past few years she threatened to bail on the marriage so she could move home and open that bistro.” The admission surprised Marc. Jeff had alluded to Lexi being unhappy in the marriage, but he’d never been so blunt about it before. “When she decided to sell the house, I didn’t even ask for any of the proceeds because I knew she’d need the money for renovations.”
“According to Abby”—who had threatened to fly to New York and kill Jeffery, very slowly, with a pizza slicer—“Lexi doesn’t want to sink all of her money into a bistro when she doesn’t have a winning menu.”
Wingman’s ears perked up at the sound of Lexi’s name. So did Marc’s pulse.
“So, I ask again, is there any way you can do this without her recipes?”
“I wish, man. But the deal depends on that menu.” Which was what Marc had feared. “When I first met with Montgomery Distributions, I was still clinging to the hope that Lexi and I could make it work, especially if we landed the deal. Monte had a few other restaurants he was talking to, and it was Lexi’s food that raised Pairing to the top of his list. We weren’t the biggest or most financially set of the competition, but we had the best food. To change the game now…there’s no way.”
Last spring, Monte, founder and CEO of Montgomery Distributions, had been in town to meet the youngest DeLuca, Trey, whose tendency toward wanderlust had him out of the country more than in. It also had him at a wine sellers’ convention in Prague—when he should have had his ass in St. Helena—negotiating a deal with Monte that would take DeLuca Wines from specialty shops to supermarkets around the globe. Marc, already feeling guilty for skirting his responsibilities in the family business to get his hotel stable, had agreed to cover for Trey and entertain the man.
Over a friendly glass of DeLuca zin, Marc learned that Monte not only specialized in wine distribution but that he was also looking to expand into the specialty-food sector, to bring five-star, fine-dining cuisine to freezer sections everywhere and pair it with the perfect wine. Monte had the contacts and the interest; all he needed was a restaurant and winery to partner with. And Jeff needed the kind of money that a deal like this could bring. It seemed the perfect fit.
Gabe had disagreed, adamant about not mixing friends and the family business. But Jeff had always talked about expanding Pairing, taking it to a national scale; he just lacked the backing and support to get there alone. Marc knew what that felt like. In fact, Jeff was the only one who had wholeheartedly supported Marc’s decision to buy the Napa Grand, which was why Marc had wanted to see this partnership work. So at the risk of pissing off his brothers, he’d made the introduction. Only now he wasn’t so sure that he’d made the right decision.
“Does she know about Monte? About my family’s role in the deal?” At this point, Marc wasn’t sure he even wanted to know.
There was a long pause, as though Jeff was weighing his answer.
“No.”
Marc felt his body relax a little.
“I didn’t think it mattered,” Jeff said. “She had already checked out on the marriage and the restaurant. I knew she’d move home, and I didn’t want to drag you into the middle of everything.”
Funny, because the middle was exactly where Jeff had stuck him the minute he asked Lexi out sophomore year—even though he knew Marc had a thing for her. And the middle was starting to piss him off. Sure, Marc had had a weakness for just about anything with pom-poms—still did—but Lexi’s pom-poms were different. They always would be.
“I know this is a lot to ask,” Jeff went on. “But you guys used to be friends, and this deal needs to close. Until that happens, I need you to keep an eye on Lexi, make sure she doesn’t sink this just because she’s pissed at me.”
“So you want her to be pissed at me? Because the second she finds out we even talked about her—”
“She’s going to be pissed either way, Marc. That’s just Lexi.” Not the Lexi that Marc knew. Then again, he had never been married to her.
Marc closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. So much for not wanting to stick him in the middle. But Jeff was right: this deal couldn’t fall apart. Not now. Not after Marc had defended his decision to bring Jeff in on the deal to his brothers. But the thought of Lexi’s dreams shattering didn’t sit right either.
It’s just a cookbook, Lexi. Get a grip.
But she couldn’t. Just like she couldn’t believe that after almost twenty-four hours of culinary bliss, this was happening.
Last night, after covering her ex in a mosaic of spit wads and promising Abby she wouldn’t give up, Lexi had called her grandmère and agreed to cater for the Daughters of the Prohibition.
Yes, she hated catering. But she loved her grandmother. And with Pricilla being the only real family Lexi had, her grandmother’s dream of a bistro trumped everything, so she got her butt in gear, threw on an old CD mix she’d found from high school, and stayed up all night cooking, experimenting, and for the first time in months finding a sense of peace.
In fact, the more creative she got with the traditional Summer Showdown menu, the more her creative block seemed to crumble. Which was why, when she looked up from her Pacific sea bass sashimi with papaya and avocado mousse to find three innocent, smiling grannies, a cat trying to pass for a sunflower, and a worn leather book that predated even Pricilla, Lexi got a bad feeling in her gut.
Forcing an innocuous smile, Lexi threw a towel over the dish and said, “What are you guys doing here?”
They didn’t answer.
Lexi watched the inquisitive eyes studying her hidden appetizers, the cat sniffing wildly, and she stepped forward, placing her body between the welcoming committee and the entry to the kitchen.
“What’s that?” Pricilla asked, smoothing down her halo of gray after ducking under Lexi’s outstretched arms, which were now braced on either side of the kitchen counter, to pull off the towel.
“Oh, that? Nothing. Just dinner.” Lexi dropped her arms when ChiChi and Lucinda, who was carrying Mr. Puffins, skirted around the other side of the counter. All three grannies and the cat huddled around and stared suspiciously down at the dish, as if they were expecting it to walk off the plate.
Mr. Puffins looked hopeful.
Pricilla, proud.
The other two—completely at a loss.
“I think it’s fish,” ChiChi said to the others as though Lexi wasn’t standing two feet away.
Lucinda, needing a closer look, set Mr. Puffins on the counter. She extended one bony finger—everything about the woman was sharp edged—and poked the fish, frowning when it jiggled. “How long did you cook it?”
“It’s, um, sashimi.” When all three ladies pursed their lips in confusion, Lexi added, “Raw fish.”
The grannies shared a silent look of concern while the cat gingerly sniffed the air, his eyelids going heavy and his whiskers working overtime. At least someone appreciated good fish.
“It isn’t perfected yet. I’m still tinkering with the balance of the papaya—”
“We have reservations,” Lucinda pronounced, grabbing Mr. Puffins before he could take his first lick of the mousse.
“But you haven’t even tried it!” Lexi said, feeling her entire body deflate.
“At Stan’s,” ChiChi cut in, smacking Lucinda on the hip with the back of her hand. “For dinner. We have reservations at Stan’s for dinner.”
“I didn’t know Stan took reservations.” Nor did she
know why she was calling them on the lie. Two minutes ago she would have given her left ovary to get them, and that recipe book, out of her kitchen. But it hurt that they were dismissing her plate on design alone. “Isn’t it more of a serve-yourself kind of place?”
ChiChi draped a regal hand down her form to highlight her cream pantsuit as though her St. John ensemble was solid proof that they had reservations for a bowl of soup at the service station.
“I’d ask you to join us, dear,” Pricilla said, gently rubbing Lexi’s shoulder. It was a sign that she knew Lexi was upset. “But you have your date with Vince.”
Lexi looked down at her striped pajama bottoms, at the well-used kitchen, at the fresh ingredients still waiting to be transformed, and groaned. She had totally forgotten about her dinner plans with Mr. Friday Night Lights, who was old enough to have played in the actual football game that inspired the book.
“I got so busy cooking I lost track of time. I’ll just call him and reschedule.” She pulled out her phone, hoping the ladies would take the hint and give her privacy—or better yet, leave. And take with them the traditional Showdown recipe book, which had been created by Lucinda’s and ChiChi’s mothers and had served as the culinary bible for every Showdown since.
“Nonsense, child, we’re just dropping by. Wanted to bring you this.” ChiChi opened the book to the first page and slid it closer to Lexi.
Lexi studied it for a long moment, not touching it. One look at the diagram of how to poach cod in milk was enough to cause her head to pound. It started as a slight pulsing behind her right eye, but by the time she got to the instructions for roasted squash and fig mash, a sharp pain crept down to the base of her skull.
“The tasting is set for Wednesday at seven at the Back Barrel,” Pricilla said, clapping her hands. “Bring one appetizer and one entrée with a side dish.”
“Of course, for the Showdown you’ll need to make each of the different courses for guests to choose from, including the traditional fish, pork, and beef entrees,” Lucinda added.
