Chapter Thirty-Six
Hawthorne
Tokyo, Japan
Vietnam had been a riot of beautiful colors, smells, and tastes. Japan promised more of the exotic. I hoped it also held the one missing piece to my life.
The grand finale.
Trying not to overanalyze my actions, I watched the coastal scenery fly by my window in a bullet train, but my heart beat out a single command: Find Sophia.
I exited the high-speed train and smoothed my shirt. Tokyo was all at once modern and ancient. But I knew she was off the beaten path in a little side district. I navigated the hustle and bustle of neon lights to the quieter streets where she’d holed up. I hoped she was home. I also hoped my covert intelligence was good, and I wasn’t on a wild goose chase.
I’d made my decision. I knew exactly what I wanted, but what about Sophia? That woman knew how to hold a grudge. She could simmer for years beneath her cool exterior. When she exploded, she meant it. I couldn’t help but smile at the video I’d seen of her throwing her keys at reporters. On the other hand, that aim was deadly accurate.
I wondered how she’d treat me. She might not care what I have to say or even give me a chance. All I could do was plead my case, hope she didn’t have a knife in her hand, and keep emergency services on speed dial.
When I walked into the quiet restaurant, my heart stopped for a minute, taking in her perfection. Sophia was alone, prepping vegetables, completely in her element. Her black hair was piled in a messy bun, and her dark blue chef’s apron was tied around her waist. She had a smear of something dark across one cheek and an intense look on her face. She sliced with an art-like precision—something that takes years to master.
She didn’t notice me, she was so intent on perfection. I coughed, not wanting to freak her out and slice herself.
It didn’t work.
Sophia looked up and jumped, letting her sharp knife clatter to the table. The silence stretched into something uncomfortable, and my stomach turned. My God, I was too late. I took too long to figure my shit out.
“I should fucking stab you,” she said, picking her knife up again. I could tell she was half serious. But it still warmed my heart. She’d spoken first.
“You cut yourself.” I pointed to the drop of blood beading on her thumb.
“Why do you care?” she said, wrapping her fist around her wounded finger. Her face was pain-filled, no matter how she tried to hide behind her cool composure. But I knew her too well. It shocked me, but I did, and I loved that I knew her so well.
Instead of answering, I went to the closet, pulled out an apron, and tied it around my waist. After washing my hands, I came to her prep station and picked up her hand to examine the wound.
“It’s not deep,” I said.
I pulled her finger to my mouth and looked her in the eye. They were daring me. Slowly, I raised it to my lips and sucked on it, tasting every bit of her.
She held my gaze, letting her eyes hood for a moment, telling me exactly what I needed to know.
“Well, what the fuck took you so long?” she asked.
After gently rinsing off the blood, I dabbed antiseptic on it and put a Band-Aid around her finger with a last kiss.
“How are you here right now?” she asked. “I mean, I assume you’re filming the last leg of the contest in Japan, but how did you figure out where I am?”
I cocked an eyebrow at her. “How do you think?”
“Lena,” she growled. “That little minx.”
I nodded my agreement. “I went to Chicago and found Lena and your sister. Real pleasant woman, by the way, your sister,” I said, remembering the way Rie had laid into me before. “And they told me where you’d gone. I had to see my father first and take care of some other business.”
“Okay, better question. Why are you here? You ratted me out. You knew about my morality clause, and you filmed me and then turned it over to Charlotte. Were you really so terrified of me? Or was I just getting in the way of you fucking Emma again?”
I took her hands in mine. “I promise you, it wasn’t me. I had no idea what happened. I didn’t even know why you left.”
Sophia’s face was conflicted, so I hurried on.
“The moment you stormed out, I knew something was off. Charlotte told me you had quit, but she’s a shit liar. I knew she was keeping things from me. So I did some digging. When I found out the truth, I told her to either hire you back with a full apology, or I promised I’d piss on the NDA and tell the world they were influencing the contest.”
“So what happened?” Sophia asked.
“You haven’t seen it?”
“Seen what?”
“You really have isolated yourself here.” I pulled out my phone and clicked on a stilled video.
Sophia nodded, entranced by the image of me seated at a press conference table next to my agent. The video came to life.
“I’d first like to thank everyone watching for this last-minute live teleconference. I’ll be quick.”
Video-me placed my hands on the table and bent over the microphone. “It recently came to my attention that my colleague, Chef Sophia Sato, was unfairly terminated from the international cooking show we were asked to host this fall. While there were many factors in play, I must come out against such actions. Food & Dine placed a morality clause agreement in contracts only belonging to the female contestants and judges. They didn’t see a need, nor a want, to impose the same restrictions on the men. They also saw the need to control who stayed in the competition and who went. It makes them more money when fan favorites stay longer or when they can form story lines from rivalries. At the end of the day, it came down to business rather than ethics.”
Video-me looked directly into the cameras. “I stand with Sophia Sato and all the female contestants demanding fair contracts and equal pay. I am officially nullifying my contract to finish hosting this show. Thank you.”
I turned off the phone. The room was completely silent as Sophia digested everything I’d said.
She shifted her weight. “You quit after Turkey?”
“I believe they found someone else to finish the competition. The rest is happening between our attorneys.”
“My God,” she whispered.
I pulled up her Twitter feed for her. Instead of the harsh words, curses, and general punishment she’d been receiving—due in no little part to my original gossip rag piece—it was now flooded with encouragement and memes of us pictured together with lots of googly eyes. Apparently, people were “shipping” us.
“Oh yeah,” I said. “I eliminated the fuck out of Jackson in Istanbul for my grand finale. Charlotte really didn’t like that.”
Sophia snorted. “You’re amazing.” She covered her mouth with her hands, as if a few simple words would undo her.
I took her hands and put them against my cheeks, leaning my forehead down to touch hers. “No. You’re amazing. I’ve been wanting to tell you that since, well, who knows how long subconsciously. I want nothing more than to wake up next to you, cook with you, travel with you. Fuck you.”
“How romantic,” she said lightly.
“Oh, I’ll bring the romance,” I replied.
But Sophia pulled away. “I don’t think I can offer you what you want,” she said. “My career will always come first. I’m not going to quit this world for you. I know you’ve got a vendetta against the restaurant business, but it’s my whole world.”
I pushed away a stray piece of hair. “If you haven’t caught on by now, I’m not traditional. If you want to move to that yurt on the Mongolian Steppes to learn the ancient art of berkutchi, let’s do it. If you want to stay in Chicago and work eighteen hours a day for a Michelin star, count me in. I don’t need anything but you to make me happy. I can write from anywhere.”
“Kids?” she asked faintly.
I watched the heat rise on her porcelain perfect skin. “Up to us. I can be completely happy traveling the world, eating well, and fucking on every surfac
e known to man.”
She snorted. “And if I want them?”
“Bring on the newest adventure. It’s up to us. I want to stress the us, however. No more one-sided decisions where you freak out and leave before I get to explain anything. That’s not a relationship.”
“Is that what this is? A relationship?”
I trailed my scruffy cheek along her jaw line, stopping to nibble my way up her chin and over to her ear, planting a million little kisses along the way. “I want it to be.”
“Even though…” she hesitated, clearly uncomfortable mentioning my parents.
I nodded, feeling my storminess at peace. “Even though you’ll probably drive me crazy, in the best ways, of course.” She let me continue down her neck. “Just admit that I’ve defrosted you, Ice Queen.”
At that, Sophia pulled me against the walk-in freezer door, hungrily devouring my lips, pinning me in place. Goddamn, was it hot when she took control.
I grabbed handfuls of her ass and lifted her upward, letting the delicious feeling of her legs wrapped around my waist overtake my senses.
“You are so fucking perfect,” I murmured.
“And you’re so fucking mine,” she replied.
Epilogue
Sophia
One year later
Somewhere in Mongolia
“That is not how you skin a fox.”
“Oh, so now you’re a fox skinning expert? I’d like to see you do better.”
“God, you are so annoying,” I said, grabbing the knife from Hawthorne and getting to work. “It’s like you don’t believe me or something.”
“Or maybe, I just like to see you sweat. It’s sexy.”
It was balls-cold outside in Mongolia in November, but we had been gifted with the traditional fur coat and hats of the people living on the remote Steppes to keep away the chill. A large, circular yurt sat in front of us, its modern white tarps flapping in the breeze. Our shaggy little ponies stamped their feet, content to watch life slowly pass by.
We’d spent the morning hunting with our guides and their golden eagles, learning about berkutchi hunting. Hawthorne had pitched the story to a few well-known literary and culinary magazines, and more than one had bitten. He’d never have to worry about freelance jobs at this point. Although, I teased him that due to our last year of publicity from his little stunt and my wrongful departure lawsuit, Hawthorne could have pitched horse shit and someone would have eaten it.
He’d also mentioned opening a fast-casual joint in Chicago near Sassafras. A little friendly competition was all he’d said before tying me to the bedpost with his belt.
It felt pretty fitting to watch the eagles hunt after this exhaustive year. While female handlers weren’t very common, most of the birds used were girls. A female golden eagle was powerful and aggressive enough to take down a wolf if she wanted to—much more than a male. And there were even a handful of female handlers.
Our handler, a no-bullshit sort of woman, masterfully manipulated her huntress. The woman explained that it took years of training before the eagle could be trusted, and the bonds they formed ran deep. Despite that, each eagle had to be freed after five or six years of hunting. It was a respect thing. Due to the increasing modern world, only a few hundred handlers and their golden eagles remained.
Suddenly, Hawthorne bent me down and kissed me. “Did I tell you ‘I told you so’ yet today?”
“Not yet. You’re slipping. It’s already after noon. Tomorrow you might forget until bedtime, and, Lord help me, you might forget altogether the next day.” I stared dreamily into the distant mountains. “Wouldn’t that be a joy?”
“I told you so.” Hawthorne smoothed his fingers under my fox fur hood and gripped my hair, staring deeply into my eyes. His gray ones matched the smoke from our yurt curling into the sky above us. “I told you so, I told you so, I told you so.”
“You know, you’re not supposed to touch another person’s hat in Mongolia. It’s bad manners,” I replied, not unaware of Hawthorne’s thickening bulge pressing against my belly.
“One of these days, I’m going to really pry the tightness out of you,” he promised.
“You can try. Speaking of being uptight, do you think we should cut out of here early and go home? Not that I don’t trust Lena or Puck, but… well, I don’t trust them. I’ve got a reputation to uphold now. A Michelin star to maintain.”
That’s right. Michelin star status official.
Instead of answering, Hawthorne handed me a small mug and clinked it against his own, staring deeply.
“What’s going on, Hawthorne?” I murmured.
He was quiet. Tense, even.
His mouth quirked up in what I’d come to realize was the most beautiful smirk in the world. Full of confidence, spirit, and adoration. For me.
“I’m simply wondering if you’re going to drink my mother’s engagement ring.”
I stopped breathing. Legitimate heartbeat stoppage. I looked down. Swimming brightly between champagne bubbles was an elegant ruby set in a diamond band. When I looked up, Hawthorne was on his knee, his hand reaching for mine.
“I thought when my mother died that it showed me love was worth less than it gave in return. It certainly wasn’t worth the pain of loss. Now I know I was scared and probably a little naïve. Until I met you. You’re so vibrant, confident, and independent. You don’t let anyone or anything intimidate you, and if you get knocked down, you stand right back up, ready to fight. I don’t want to go through life never experiencing its fullness simply because I’m afraid it will all crumble to dust one day. I want to experience it all, and I want to do it with you.”
Hawthorne took a deep breath. “So, Sophia Sato. Beautiful, intelligent, creative, independent, wildly inappropriate, and strong as hell Sophia. Will you marry me?”
My eyes pricked hotly. I couldn’t stop a tear from rolling down my cheek. He made me whole. He kept me on my toes and enjoyed every aspect of this crazy career, the same as me. When he said he would support me in every decision, he meant it. It didn’t mean he would blindly follow me, but he asked all the right questions, forcing me to ask the right questions before making my own decisions. Hawthorne West pushed my buttons in all of the right ways. My victories were his victories. They didn’t diminish the other’s accomplishments; they added to them. He was a true partner, a true completing half.
I nodded. “Always.”
Hawthorne reached up to pull my head to his, finding my lips with his own. Our embrace felt different, like the magnitude of this moment was contained and sealed with this kiss.
We finally took a sip of our champagne so Hawthorne could fish out the ring and slip its cool wetness over my finger. My fingers were close to numb the minute he took my fur gloves off, but I couldn’t stop gazing at the way it sparkled and shone on my finger.
“You know, I wouldn’t worry about outliving me,” I joked. “I’ve got those Japanese genes where we all live to one hundred and ten.”
Hawthorne feathered the top of my head with little kisses. “One can only hope. As much as I made a big speech about not wanting to miss out on love, I still don’t want to go last. I’m a coward that way. And you better drink that champagne quickly. I had a hell of a time sneaking it in here.”
I laughed waterily. “How did we ever get together?”
“I melted you, like ice meeting fire.”
“God, you’re so full of yourself.” I wiggled my nose against his, an Eskimo kiss.
“Don’t worry. I have you to bring my big head down to earth.”
With a quick nibble on his ear, I sighed, almost content. “But seriously. Are we getting the hell out of here tomorrow? I do not trust Puck.”
“You really can’t relax, can you?”
“Would you want me to?”
Hawthorne snuggled me under his arm. “I only want your happiness. And my dad to lay off my back about coming to visit. I didn’t think he could get any worse, but bring a beautiful woman by, and sud
denly he wants to see me every day. Don’t think I don’t know who he really wants to see.”
I laughed, remembering the first time I met Hawthorne’s dad. His eyes had bulged out of his head and he’d asked if Hawthorne had drugged me. “Blink twice if you’re here against your will,” he’d asked me quite seriously.
“I like your dad. It’s important to know what you’re going to be like all grumpy and old. Call it due diligence,” I said, echoing some of my first words to Hawthorne.
“And?”
“I think I can handle the both of you.”
Hawthorne inhaled before kissing me. “We are but your loyal people, my Ice Queen.”
The End
Finish the Cooking Around the World competition in Seared (Cooking up a Celebrity Book 2).
Discover what happened behind the scenes at Sassafras between Lena and Puck in Fired (Cooking up a Celebrity Book 3).
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Afterword
Thank you for reading the first in my celebrity chef competition series! With so many books to choose from, it means a lot that you’d spend a few hours with me. Keep up with all of my new releases by signing up for my newsletter here.
I’m sure you’re dying to know which of the contestants makes it into Book 2 and who ultimately wins. Flip ahead to get a sneak peek of Seared and be sure to add it to your list—only on KindleUnlimited!
Seared (Cooking up a Celebrity Book 2)
Fired (Cooking up a Celebrity Book3)
Sneak Peek of Book 2
Melted (Cooking up a Celebrity Book 1) Page 16
