Sausage King: An Enemies to Lovers Romantic Comedy

by Crescent, Tara

  I check my schedule. “Teresa has a day off on Wednesday, so I’ll be working. But I’m done at two on Thursday, if you’re free.”

  “I’m free.” He smiles at me. “It’s a date.”

  A date. My heart squeezes. We’ll go on a date Thursday, and then the day after, we’ll be competing against each other for a restaurant permit. And if I lose…

  I jump to my feet. I can’t allow myself to freeze in fear. I won’t let the town council and this stupid, ridiculous situation come between Julian and me. I’ll have to do something.

  I just don’t know what yet.

  The restaurant is closed: the kitchen is deserted. I turn the lights on, brew a pot of coffee, and get to work. I don't particularly like mornings, but there's something almost soothing about this time of day. The world is very quiet, and very still, and very peaceful.

  Or it would be, if it wasn’t for this contest.

  I proof the yeast and sift flour and salt together. So much has happened in the last two days that I’ve barely had a chance to think about who might have sabotaged me, and when it could have occurred.

  It could have been Friday evening. Toward the end, when the time was almost up, all five of us were hurrying back and forth between the ovens and the refrigerators. Don Mazzio was rushing around, not looking where he was going, completely flustered by the fact that he’d run out of time. More than once, Valentina, Marvin, Julian, and I had been forced to swerve to avoid colliding into him.

  Then there had been the added distraction of the judges walking around and interviewing us. The camera crew, trailing behind them, wires everywhere.

  It had been pandemonium.

  It would have been the simplest thing to slide the lid of my saucepan aside, spill a cupful of sugar into my sauce, and walk away. It could have been done in ten seconds. Any one of the people there could have done it.

  Then there’s Rana’s theory. Julian had told me about her suspicions yesterday, about how she thought that the crime had been committed once everyone had left for the night.

  There's no way I can narrow it down. No way I can identify the culprit. I just have to put it out of my thoughts. The next round is in four days. This time, I'll just have to be more careful.

  I chop garlic and crush tomatoes, all the while trying to think of a solution to my problem.

  Could I give up my expansion plans?

  My offer has been accepted, and I've put down a fifty-thousand-dollar deposit, drawn from a line of credit. I have no idea how I’ll pay back the loan if I back away from the deal. Dakota’s Pizza is profitable, but once I pay out salaries, property taxes, and other expenses, it doesn’t leave me with a ton of spare money. I certainly don’t make enough money that I can take this kind of loss without batting an eyelid.

  But I hadn’t been the only person who had wanted to buy Neil Silver’s building. Roger Wexler had been interested, as had a large coffee chain based in Toronto. The coffee chain had dropped out when they’d realized how much work it would take to get the place operational. Wexler had bailed when he discovered he had competition and wasn’t about to snap up the place on the cheap.

  Ben Watanabe has already completed some essential repairs. He's re-shingled the roof, and he’s replaced the rotting wood planks on the wraparound deck. Perhaps he's done enough that the coffee shop chain would be interested in buying it again.

  Yes, if I sell, it means that I’d kiss the dreams of expanding Dakota's Pizza goodbye. I'd still take a considerable loss on the sale.

  But I also won’t be in direct competition with Julian.

  He hadn't come out and said it, but I think it would matter to Julian if he won the contest. His parents are a sore spot. On some level, his relentless drive to win must come from needing to win their approval.

  All my adult life, I’ve put my business ahead of a relationship. This time around, I want to prioritize Julian King.

  One of the line cooks calls in sick, and so I don’t get back home until six in the evening. I take a long shower, and then, before I can talk myself out of it, I place a call to Neil Silver.

  I get his voicemail.

  “Hi, Mr. Silver,” I say into the phone. I’m nervous about making this call. Neil Silver is both high-strung and litigious, and if I had any other option, I wouldn't call him. “This is Dakota Wilde. I'm not sure if you've heard, but the city of Madison has complicated the process of getting a restaurant permit. I was wondering if the two of us could talk about options.”

  There. That’s nice and vague.

  I leave my phone number, ask him to call me back, and then hang up.

  I know I'm being crazy and impulsive. For a year, I avoided Julian, absolutely convinced that I couldn't keep him. That he’d walk away the moment I fell in love with him. That he’d leave, the way my father had.

  But he's here. We’re together. It’s only been two days, but already, it's way better than I thought it could be.

  I never thought I could have Julian King. Now that I do, I will do anything to keep him.

  20

  Julian

  Tuesday morning, I get up, call Mrs. Shepperd to warn her that I'm coming over, and head to The Frozen Spoon. She's in the kitchen, making a custard base for her ice cream.

  Her expression turns wary when I enter. “Julian. Is there a problem?”

  I don't know. I think I'm making Beth Shepperd a fair offer. If I've read her correctly, she doesn't want to sell, and simply want somebody to manage the business end so she can keep making ice cream. But I could be entirely wrong.

  I've made contingency plans. If she wants to sell the place, then I'm still going to buy it. Elections are in the fall. This time next year, there will be a new set of councilors, and I’ll revisit the idea of a restaurant permit. One way or the other, I'm going to make sure that Dakota wins this contest.

  “I have a proposition for you.”

  She turns off the stove and takes the pot off the heat. “You do?” she asks, giving me her complete attention.

  “Do you want to sell this place, Mrs. Shepperd?” I ask bluntly. “If you do, I've made you an offer, and I will honor it. But if you don't, I have a proposition for you.”

  “A proposition?” Her shoulders are stiff. Her body, tense.

  “Would you be interested in a partnership, Mrs. Shepperd?” Before she can answer, I plow ahead. “I'll be a silent partner. I'll front the money needed to fix this place up. I’ll do the books and the paperwork, and handle everything on the business end. At any point of time, you can buy me out.” I drafted a contract last night. I hold it out to her. “In exchange, I would take twenty percent of the profits.”

  She looks at me. “I don't understand. This place isn’t going to make you rich, Julian. What do you really want?”

  Dakota.

  “Maybe I’m just safeguarding my lifetime supply of ice-cream.”

  She snorts. “I’m not a fool, young man. What’s the catch?”

  “There isn't any. I might not get the restaurant permit. I have no interest in making ice cream. I need to hedge my options. Plan A fell through; this is Plan B.”

  That sounds reasonable, right? Contingency plans, backup options, assorted business-speak. Nothing about Dakota. Nothing about the woman for who I’ll happily upend my life.

  “You want to go into partnership with me.”

  “I've taken the liberty to draw up a contract. Once again, there's no hurry. Take all the time you need to look it over.”

  She takes the contract from me and sets it down on the counter. “You already know that this isn’t my strong point, Julian.” She stares at me for a long minute. “Fifteen percent.”

  “Done.” I pull a pen out of my back pocket, scratch out the twenty percent figure on the contract, and write fifteen instead.

  She stares at me. “I really don't understand you.”

  “I like to think of myself as a man of mystery,” I tell her cheerfully. “Now, I’m your lawyer, but I can’t look at t
his contract for you. It’s a huge conflict of interest.” I scribble a phone number on a piece of paper. “This is the helpline for the Law Society. They’ll be able to direct you to a reasonably priced lawyer who can look over this contract. Don’t pay more than five hundred bucks. Make sure that you understand what's involved, and make sure you're comfortable with the terms. If you need to change something up, I’m open to negotiation.”

  Hell, I’ll do it for free.

  She’s not listening to me; she’s still trying to figure me out. “Now, this wouldn't have anything to do with a certain young woman I saw you talk to on opening day, would it?”

  Dakota is private. Until she makes our relationship public, I'm not going to. I put on my best poker face. “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

  She chuckles. “I’m not going to call the Law Society. You’ve been more than fair to me through this process. Let’s shake on it, Julian.”

  “Sorry, no. As your lawyer, I'm going to respectfully suggest that you get this checked out. Please do your due diligence, Mrs. Shepperd.” I hold out my hand, and we shake on it. “And then, we can go into business together.”

  21

  Dakota

  Neil Silver doesn't call me back Monday. Not surprising; it is a long weekend after all.

  He doesn't call me back Tuesday morning either. I spend the first half of the day getting caught up on paperwork, and head over to the Madison Brewpub at lunch to see Vicki and Cat want to take a break.

  The two of them are sitting up front, a platter of sausages and cheese in front of them. “Dakota,” Cat says with a bright smile. “Join us. We’re tasting some additions to the menu.”

  “You already have a cheese plate, don't you?”

  “The sausage is new,” Vicki replies. “Julian made it using some of Cat’s stout. He dropped off a batch last night, but neither of us have had a chance to try it. Sit down. Have some.”

  If Julian were here, he’d tell me to eat his meat, and I’d call him an arrogant dickhead. And then he’d kiss me, and I’d kiss him back…

  “Dakota?”

  I drag my attention back to my friends. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

  Vicki gives me an amused smile. “Do you want some of this sausage?”

  So many jokes. “Yes, please.” I reach for a piece. I should send him a photo of me stabbing his sausage with a sharp toothpick, I think. He’d find that funny.

  Vicki’s saying something again. God, I’m a terrible friend. I yank myself from my daydream and focus on my friends.

  “Oh my God.” Cat’s eyes go wide. “This is so good. Holy crap. I love Julian’s sausage.”

  Don't laugh, Dakota. Whatever you do, do not snicker.

  “Wow.” Cat eats another piece with obvious relish. “This is so flavorful and juicy. Really moist.”

  Vicki looks like she’s trying not to burst out laughing. I stare at Cat. Does she hear her words? Flavorful? Juicy? Moist? I can’t decide if she’s being serious, or if she's pulling my leg. Surely, she's not that naïve.

  “It’s got a really nice kick to it too,” Cat continues enthusiastically. “Very spicy. Dakota, when you see Julian next, you have to tell him how good his meat is.”

  I almost choke on Julian’s sausage. Ha ha. “What do you mean, when I see him next?”

  She gives me a puzzled look. “You'll see him Friday night at the contest, won’t you?”

  I'm trying not to think about the contest. “You want me to walk up to Julian King, and tell him that you find his sausage juicy, flavorful, and moist.” She's definitely pulling my leg.

  Cat nods eagerly. “You forgot spicy.”

  Vicki explodes with laughter. Okay, okay,” she chokes out. “I can't do this anymore. You’re a freaking genius, Cat. You should have seen the look on your face, Dakota. It was priceless.”

  My cheeks heat. “You did this deliberately? Very funny, ladies. Hilarious.”

  Cat laughs. “I thought so.” Her phone rings, and she gets up to answer it.

  Vicki’s still cracking up. “That was so awesome,” she says. “Cat’s poker face is amazing. I couldn’t have done it.”

  “Everyone’s a comedian.”

  She grins. “These are really good. I think we’ll put them up as a special this week. A gourmet version of bangers and mash. Stout sausage, chive and garlic mashed potatoes, and maybe some farmer’s market asparagus.”

  That does sound delicious. My mouth waters. I steal another chunk of sausage from the platter in front of me. I’m glad Vicki’s laughing. She’s been quieter than usual in the last couple of weeks, a result of her break-up with Liam. “How are you doing?”

  “About Liam, you mean? I’m fine, I guess. It’ll get better. Liam was a very nice guy, and I liked him a lot. But he wasn’t the one.”

  I lift my head up. “The one? Is there such a thing?”

  Yes, there is, my heart whispers. Julian.

  “In general? I don’t know. Specifically for me, yes. There’s a guy. He's not available. He's never been available. But in the back of the back of my head, no matter who I'm in a relationship with, a part of me is always waiting for Will.”

  I stare at her. “Will, Cat’s evil ex-boyfriend?”

  She makes a gagging sound. “Do I look like I have terrible taste in men? Never mind, don't answer that. No, different Will.”

  I want to be nosy, but before I can probe further, there’s a knock on the door, and Randy, the postman, comes in. “Here you go, Vicki,” he says, handing her a stack of mail. “Dakota, do you want me to drop yours off at your mailbox, or will you take them now?”

  I reach out. “I'll take them.”

  He hands me three envelopes. I flip through it. Bill, bill, and an official looking envelope from the law offices of Duffy and Kane.

  Why does that sound familiar?

  With a sense of foreboding, I open the letter, and scan the contents. The blood freezes in my veins.

  It's from Neil Silver's lawyers.

  “Ms. Wilde,” they write. “In light of recent events, Mr. Neil Silver has reason to believe that you will not be able to honor your commitment to purchase his Front Street property. As a result, Mr. Silver must regret to inform you that until the closing, you and your contractors will not be permitted access to the property. Furthermore, in recognition of the increased risk of you reneging on your agreement, we request an additional deposit of five percent. This money will be used to roll back the changes your contractor has made to the property if you fail to go through with the purchase. Please provide this payment immediately.”

  Fuck. Silver can’t be serious, can he?

  “Dakota, what’s wrong?”

  I hand Vicki the letter. She scans it quickly. “This is garbage,” she says flatly. “They can't do this.”

  I brought this on. I was trying to prioritize my relationship with Julian, and this letter is a direct consequence of that. “I don't know.” My voice is hollow. “It all sounds pretty official to me.” My shoulders slump. “I guess I should talk to someone to find out if this is legal.”

  “Talk to Julian.”

  I look up. “Julian?”

  She nods. “Yes, Julian King. I know you can’t stand him, but he is an extremely competent lawyer. Look at what he did for Mrs. Shepperd. Put aside your pride and ask him for help.”

  “I don't hate Julian,” I whisper. “We hooked up over the weekend. I think we're dating now.”

  Vicki’s mouth falls open. “That’s fantastic news, Dakota. So, there you go. Ask him for help.”

  I wince. “I don’t know, Vicki. We just started dating, and I already want him to solve my problems.”

  Vicki groans. “Do you like Julian?” she demands.

  “Yes.”

  “Would he help?”

  “Of course.” He hides it under the most outrageous puns and more than his fair share of arrogance, but Julian’s a good guy.

  “Okay, then. Can I give you some unsolicited advice? Sto
p being ridiculous. You’re in a bind. Let Julian bail you out.”

  22

  Julian

  After talking to Mrs. Shepperd, I head back to the cottage. Bypassing the house, I make my way to the commercial kitchen.

  The long weekend messed up everyone’s schedules, mine included. I normally do deliveries on Mondays. I’m a day behind, and I’ll lose another half a day on Friday. I’m going to be scrambling like crazy this week.

  I feel like the luckiest guy in the world.

  With a smile on my face, I check my messages for any last-minute changes, and load my truck. On a whim, I pack a cooler with a couple of lamb and harissa sausages, fresh buns, cheese, pickles, sauerkraut, relish, and mustard, as well as a couple of bottles of water. If I time my route right, I’ll end up at the Madison Brewpub shortly before noon.

  Maybe Dakota will be able to break for a picnic lunch.

  Lady Luck is beaming down on me today. When I pull up at the brewpub, Dakota’s there, talking to Vicki. “Hello, ladies,” I greet them. “Vicki, you want me to put your order in the refrigerator?”

  “That’d be great.”

  I turn to Dakota. “Will you give me a hand, Wilde?”

  She laughs. “Is that your way of getting me alone?” She gets to her feet and puts her arms around me. Standing on tiptoe, she presses a kiss to my lips. “Hey, you.”

  I return her kiss. “I see you’ve told Vicki about us. I approve.”

  “Would you believe, whenever I’m planning to do something, that’s the question that’s on my mind?” she snarks. “Would Julian King approve, I wonder.”

  “Brat.” I kiss her again, nipping her lower lip.

  Vicki clears her throat. “Enough with the PDA, you two. This is a family-friendly establishment.”

  Dakota rolls her eyes. “Please. I’ve seen Dominic and Cat do this and more.”